“Man… Are you sure?” Kyle says as he stares doubtfully down at the can in his hand. Anxiously, he rotates it around and around, furrowing his thick eyebrows. “I don’t wanna throw up.”
I roll my eyes. “Shut up. Now go.” As soon as the words leave my lips, I stab my keys into the can and press the new opening to my mouth, tilting my head straight back and chugging the entire can in seconds. I shotgun beers a lot. I’ve found it’s the quickest way to get me drunk, numb, and, therefore, distracted.
“Número dos,” I say, crushing the empty can in my hand and tossing it onto the grass. Kyle finishes a few seconds later, gasping for a breath of air, and I immediately toss him another can. I can feel Tiffani’s intense stare piercing straight through me from the kitchen, so I turn my back to the window and try my best to tune her out as Kyle and I chug our way through two, three, four, five beers.
The speed at which we are consuming them is too fast, and I can feel the beer in my stomach, and Kyle has staggered over to the corner of the backyard and is shoving his fingers down his throat. I lean back against the wall for a few minutes, breathing deeply, letting the alcohol soak into my bloodstream. When I glance inside the kitchen through the window, Tiffani isn’t there anymore, so I leave Kyle throwing up in the backyard and make my way back inside.
More people have arrived. People from school. People I would only occasionally talk to if I felt like it. Usually, I stick to my own circle. Is Eden here yet?
Stop thinking about her.
I ignore everyone, weaving my way around the girls that are doing shots of tequila by the sink, and I grab a bottle of vodka, fill more than half a cup with it, then top it off with some Coke. And I slam the damn thing. The strength of the drink burns my throat, but I don’tcare. I have every intention of obliterating myself tonight. That’s why as soon as I finish the first, I pour myself a second.
“Living up to your reckless reputation?” I hear someone remark, and when I glance over, Jake is approaching. He has a bottle of beer in his hand, and he presses his hip against the countertop and takes a sip, eyeing me with his shitty, devious smirk.
“Don’t fucking talk to me,” I spit, turning my back to him. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since he took Eden home last weekend, and although Idoneed to talk to him about that, I can’t do it tonight. I can’t talk about her.
Jake steps around me, smiling wider. He’s such an asshole. “Is it because your sister slept at my place?” he says, his voice innocent, his eyes full of sadistic pleasure. He justlovesto get under my skin.
I press my hand to his chest and shove him back a step. “She’s notmy sister, you moron.” If he comes any closer, I won’t hesitate to floor him. “Get out of my face, Jake. I swear.”
“Whatever. Drink yourself to death and see if I care,” he mutters, turning away and strolling out of the kitchen, probably off to pounce on whatever female he sees first. I can’t believe we used to be best friends when we were kids. He’s such a fucking freak.
I chug the drink in my hand again and remain in the kitchen for the next hour, because the kitchen is where the alcohol is. I join the girls by the sink and take a shot of tequila with them. I do shots of vodka with everyone who is unfortunate enough to so much as walk into the kitchen. No one is getting a choice. Even Rachael takes one with me, but I figure it’s only because she’s already drunk. Tiffani, on the other hand, isn’t impressed when she walks into the kitchen and lays eyes on me.
“C’mon, Tiff,” I call out to her over the music, holding out the near-empty bottle of vodka to her. I am wasted at this point. I can barely even remain upright, and I almost topple straight off the countertop. I’ve been engaging in conversation with everyone in the kitchen, and we have all been laughing hysterically, with everyone beingat leasttipsy.
Except for Tiffani. Her expression is thunderous as she glares sharply across the kitchen at me, her blue eyes like cool, cool ice. She struts over and snatches the bottle of vodka straight out of my hand, holding it as far away from me as possible. She presses her other hand to my chest and holds me upright. “You’re embarrassing us,” she whispers as she leans in close to me, glaring from beneath her fake eyelashes. “Stop it.”
“Ohhh. Who cares?” I laugh and stretch forward, grabbing back the bottle from her, and I am just about to tilt it against my lips to take another swig when she steals it back again. We fight over it for a fewseconds before I reluctantly let go, and she is quick to pass it off to whoever is closest to us.
“Tyler,” she hisses, pressing her body against my legs, her hands on my thighs. “You look like an idiot. Please. Stop drinking. Or at least slow down.” Has she evenhada drink? Why is she being a buzzkill? Everyone in this kitchen right now is having a good time. She’s ruining it.
“Baaaby,” I murmur, pursing my lips innocently at her. I can’t hide my smile though. I amsodrunk, and luckily, I am the good kind of drunk tonight. Sometimes I swing the other way. I cup Tiffani’s face with both hands and I lean down to kiss her, pressing my mouth to hers, but she immediately pulls away and shoves me back. The indignant look she gives me is almost laughable. Do I taste like one too many beers?
“Rejectiooon!” someone from the other side of the kitchen calls out, and everyone cracks into more laughter, even me.
Tiffani shakes her head and spins around, storming straight out of the kitchen with her arms folded across her chest. Whatever. Now that she’s gone, I can continue to drink even more, and that is exactly what I do. More beers, more vodka, more tequila, more rum. I drink until I can no longer open my eyes, until I am no longer in control of my senses. And in danger of losing control of my bladder.
Awkwardly, I slide down from the countertop, landing on the floor, and when I get up, I have to fumble my way across the kitchen. My eyes are half-closed, my feet are moving on their own. I am grabbing people and furniture to guide me. I’ve been in Rachael’s house many times before, but I don’t know where the bathroom is. I am stumbling my way across the house, until suddenly I collapse down onto my hands and knees, disorientated. I don’t know where I am. The musicis pounding in my ears and voices are muffled, yet somehow, I am still able to hear it.
My name. Quiet and gentle. Husky.
My head feels too heavy to lift, but I fight hard to look up. The room is fuzzy.Sheis fuzzy. I try to peel open my eyes wider, but Eden is blurring in front of me. I try to bring her into focus, to see her glistening hazel eyes and plump lips, but I just can’t do it. She is staring down at me, and I so wish I could read her expression right now.
“Baby,” Tiffani’s voice echoes around me. Everything sounds distorted, like I’m under water. My eyes close again, and I can feel Tiffani’s hands around my body as she uses all her might to haul me up from the floor. I try to stand, but my legs are like jelly, and I simply fall straight back over, smacking my face into the wall. I’m too drunk to feel it. “Tyler,” Tiffani says, but it doesn’t sound as nice as when Eden says my name. I am being pulled somewhere, guided, and suddenly I am sitting at the foot of the stairs. “Sober up,” Tiffani orders as she slaps her palm straight across my face. I don’t feel the sting of it. “You’re a nightmare.”
My head falls forward. It’s too heavy to hold up now, but Tiffani is grabbing my jaw, supporting me, and I hear her fuzzy, distant voice say, “Ella will kill him if he goes back over there like this.”Is Eden still here? Is that who she’s talking to? I try to ask, but my tongue won’t form words. “I’ll take him home with me for the night.”
Ohhh. I am passing out. I can feel this wave crashing over me, like a black shadow arriving, and my entire body is going numb. I slump off the stairs, my eyes closed, my face pressed against into the floor. I could sleep here, but Tiffani isn’t letting me. She is by my side again, forcing me upright against the wall, and we are sitting on the floor together. I am drunk and, therefore, I am feeling frisky. I pull at her dress, at herhands, at her face. She is pushing me away. My head is in her lap. She is talking, but I can’t hear what she is saying.
Is Eden still here?
•••
The hangover I endure the following day is one of the worst I have ever suffered through. It’s why I spend the entire Sunday in Tiffani’s bed, sweating buckets, gulping down water, popping painkillers, and cursing at myself for being such a fucking moron.
It’s early evening and I am still wrapped up in Tiffani’s sheets, massaging my head and staring at the ceiling. I’ve showered now, so I do feelslightlybetter. More refreshed, at least. My head, however, is still pounding. I don’t even feel sorry for myself. I’m angry. I passed out at the party, which, honestly, is just embarrassing. Tyler Bruce is supposed to be able to handle his alcohol, not pass out and get dragged home by his girlfriend.
