9. Noah
Noah
Ihead over to Amy playing beer pong. She can’t even hold her composure. She’s swaying in place, hair plastered to her cheeks, as she bites down on her tongue, squints her eyes as she lines up her shot. The ball misses completely, bouncing off the table. She laughs too hard at nothing.
“Alright, that’s enough,” I say, stepping in. “Tony said you had until eleven, and it’s almost midnight. He’s gonna kill me.”
She squints at me, face churning into grey under the porch light. “But Noahhh!” she whines, “I’m winning!” Her words slur into one long, bubbly mess. She definitely isn't winning as the other guys are eating her up.
“We need to head out.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be such a party pooper.” She raises her cup to drink again, but her hand trembles, beer spilling down her arm.
“You said you were coming here to hang for a bit, not get shitfaced.”
“I’m...” she hiccups, and the gurgling is there. Shit. I don’t have any trash bags in my truck, and she's gonna be hurling chunks all the way home.
“You’re two cups from throwing up,” I mutter, taking the drink from her hand before she can fight me for it. “Come on. We are leaving.”
Amy rolls her eyes and staggers backward. “You sound like my brother! He’s sooo annoying!”
“I’m not your brother!”
“All the more reason to stay. Plus maybe someone here actually wants me.”
“I’ll take that as my cue to haul your ass outside,” I reply, but there’s no humor in it. Her pupils are glassy, her lips colorless. “We are done. I’m cutting you off.”
“I’m fine,” she insists, but her voice cracks halfway through. She tries to stand tall, but she has two left feet, tripping over herself. When she finally starts to turn green, I put a steadying hand on her shoulder.
“Nope, we are leaving...”
She jerks away. “Why? You don’t want me! Why should I go with you?” Then, just as quickly, she storms off toward the crowd, disappearing between bodies.
I head back into the party and lose Amy in the masses. Great. I hate playing hide and seek with her. But then I spot Charlie with my beanie slipping in between bodies too.
Then shouting overpowers the booming music. It’s coming from down the hallway. Several voices scream indistinctly, and the sea of partygoers stop dancing and start leaning toward the hallway. Two broody guys storm past me, bulging with power that would take me years of gym time to achieve.
“Every fucking time, man!” one of them grumbles, throwing his hands down. “Why am I always dealing with this drama?”
“Move!” Another pushes people aside as they make their way through the swarm. People stand on their tippy-toes to glance at the commotion.
In the midst of everyone, I spot Charlie still wearing my beanie, shoulder checking people.
She’s yelling at people too, and she's bold enough to shove people in the chest. I snake through the crowd, following her long curly hair, to the hallway with carpet covered in dark stains.
When Charlie stops, her hands bundle into tight fists at her sides, staring into a bedroom showered in crimson light.
A third guy, who looks way too similar to Charlie, is being restrained by several other men.
“Let’s go get some air!” One guy grasps his face, slapping him across the cheeks. But he's huffing and puffing, his biceps straining against their hold as he hollers, spit flying out of his mouth. The veins in his forehead protrude, and he’s turning purple.
“That’s my girlfriend!” He’s kicking his legs into the air. “You fucking dick!”
“Ryder! Bro! Let’s go! Let’s go get some air! Let’s go outside.”
“You slept with my girlfriend!” he screams as they drag him through the crowd. The red lighting is dim through the bedroom, but I get a mere glimpse of a naked blonde with melons for breasts gathering her lingerie. A thick and muscular guy puts on his boxers, and wipes his bottom lip.
Charlie turns around, her fingers pressed against her eyes, with lips trembling. She fans herself with her hand, but her cheeks are getting redder by the second. When she meets my gaze, it hits me. That must be the boyfriend.