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The First Rager Of The Year
Parker
It’s the first rager of the year.
Everyone’s there. The anticipation in the air is thick. My phone is still buzzing with notifications from Instagram, Facebook and Twitter—who on earth still uses Twitter?
Girls are swapping mac lipsticks and fresh mints, while guys open the kegs, discreetly swap drugs and lace the large, red bowl of fruity punch with more rum. The drunker the freshman girls are, the easier they are to sleep with. It’s standard college fuckery.
“Jeez, you’d think it’s Spring Break already,” my best friend, Lex, tells me as we move through the mass of warm bodies in theXi Alphafrat house.
The swanky frat apartment is off-campus grounds in Manhattan’s Upper West, which means there’s no campus guards and standby police to place any rules. What happens in here, stays in here.
“I guess people want to really get wasted tonight,” I tell her over the music.
The theme is Hawaiian Luau and everyone is dressed in their grass skirts, bathing suits and tropical short sleeve shirts with colourful garlands and wreaths of fake flowers.
The air is heavy with the smell of weed and alcohol, while Megan Thee Stallion’sHot Girl Summerbelts through the stereo system.
Even though Lex and I are in our Sophomore year at Kensington, we still look like lame freshmen compared to the Senior girls.
The difference is obvious because the guys are flocking around the senior girls with big boobs, fake tans, dressed in inappropriately short skirts and bikini tops.
“I thought Ryan was going to be here,” Lex says, scanning the crowds.
I’m looking around too, but there’s no sign of his longish dirty blonde hair and Wolves football jacket.
“I don’t think he’s coming,” I tell her, trying not to sound disappointed.
I check my phone again, but the last thing he told me was that he’s on his way to the party. Tonight is supposed to be the night. The night that I give up my V-card and figuring that we’ve been together for almost 6 months, I thought Ryan would be as eager as I am. Or at least I was.
“Oh my God,” Lex breathes, staring at her phone screen with her mouth wide open.
Her phone pings with three more notifications and I try to peek into her screen.
“What is it?” I ask.
Her brows are furrowed and her mouth is still hanging open as she eventually hands me her phone. It’s Ryan’s Instagram with one new story added a few seconds ago.
The signal strength is bad, but I wait as it loads the video. A sickening feeling enters my gut and I watch as the video starts.
It’s Ryan at a club and the person filming the video is laughing hysterically, causing the hand that they’re filming with to shake, but the content of the video is crystal clear.
Ryan grabs a young girls ass and dances with her. He turns to the camera and makes disgusting tongue movements before the video cuts off.
“Parker—” Lex begins.
I hand her the phone back and quickly turn away, trying to get deeper into the crowds. My face heats up with embarrassment as tears blur my vision.
“Parker!” Lex calls over the music, but I don’t listen to her.
At first, I only see red. I want to smash something or punch someone really hard. Bitterness courses through my veins.
One year. I spent one fucking year, telling myself that Ryan’s the one when he is clearly looking elsewhere. How could I be so stupid?
Someone is serving some of that fruity punch on a tray so I grab a red solo cup that’s filled to the brim and chug it back, ignoring the vicious burn of rum that travels down my throat.
