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“There is a party at one of the frat boys’ houses. I always go alone but want you to go with me tonight. It’ll be good for you, let you check out all the guys, and maybe make some friends? I don’t go to school here, so I can’t help you during the day, and we both know you could use the extra help with making friends.”
Gritting my teeth, I prepare to deny her claim, but really, she isn’t wrong. Since moving away, I’ve found it hard—if not impossible—to maintain friendships. Maybe because of the way things ended with Warren, or maybe it was because I had to start over as a sophomore at a different high school. I don’t know. I just never got a chance to really click with anyone. That doesn’t mean that the friends I want are going to be at this party though.
“I need to make friends with people that care about their grades and studying, not people who are focused on chugging a beer the fastest or who slept with who last.”
Valerie frowns, “Will you just come and stop being such a downer. You’re nineteen, but you act like you’re ninety. Live a little.”
Live a little? I scoff. Valerie has lived enough for at least five college freshman girls. I’m okay living inside my bubble away from the rest of the world. Nonetheless, if I don’t go, she will continue to beg and plead, and truthfully, I could use a drink even if it is stale frat boy beer.
“Fine, I’ll go,” as soon as the words pass my lips, I regret them.
“Oh, my god. Yes!” Valerie squeals, jumping up and down in her heels that look like something a stripper might wear. “I’ll do your hair and makeup and make you all sexy. No one with a penis will be able to stop themselves from looking your way.”
“No, no, and also… no.”
“Yes, yes, yes! I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“If I go with you to this party and let you use me as a human doll, will you leave me alone for the rest of the year?”
“The year?” Valerie throws her hands in the air dramatically. “How about I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the semester?”
“Deal,” I sigh in defeat. I don’t know why I’m even agreeing to this, probably because I’ve always had a hard time saying no to Val. Today is no different. I just hope I don’t run into Warren at this party. Then again, these are Valerie’s friends. What are the chances of him being there anyway?
3
Warren
Two chicks take their shirts off and streak through the crowded living room. Tits and booze. That’s what the night can be summed up with. Bringing the cup to my lips, I tip back the remaining beer inside of it and swallow it down. It helps drown out my thoughts of her… Harper. My forever, my forbidden, my fucking weakness.
Music blasts through the space, the smell of smoke, cheap beer, and expensive perfume permeate the air. I squeeze the red solo cup in my hand, the plastic cracking against the pressure. The place is brimming with people, and yet, I couldn’t feel anymore alone. Parker, of course, didn’t come with me tonight, being pussy-whipped and all.
My eyes dance over the makeshift dance floor in the center of the room, each chick gyrating her hips a possible candidate for riding my dick. I could have any of them, but none of them are drawing me in.
Cameron and Easton, two of my best friends outside of Parker, flank me, one on each side, one with a chick of their choice plastered to their side.
“The pussy’s good for the taking tonight…” Cameron snickers in my ear, a shit-eating grin on his face. All I can do is shrug. Since discovering Harper is at Blackthorn, I’ve had a hard time looking at other chicks, almost like I’m not interested in anyone else but her. Which is fucking stupid. Harper means nothing to me. She’s worthless, dirt beneath my feet, she lost her worth the day I found out she betrayed me. When I found out the kind of girl, she really was.
I should’ve known. I should’ve fucking known. My father had been warning me about girls like her my whole fucking life, reminding me of what happens when you fall for the wrong woman.
“Dude, the cup’s already crushed. You okay?” Easton asks, his hand in the pants of the chick that’s basically humping his leg.
“Fine, just need another beer.” Or five, or a million. I walk away and into the kitchen, needing something stronger. Surveying the bottles of liquor, I contemplate what to drink next. I should just take the bottle of vodka and go outside. Drown myself in the bottom of it. Briefly, I actually consider it, before pushing the thought away. Getting blackout drunk isn’t what I need right now.
