Chapter 7 Eden
Eden
Icould murder Pia. Like murder, murder her. I only agreed to come to the party because she said we’d have a film night together. I naively thought she meant this evening once we got back to my place.
Crafty fucker.
The music is obnoxiously loud, and I already know the place is rammed with drunk teenagers. Ugh, I could be tucked up in bed watching Netflix, or in my garage painting. Anything is better than this nightmare.
One thing that’s making the situation slightly better is Sloane’s hand in mine. She’s tugging me forward towards the entrance. I feel like resisting just so she holds on a bit tighter and longer.
Flashing lights greet us upon entering. Bryce lives in the fucking Wayne mansion. God knows how many bedrooms it has. No wonder his parents allow everyone to crash here. The place has wings. Like East Wing kind of shit.
Bodies jump and slam into each other on the makeshift dance floor.
I hope to God Sloane doesn’t take me that way.
She glances over her shoulder and smiles, pulling me in the opposite direction.
I catch a glance of Keira, the evil soccer captain.
She’s eyeing Sloane like she’s a piece of meat. Her gaze then shifts to me and narrows.
Great.
Sloane doesn’t give me any more time to worry though, because she’s hauling me through a group of people draining beer cans through the bottom. Why? They have perfectly good ring pull openings.
Bryce’s kitchen is the size of my entire house.
The island is stocked with enough alcohol to qualify as a liquor store.
Pia, Todd, Bella, and Becca are surrounding a keg.
Todd does the honours and pours—what I guess will be expensive—beer into red cups.
It doesn’t seem Bryce does anything on the cheap.
Becca turns and hands one to Sloane. I reluctantly accept a cup from Pia, who is smiling at me, even though she knows how pissed off I am. Ugh, I can’t stay mad at her for long.
So far the party is exactly as I pictured it. How the hell am I going to cope all night?
“Let me show you around,” Sloane shouts. I let her pull me along again. I swear I can feel Keira’s eyes tracking me.
We see the living room, office, den, dining room, games room, and the gym. All very impressive, and all crawling with drunk people.
Back in the kitchen, Sloane grabs another drink while I hold firmly onto the one I’ve still got. I don’t like beer, but I’ll pretend to drink it if that’s what it takes to keep people off my back.
Pia and Todd are grinding together on the dance floor. Becca and Bella are nowhere to be seen, which makes me wonder if they’ve escaped for some alone time.
“Dance with me,” Sloane calls. She has to lean in pretty close so I can hear her.
My coordination isn’t the best, and I’d say my dancing style is akin to an awkward wiggle, but if Sloane wants to dance, I’ll do it.
Most of the people in this room won’t remember their own names in the morning, let alone any embarrassing moves I make on the dance floor.
Instead of staying on the periphery of the bobbing crowd, Sloane shoves me through the centre of it. I’m pretty sure I’ve just had several cups of beer spilt over me.
A body I pray is Sloane’s pushes into my back. I rotate 360° with my arms plastered to my sides until I’m facing Sloane. Thank God it is her pressing into me and not some drunk, horny dude.
She grabs my hips and urges them to move in time with her own. My focus is anywhere but on her face. Jesus, I must look ridiculous. The song isn’t one I know or would listen to, but it’s got a beat I can easily follow.
We’re a few minutes into the dance when I’m suddenly pulled backwards and out of Sloane’s grip. Stumbling, I hear Keira giggle. “Sorry, don’t know my own strength. Just wanted to steal Sloane for a dance or two. You don’t mind, right?”
Yes, I do, but I’m not gonna start any drama. Sloane can dance, or not dance, with whomever she likes.
Stepping in front of me, Kiera pulls Sloane in, who has a tight smile, but she hasn’t said no, so I presume she’s cool with it. Not wanting to stay in the mess of sweating teenagers any longer, I force myself through the throng and back to the kitchen.
Spying the refrigerator, I open it and hope there is something non-alcoholic to drink. Bingo! Bottled water. That will do nicely. Now I just need to find somewhere less noisy and I might be able to relax for a few minutes.
Bryce and his friends are playing Beer Pong. Pia is dry-fucking Todd up against a wall, and Sloane is still dancing with Kiera. Her hands are now around the soccer captain’s neck. Huh.
Pushing down my very real jealousy and disappointment, I wander around until I find the exit to the garden.
Calling Bryce’s backyard…a yard, doesn’t do it justice.
There’s a huge pool filled with wet, pissed teenagers.
A pool house that is the size of a regular house.
I think I can spot tennis courts in the distance too.
I’m sure there is plenty more to find in the daylight.
With very little desire to stick around any more people, I head further away from the main house.
Finally the sound dulls and I can hear myself think again.
A low hedge comes out of nowhere and stretches as far as I can see in the dark.
There’s a sign that reads ‘Bryce’s Secret Garden’ which is cute.
Turns out the hedge is a little maze. The height doesn’t come past my waist, so there’s no chance I can get lost, but it would be great to just wander for a bit.
Strategically placed lanterns light the different pathways.
A bench beckons me, but after ten minutes of trying to find the right path, I give up and simply hop over the hedges.
Sitting down, I take a long, deep breath.
It’s cleansing, and for the first time this evening I don’t feel panicked.
As with anywhere I go my eyes scan the surroundings, looking for inspiration.
I can find it anywhere, usually. My art is eclectic, and I don’t really have a preferred subject.
You’d think, considering I want to live by the ocean, I’d favour seascapes, but I don’t.
I love abstract, portraiture, nature. You name it, I’ve painted it.
Another thing I have in common with my grandma.
I tried glassblowing once, but it was too hot. The thought of spending all day sweating never appealed. My sculpting isn’t too bad, but I don’t get the same pleasure out of it like I do painting.
This little maze is definitely sparking my creativity. I can see the painting in my mind’s eye. I think it would be a good winterscape. Fishing my phone out, I take a few photos for reference.
The stars are visible through the slight glare of the house lights. I scoot down until I’m resting my head on the back of the bench. I stretch my legs out, crossing them at the ankle, and simply take in the night.
It bugs me that I’m seen as boring. Why can’t I appreciate the stars instead of getting wasted? If you ask me, I’m not the one who has it wrong.
Righteous in my indignation, I miss Sloane’s arrival. She plonks down next to me, and of course I yelp in surprise.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“Well, you found me.”
She looks a little sweaty, and her eyes are glazed. “I thought you’d run off.”
I chuckle. “Where would I run too? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“You could’ve decided to hitchhike home. I don’t know.”
Rolling my eyes, I go back to staring at the sky. This is probably where Sloane realises how different we are. She’s happy to get buzzed at a rager, and I’m happy as far away from it as possible, sitting in silence.
“Keira asked me out,” she suddenly blurts.
For a moment, my heart sinks. Silly really. Sloane and I have a casual friendship at best.
“That can’t come as a surprise, she’s liked you for ages,” I reply.
“Do you think she’s good looking?”
I turn my face to the side and study Sloane. What could she possibly gain from knowing that? “I mean she’s objectively good looking, but not my type.”
“Who is your type?”
Sloane inches closer. This feels like a trap. I can’t tell her she’s my type without it looking like I’m coming on to her. Which I wouldn’t mind doing if I was sure she was interested in me that way.
“Um…I’m not sure.” Lamest answer ever.
“Then how do you know Keira isn’t your type?”
“Because she’s mean,” I scoff. Oops. “I mean, she’s…”
“You’re right, she is a bit mean, isn’t she?” Sloane huffs out gently.
She looks deep in thought, and I can’t help but smile at the little crease which forms between her eyebrows when she’s thinking hard. The booze won’t be helping her thought process.
“She kissed me too.”
Flexing my jaw, I offer a small nod. What can I say to that?
“I don’t think I want to kiss her again.”
Okay, Sloane likes to just blurt out every thought and feeling she’s having when she’s had a drink.
“You don’t have to kiss her again if you don’t want,” I say gently.
“You hate it here, don’t you?” she says, changing tack without a single segue. Her head rolls lazily to the side. I can tell she’s tired by the way her eyes droop.
Smiling, I shrug casually. “Just not my thing.”
After a few moments of silence, she sighs. “I can show you to the room I usually stay in. It’s right on the other side of the house. Nice and quiet. Big TV. Warmer than out here.”
Frankly, that sounds like heaven. If I can snag some party food on the way, that would make my day. My stomach rumbles in agreement.
Sloane chuckles. “Come on, let’s get you some food and a place to crash.”
We make it back to the house and through the crowd. Sloane does an impressive job of piling junk food into her arms. I copy and follow her up an enormous spiral staircase.
She leads me along a corridor and turns right. This is the longest walk ever, and I do not envy anyone who has to do this on the regular. I’ll take my room two metres from the stairs any day of the week.
The door Sloane pushes through leads to a bedroom with the biggest bed I have ever seen. Everything is white and dark wood. There are double doors that I guess lead on to some type of balcony. No wonder Sloane had dibs on this room. I would too if I partied here on the regular.
“Nobody will come in. Bryce has strict rules. Unless you’re invited in by the person assigned to the room, it’s no entry.”
“Right, okay.”
She stumbles over to the bed. “Is this okay? Will you be comfortable?”
Snorting, I tap my chin. “I suppose it will do in a pinch.”
A cute eye roll, and then we go quiet. I don’t want Sloane to feel obligated to stay with me. She came to party and celebrate the first cheer and football game of the season. “You should get back down there. Becca will be looking for you.”
“Oh, okay. Yeah. I’ll head back out.”
Did I just fuck something up?
She bites her lip for a second before stepping past me.
When the door clicks shut, I close my eyes and berate myself internally.
I should have asked her to stay with me.
But then again, she’s had a few drinks, and on the off chance Sloane ever does want to be more than friends, I don’t want anything to happen when she’s not fully sober.
Shaking out my limbs, I toe off my boots and remove my beer-stained hoodie. The TV remote is on the closest bedside table, so I make that side of the bed my temporary home for the night.
Sloane was right. This side of the house isn’t loud. Scrolling through the streaming apps, I land on Wynonna Earp. Fucking love that show. It’s been a while since I binged it.
Flipping the lights off, I drag over my mountain of food and hunker down. Now this is my kind of party. My mind wanders to Sloane, and I hope she’s having fun. Preferably not with Keira, but that’s not in my control so I have to let it go.
I send a text to Mum letting her know where I am. I even send a picture to show I’m not half-cut on nasty beer. She replies with a heart.
Several episodes later, Nicole and Waverly are getting it on—yes, I skipped a few episodes so I could see them getting naughty. It’s just about to get to the good bit when the door crashes open and Becca stumbles in with a very drunk Sloane. I don’t even think she’s conscious.
“Eden,” Becca shouts far too loudly. She’s not much better off than Sloane.
Launching myself off the bed, I catch Sloane before Becca drops her. She slumps in my arms.
“Becca, is this just alcohol?” I have to be sure she’s not on anything else. I did first aid over the summer, so I’m confident I can deal with her like this, but if she’s on anything stronger I’ll call an ambulance.
“Tequila! Lots and lots of tequila.” Becca laughs. She stumbles backwards, does a weird salute, and leaves the room.
Sloane mumbles something unintelligible. Bending my knees, I hook my arm under her legs and, by some miracle, lift her up. It’s a miracle because, as I’ve said before, I have no muscles to speak of. Sloane is trim, but she’s toned and not light to handle.
Staggering over to the bed, I set her down as gently as possible. My sparrow arms are trembling at the effort.
Scratching my head, I weigh up my next move. To put it bluntly, Sloane stinks. I bet she has half a keg on her and God knows what else. There are at least three stains on her top alone. She can’t sleep like that, but the alternative feels super creepy.
Making a decision I hope Sloane won’t be pissed about in the morning, I carefully peel off her spoiled top.
Doing my best to be decent, I keep my eyes focused on her clothes and nothing else.
Her jeans come off next. They are even more gross than her top.
Folding the offending items up, I place them on the chair in the corner.
Whipping off my band t-shirt, I wrangle Sloane into it and pull the duvet over her. She snuggles into the pillow and turns to her side.
It’s doubtful she’ll wake, but if she does I want her to have water close by. Thankfully, the massive bedroom comes with an equally massive attached bathroom. Grabbing the glass meant for swilling out your mouth, I rinse it before topping it with fresh water.
Wide awake, I climb into the bed, leaving a nice amount of space between us. I’ll watch a few more episodes before trying to sleep. That way I can keep an eye on Sloane too.