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The rotating colors of blue, red, and purple lights spiral as they bounce around the room. The music is bassy and loud, the way I like it. The sound pulsates my eardrums, and I relish in the start of its numbing effect.
We’re seated around the second-story balcony that overlooks the dance floor, so it’s quieter up here than below.
I’ll head down there later when I’m looking to leave and want to bring a snack home.
Below, it’s less about communicating with our words and more with our bodies. The music is also ten times as loud, so that’s a nice bonus as well.
For now, it’s all about me and my boys.
Cole proposing to my sister has overshadowed almost everything else as of late, so it’s nice to have time with them, like before.
Besides, I know my friend, and Cole was adamant after he’d told us his plans to propose. I knew it would’ve been a lost cause to try and argue a change of date.
His fixation with Rory is as crazed as it is amicable.
“So where is Lil Sis tonight?” I ask, curious about why she hadn’t joined Cole on the drive back up.
Cole lifts his glass tumbler. The dark liquid swirls before he presses it to the swell of his bottom lip, downing it all.
“Busy,” he states, unflinching after his swallow.
My frown deepens.
The downward spiral that is my day only roots itself deeper into my rapidly depleting mood. First, I know that will be the one and only drink he has tonight. Usually, Cole at least tolerates our fun by sipping on it for a few hours.
Responsible, that’s what he’s being.
A word I’ve despised as of recent…or forever…
The second, he shot that drink back faster than an antelope trying to escape a lion. Something’s off with him, but everyone knows he’s never forthcoming with information unless it benefits him.
Otherwise, you have to dig and dig and hope you’ll get lucky and he’ll help you out by handing over the shovel.
It’s rare, and Cole’s not known for his generosity. My sister is the only one who’s ever seemed to be able to break the barrier past the surface.
Of the three of us, Cole’s always been the most collected in terms of attitude. He’s perfected hiding his emotions, which is why throughout the years, I’ve learned to spot some of his cues in other ways.
His knuckle raps, tapping at the grain of the wooden table. He’s jittery, anxious. Usually when he’s like this, his favorite form of detox is smashing his fist into something or, if you’re unlucky for the night, someone.
His eyes haven’t left the empty glass in minutes. His teeth scrape, running over his lips.
When he does say something, his words sprinkle us without warning or filter. “Rory flew out this morning to go and visit Hailey.”
That name.
I’ve tried avoiding thinking about that name as much as I have the person attached to it. A hard thing to do when only a few days ago, I knew she was actually alive after years of being ignored and shut out.
I swallow down my own drink, but unlike my friend, I wince hard as the liquid burns as it goes down my windpipe. I could say it’s the alcohol, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth.
The gulp as solid as the thumping of my heart at the mention of her.
For years, my friends have tried to be respectful and give me space and are hesitant to bring her up. Heck, even Rory’s quieted her voice when I’ve come around at the occasional time she does come into the conversation.
My sister, it seems, is the only one she was willing to have any sort of communication with at all. She didn’t give up on Rory. I can’t say the same for us.
Through the years, I’ve gotten better at pretending it doesn’t hurt. So much so that after about a year of heartache, I started to believe it. I swore I was over her and fine…then she had to go and come back, ruining everything.
At least this time, my sister’s going down there, and I won’t ever have to worry about seeing her again—
