. . . a house party #3
She purrs the word ‘friends’ in a tone that’s clearly more than friendly, giving me no choice but to back this one and keep the mood going. I down this second one quicker, swallowing the fear and all of my body’s pleas to reject it.
‘One more?’ she asks me.
The crowd has now moved on, backs turned as they leave the two of us to our own devices. I fear for what will happen to me if I do one more shot, but the way she looks at me convinces me I can. I nod.
She pours two more, passing one over. We down them silently, our eyes never leaving each other. I feel my head grow hot, heat creeping through my entire body and getting stronger at each spot her wandering eyes touch.
‘Do you smoke?’
I shake my head.
‘Mind if I do? We can go to the balcony.’
Fresh air. That’s what I need. That’s a sure-fire way to put a stop to the waves in my stomach. She grabs my hand, leading the way through the crowd, out the back door and onto the balcony.
It’s calmed down out here now, the flowing crowd of earlier having retreated inside as the temperature dropped.
Now it’s just the two of us, made more evident as she closes the door, muting the party behind us.
It’s beautiful out here, still and serene, the night air filling my lungs and bringing a welcome chill.
Her lighter clicks, the soft fire latching onto the paper and starting to crawl its way slowly up her cigarette.
She looks out at the stars as she takes her first drag.
They’re so apparent, so bright. You don’t get that in London.
I stare, transfixed, as she creeps closer towards me.
‘You want some?’ she asks, holding her cigarette my way.
I nod, taking it cautiously in my hands.
I’ve never smoked before – never cared to and frankly don’t care to now – but I also don’t want to ruin the moment.
I focus carefully, trying to coolly mimic the same action she did a mere few seconds ago.
The smoke shoots down my throat. I attempt to bite back a cough, but it bites me first before I get the chance.
I choke and splutter, accidentally dropping the cigarette to the floor. She rushes over.
‘I’m so sorry!’ I manage to say between coughs.
‘Don’t be, I should smoke less anyway.’ She waves the cigarette away with a carefree gesture. ‘Are you okay?’
She grips my arm with one hand and uses the other to scoop my chin up, so I face her. The sight of her face so close to mine quells my cough instantly as my stomach somersaults. I purse my lips. It’s all the permission she needs to lean in, her lips sliding over and parting my own.
She starts soft, lips glossy and primed for exploration.
The more they learn, the more forceful they get.
Pretty soon we’re gripping onto each other tightly, tongues battling for dominance.
Her hands slide from my arms, down to my waist and then up under my blazer and along the seams of my top.
I feel them lightly hover near my breasts, questioning whether to go for it.
I lean further into her, my own hands sliding down her back. She gets the message.
She briefly traps my lip between her teeth, whimpering playfully as I reluctantly pull it back.
I feel giddy – sick and dizzy from the wine, the shots, the kiss, and the reassurance that I read this whole thing right.
So giddy, in fact, that my stomach starts to rage, thrashing more aggressively the longer our lips lock.
She pushes me against the railing, hand sliding through my curls and gripping the back of my head as her tongue slides into my mouth.
I can taste the cigarette on her tongue and the remnants of those terrible shots, the reminder triggering something in my own body.
All too quickly, that trigger sets off alarm bells.
The somersaults in my stomach no longer fun, but rather incredibly worrying.
This can’t be happening.
I push her back. She looks confused, but there’s no time to explain.
There’s also no time to run or even twist to face off the balcony.
I start to vomit. Not in dribbles or projectile, but somewhere in between – a large pink mass dumped all over her open-toed shoes.
She looks on in horror. Or at least, I assume she does.
There’s absolutely no way I can look her in the eye.
‘I’m so sorry!’ I yell out an apology as I wipe off my mouth and run inside without looking back.
I do a desperate scan for Noah and find him leaning against a wall talking to an unnecessarily giggly girl.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks, eyes awash with concern.
‘No time. We’ve got to go.’ I grab his hand.
He asks no questions, just turns and issues the girl a polite goodbye before whisking me away and down out of the party. As we reach the street and head towards a good taxi spot, I finally start to breathe again.
‘What happened?’ he asks sternly. ‘Did she do something? Are you okay?’
He looks over my face carefully.
‘She did nothing wrong and it was definitely a date.’ I sigh. ‘Though there absolutely won’t be a second one.’