Life of the Party (Wayward #1)

CHAPTER 31

I could hear them giggling on the other side of the door. Quickly and as silently as I could, I sniffed the coke up my nose and pinched my nostrils together. I stood a minute, motionless as the drugs hit my veins and spread through my system.

Relief hit me and I let out a heavy, shaky breath.

“Mackenzie, I need the bathroom.” Marcy knocked curtly on the door.

“Yep. Be right out.” I shoved the drugs back into my purse and wiped at my nose, checking quickly in the mirror to hide the evidence. I opened the door and smiled at my sister as I passed by—much calmer now, much more in control of myself.

She didn’t look my way even once.

I could not imagine a more vivid portrayal of my personal hell on earth. Marcy’s wedding was in three weeks and we were at the dress shop for the final fittings of her wedding gown and our bridesmaid dresses. Whitney, Marcy’s maid of honour, and Marie, the other bridesmaid, were sipping champagne from their flutes, whispering with their arms crossed, glancing my way as I came back to sit. They were obviously talking about me, but I didn’t care.

Of the two, I liked Marie best. Whitney was the prettier one, tall with long blonde hair, hazel eyes, and a beautiful face. She’d been popular in high school and still acted like a prom queen, despite gaining noticeable weight over the years.

Marie was plainer, but she had a better personality, more humour. She would have been really pretty if she tried a bit more, like if she dyed her mousy brown hair and maybe waxed her uni-brow. She was thinner than Whitney, though shorter, and this seemed to put the two girls on even turf.

Both of them were looking at me like I was someone to be pitied .

I ignored them as best I could from where I sat, slumped over silently in my chair, horribly sleep-deprived and lost somewhere between hungover and drunk. I whiled away the unfortunate time in my own meandering thoughts, impatient for the day to be over so I could go home. My friends would be partying, and I hated missing out.

The summer had been awesome so far, everything I hoped it would be. Every night after work, Charlie and I came home and blew all our tips on booze and cocaine and cigarettes and weed and whatever else we wanted to do while we waited for Grey and Zack and Alex to join us after band practice. We’d party with them until the wee hours of the morning, so drunk and high that often we’d pass out wherever we were sitting.

Charlie and Grey and I all worked the evening shift full-time at the restaurant. Work was fun with all three of us, but even then, I’d count down the hours until we were free to go home and start the party again.

Those were just the weeknights. On the weekends, we went all out. Grey’s band had a show nearly every Saturday, so Charlie and I would go watch them at the club, wildly high on Ex or cocaine or drunk or stoned on whatever we had on hand, whatever would do the job. Those were the best nights, I so looked forward to Saturday, when I could watch my gorgeously hot, unbelievably talented boyfriend rock and sing and seduce me with his guitar. Afterward, we’d all meet up in the VIP room and do some more cocaine and drink more booze and party until the house lights went up and we all had to go home.

On Sundays, as promised, I’d drag my tired, bedraggled, hungover ass back to my parents’ house for dinner. Most of the time I was still wasted from the night before, sitting at the table as I came down, pushing the food around on my plate as substances leaked slowly from my system. I must’ve smelled terrible, and I certainly didn’t add much to the conversation—grunting for most of my answers and groaning for the others. I wondered if Mom regretted asking me to come over. I knew she didn’t like how I was behaving—her nose did the flare and I could tell she was disappointed in me. Dad ignored me mostly, and though Marcy and Blake acted shocked, I think it made them feel good to ‘tsk tsk’ behind my back.

I didn’t care what they thought, not in the least.

They couldn’t stop me. None of them could. I was having the best time of my life.

Even Mother Nature was smiling on us. Nearly every day was the same bright, hot sun in the clear blue sky. Charlie and I spent every possible moment we could in skimpy little bikinis, suntanning in the backyard and reading magazines and talking and laughing, stretched out on loungers and enjoying the heated quiet of lazy summer afternoons, the gentle whir of distant lawnmowers, the thick smell of fresh-cut grass.

Amidst the utter perfection, there was only one thing in the whole world that would’ve made my summer even better. Something I wanted desperately, but for some reason, didn’t happen.

Grey and I hadn’t had sex yet.

I tried not to let it bother me. We made out practically every chance we could, so he must have wanted me, at least a little. But every time things got really hot and heavy, every time I began to think there might be a chance, he’d pull away and stop us. I just didn’t understand it. I was living in a state of constant lust; I spent nearly as much money on fancy underwear as I did on blow. None of it worked.

I was too embarrassed by my total lack of experience to talk to him about it, so I fretted to myself instead, wondering what I should do, what I could do to make him want me more. I loved him desperately; I wanted to share everything I could with him, to experience it all with him, to know every part of him. The secret fear that began to gnaw at my mind whenever he stopped us was that he didn’t feel the same way.

“Mac! Mackenzie!” Marcy’s impatient voice jolted me from my wayward thoughts.

“Yes?” I returned to the present.

“Are you even awake?” Her dark eyes glared. “I was talking to you.”

I sat up and focused on my sister. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

She shook her head in exasperation. “I was asking what you think.”

“Oh.” I noticed for the first time that Marcy was standing on the stage before trifold mirrors, each reflecting back a picture of total elegance and beauty.

The wedding gown Marcy wore was gorgeous, encrusted with jewels and embroidery in a classic princess cut. The skirt was about four times wider than Marcy, the train about four times longer. The dressmaker kneeled behind her, pinning and pulling at the vast layers of gauzy white fabric, working valiantly on a French bustle.

Mom stood by, glaring, her lips pursed so tightly they matched the colour of her face. Another one of her signs, like the nose flare. She was not happy with me.

“Wow, Marce. You look great. Really.” I feigned an enthusiastic smile, nodding my approval. Mom shook her head at me, clearly not satisfied with my response, but when she turned back to Marcy, her face totally transformed. She smiled grandly at her eldest daughter, her face radiating pride as she oohed and aahed over the fit and the cut and the fabric. Marcy practically glowed with happiness at my mother’s abundant compliments, her beautiful face beaming as she looked at herself in the mirror .

Her dark eyes met my mother’s and they shared a happy, teary smile.

Suddenly, I felt the need to excuse myself again.

When Marcy’s alterations were finally finished, it was our turn. I stared at the dress hanging in the change room like it was my mortal enemy. It was pink—light, fluffy, cotton candy pink. Pretty much exactly what Mom wanted me to wear for grad.

Cut in the same style as Marcy’s wedding dress, it had a tight-fitting bodice and a knee-length, puffy skirt. If the skirt had been a bit shorter, it would have looked exactly like a ballerina tutu.

I couldn’t help but shudder as I stepped into the layers of crinoline. I zipped up as best I could on my own and then stood before the trifold mirror, surrendering myself to the mercy of the dressmaker and her fabric tomato full of pins.

She frowned at me, her face wrinkling. “You’ve lost weight since last time.” She decided, pinching the fabric around my waist. I couldn’t decide if she meant it as a compliment or not. “This’ll have to be taken in.”

“Typical first year,” Whitney laughed, stepping out of the change room behind me in her tutu. “Can’t afford to eat.”

Whitney was just jealous. She hadn’t seen this side of a size four in years.

“I’m actually not going to school this year,” I informed her.

“Are you kidding? That would cut into her constant drinking and partying, wouldn’t it?” Marcy raised an eyebrow at me, her arms crossed. “It’s so cool to get wasted all the time, Whit. Didn’t you know that?”

I looked at my sister in the mirror. She was obviously pissed at me—her dark eyes were flashing and she wore the same look my mother had all day, her face frowning with impatience and irritation.

I shrugged at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right, sure.” Marcy leaned back in her chair, glaring at me. It was silent for a moment, awkwardly so. Whitney and Marie looked at each other uncomfortably, like they didn’t quite know what to do. I could practically feel their heated stares boring into me, but I ignored them, staring at myself in the mirror like I was completely oblivious.

My dress didn’t fit right anymore. I’d lost a size or two over the last few months. The dressmaker pinned the fabric tight to my skin, and I was amazed by how much extra material there was. I hadn’t realized I was losing weight. Really, though, my diet was nothing but a hearty serving of drugs and alcohol, so I guess it made sense. I liked my new size, though. Now, I had really lost whatever might have been left of my baby fat .

I looked up at my face. My cheekbones were more pronounced too—attractively so, my cheeks sunk in slightly from the lost weight.

It was like I was seeing myself for the first time, through someone else’s eyes or something. I saw long slim legs, a firm butt and tiny waist, flat abs, a long sleek torso, high perky breasts, and nicely toned arms. I gazed at myself with wonder. Maybe it was just the cocaine, but I felt beautiful. I looked beautiful. A surge of newfound confidence suddenly boosted my thoughts. I was beautiful. There was no way Grey couldn’t want me. All I needed was a little self-confidence.

Now, even more so, I couldn’t wait to get home.

“How long do you think this will take?” I blurted foolishly, completely forgetting the plentiful resentment filling the room, emanating towards me from four pairs of narrowed, watchful eyes.

Marcy stood from her chair. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mackenzie,” she spat, “am I cutting into your precious time? How thoughtless of me. I thought maybe you could take a few minutes from yourself and focus on my wedding.” She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Apparently that’s impossible. Don’t worry, though, we’ll have you home in plenty of time so you can go and drink yourself stupid!”

She yelled the last part at me—which was very un-Marcy-like—and then stormed off down the hallway. I watched her go in the mirror, watched Whitney and Marie glare at me, huffing as they hurried after her.

I turned and stared after them, wide-eyed with surprise.

“What the hell is their problem?” I wondered. I couldn’t think of anything I’d done to deserve all this anger. I hadn’t made us late for the appointment even though I’d only gotten like, three hours of sleep. And yes, maybe I was a little tired—and yes, maybe a little hungover—but really, weren’t they totally overreacting?

“ You are their problem.” Mom declared, her expression scorching with disappointment. “Dammit, Mackenzie, you can’t even sober up to be here for your sister. It’s her wedding, for God’s sake!”

“I’m right here, Mom.” My voice rose defensively as I turned to glare back at her. The dressmaker gave up all pretence of work and just sat back on her heels, listening to us, enjoying the drama as it ensued. I gave her a look.

“I know you’re here, but you’re not here .” Mom scoffed. “I bet you’re still drunk from last night.”

“No, I’m not. Mom, come on. You were young once; I’m sure you did a little partying. Why is everyone making such a big deal out of this? ”

“Partying on the weekends is one thing, but today is a Wednesday, and you knew we had this appointment.” Mom sighed, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead with her hand. “Mackenzie.” She shook her head. “Maybe you should go…sit in the car.”

I blinked at her a moment, incredulous. “Why the hell should I do that?”

“Because.” Mom was exasperated, her brown curls bouncing as she spoke. “You are doing your damndest to ruin this day for your sister.”

“No, I’m not—”

“Mackenzie! Just go!” She demanded. “I don’t want you near me right now.”

Her words shocked me. I stared at her defiantly, but there was no apology in sight. “Fine.” I turned back to the mirror, my fists clenching angrily. I glowered down at the dressmaker. “Can you get this off of me now?”

“Off?” She looked up in confusion.

“Yes, off, off!” I pulled at the dress in frustration, pins popping off everywhere. She put up her hands to help me but I pushed them away, stalking past her off the stage and back into the dressing room, slamming the door shut behind me. I sat down on the little bench inside and leaned my head back against the wall.

My veins were thrumming, my blood pounding with coke-rage.

“I’m sorry.” I could hear Mom apologizing to the dressmaker. “I’m so embarrassed.”

I rested my head in my hands and took a deep breath in, trying to calm myself. She was embarrassed? They were the ones that totally ganged up on me, like I was a total loser or something. I felt like crying; I just couldn’t understand why everyone was being so mean. I hadn’t done anything wrong. So I partied a little bit, so what? I wasn’t hurting anybody. What was the matter with a little harmless fun?

It was none of their business anyway, I decided. They could screw themselves.

I stood up then and took the pink tutu off, careful not to jab myself with the remaining pins. Once I’d dressed and put myself back together, I stepped out of the change room to face my mother again. Calmer, more in control of myself.

Marcy still hadn’t returned.

“Here.” I handed the dressmaker my gown. “I’m sorry.” I hoped I hadn’t wrecked anything with my little fit.

She nodded and took the fabric from me. “It’s okay. I’ll make do.”

Mom dropped her keys into my outstretched hands, and I turned to leave without a word. If I had my way, I’d never talk to her again.

Grabbing my purse on the way out, I went to spend the rest of the day in exile.