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Cars spilled out of the long Psi Zeta driveway and crowded the street. The entire house, which looked more like a mini mansion, was lit up, and the thump of music could be heard as we walked up.
“As soon as I give this to Eli, we can bounce,” Arsen said, hauling the large speaker.
“Are you going to introduce us?”
“Of course,” he replied.
I could feel the vibration of the music in my chest already, and the uncomfortable sensation spiked my heart rate. Without thought, I pulled the AirPods I hadn’t needed at all tonight out of the pocket of my jeans and pushed them in my ears. I didn’t bother to turn on any music because there was already some playing. The AirPods would help buffer some of it, though, so it wasn’t quite as overwhelming.
“Hey.”
I felt Arsen’s hand on my arm. I stopped walking and looked at where he touched.
“You want to wait in the car?”
I shook my head. “I want to go with you.”
My aversion to sound took a lot from me. In truth, I often wondered who I’d be if sound didn’t stimulate me in a way that made it nearly impossible to function at times. Would I be more outgoing? Confident? Would I have excluded myself less from life and had more experiences? Would I trust myself?
Would I have a family?
I fought against it of course, which probably also resulted in trauma, so the things I did have I clung to so tight because I refused to lose them too.
Arsen was one of those things now. I was terrified I’d be too much for him. That the reality of dating someone like me—someone with a brain disorder—would rob me of love.
Like before.
Even if the music did seem overly loud compared to the calm night we’d had and the house was lit up like a Christmas tree on fire and crawling with the douchiest frat boys on campus, I was still going inside. I would not let those things outmatch the love I had for Arsen.
“You sure?” he asked, worry creasing the space between his brows.
“I’m sure, bear.”
His face softened instantly, and my stomach felt fuzzy. He really liked it when I called him that.
Inside, the music was loud, the speaker crackling in a way that made my eyes squint. The crowd parted for Arsen as he stepped through, people calling out his name and slapping him on the back.
He was clearly popular, something I knew but I guess hadn’t seen. The deeper into the house we got, the denser the crowd became and the louder the music got. Off in the corner, a group of guys were chanting as two held up another who was upside down with a long keg hose pushed between his lips.
I watched as the guy chugged until his face was red and beer sprayed out of his mouth. He tapped his buddy on the stomach, and they pulled him around, dropping him to his feet. He stood up, lifting his arms as though he’d completed the best swim of his life. Everyone cheered.
“Hey, hey, Triple A in the house!” the DJ yelled over the speaker, the sound screeching a little at the end.
I cringed, pushing the AirPods deeper into my ears.
Everyone cheered, and the DJ—Eli, I presumed—pulled a pair of headphones off and leaned over the stage to tug the speaker up onto the platform. Once it was there, Arsen leaped up and turned, holding out his hand for me. Stomach fluttering, I surrendered my hand and let him pull me onto the platform with him.
From up here, the music was even more piercing, and the ringing in my ears rose to combat it. It was momentarily disorienting, and I shut my eyes and took a breath. Arsen’s hand brushed the small of my back, and I lifted my head as Eli offered his hand.
“Yo, Elite, what’s up?” Eli said, smacking his hand against mine and performing a handshake I did not know.
“It’s Prism,” Arsen yelled over the bad music. It was weird to hear him call me that.
“Hey, bro,” I called.
Eli was shorter than Arsen, probably even an inch shorter than me. He had a bright-white smile, deep-brown skin, and a diamond stud in his nose. A black-sequined fedora covered his head, and he had a pair of sunglasses slung into the loose neckline of his T-shirt.
“Eli,” he said, introducing himself even though he didn’t have to. “Thanks for coming!”
