But would it be that much worse if he did? Yes, the physical pain was avoided…but what I feel right now in my head? Itfeelsjust as painful. I want to burn every part of my body that he touched. I want to make the helpless feeling go away. The control I should have had over my own body…once again ripped away from me.
My body feels paralyzed. I can’t feel anything, and I don’t know if it’s the drugs, or the fear, or both. I look back to Bash, and the cloudiness in my mind slightly fades. I finally place where I know him from. He’s the guy from the library.
His eyes soften on me. “Your name is Lydia?”
His voice is so soft, and comforting, and soothing. I love the sound of it.
I nod.
“Are you okay, Lydia?”
It feels like it’s just me and him in this moment. The fear I had for him just moments ago—watching how violent he got—suddenly disappears. I don’t know what this feeling is now. I don’t know if it’s the lingering drugs still talking, or what, but I feel tethered to him in this moment, maybe evensince the first time we met…I feel this strange connection I’ve never felt before, and he’s a complete stranger…but it’s like our souls know each other even if we don’t.
These drugs must be really good. Our souls know each other? Lydia, what the fuck?
I would laugh if this weren’t such a seriously fucked up situation.
I snap out of the trance and shake my head no. What’s the point in lying? I’mnotokay. But let’s be honest, I wasn’t okay long before this night ever happened.
44
Bash
I usually don’t mind a party every now and then, especially when there’s an event happening on campus, or I know other friends will be there who won’t be drinking either, makes it a little less pathetic, you know, being the only one there sober.
I don’t live at parties anymore like I used to, spending every free night I had at one. When you take the drinking, drugs, and sex out, there’s not much left that’s appealing.
Yet, here I am now, at one. To be honest, I didn’t think it was a good idea for me to come tonight. There’s just too much going on in my head right now, and the temptation of an easy and quick fix that I know alcohol or cocaine—that I’m sure is hidden somewhere here in this party—or girls would give me is hard to be around.
When Mason begged me to come out with him and be the DD, I wrestled with how I was going to tell him no, but something told me to just go. That, yeah, it might be hard, and temptation would be everywhere, but I would be able to handle it, and there was a reason I needed to be there.
Apparently, God didn’t feel like giving me any exact information on why, though, so I’m kinda just stuck here, guessing while having to babysit grown adults and play chauffeur for the drunk college kids.
I’m so bored out of my mind that I’ve already made up several scenarios in my head for what the purpose of me being here could be.
I’m just trying to get my mind off the constant desire to leave this party, so I don’t do anything stupid.
It’s not like I became boring or anything when I stopped partying and became a Christian. It just looks different now. But sometimes when I get around this scene again, I start to miss the intoxicating feeling and excitement that came with that life. I have to keep reminding myself what comes with it, though—the comedowns, the hangovers, the lack of motivation, the selfish desires, the harmful behaviors, and thedestructivebehaviors that only mask the problems in the moment, just to make them louder later, making you want to repeat the cycle of shutting it off until you start to feel like it’ll never end, like you might go crazy if you have to keep living like this. There’s this isolation that ironically comes with being in a crowd of people who arealltrying to dissociate in their own way.
I’m deep in that thought, not paying attention to anything going on around me as I sip on a Red Bull when the couch dips beside me. I look over to see a girl, probably an upperclassman if I had to guess, blonde hair with little jewels in it, sparkly eye shadow, heels that, just by looking at them, I knowhaveto be painful, and a cup of something strong I can smell in her hand that’s now spilled on my pants.
She quickly goes to pat it away. “Crap! I’m so sorry!”
She slurs every word, and her touching my thigh isn’t overtly sexual, but the look she gives me tells me it isn’t innocent either.
“It’s alright,” I mutter, grabbing the hem of my shirt and dabbing at it myself. I don’t want her touching me, but she keeps trying to anyway, fingers grazing my thigh, and starting to laugh loudly as she plays the apologetic, embarrassed girl part for attention. Her breath smells like alcohol and a strong cherry lip gloss.
She gives me a playful pout face. “You’ve got such a serious face, mister.” She leans in close enough that I can see the dilation in her pupils. “I think…you need to relax a little.”
“I am relaxed,” I say flatly, but still trying to be polite.
“Hmm. Well, you’re hot,” she murmurs, still slurring as she rests her hand on my chest.
I gently remove it and give her a polite smile. “I should probably go find a bathroom to clean up.”
“You want some company?” she asks, obvious with her intentions now.
Something non-sober me would have easily taken her up on. But let me tell you, there’s nothing more unattractive than a drunken advance from a woman when you’re completely sober.
