Chapter 10 #2
“Serena and Lauren and…” She held her phone above her face, clicking through her messages with ridiculous speed. A little beaded charm was dangling down from her phone case, swinging gently. “…Zoey. The others aren’t coming.”
Truthfully, I didn’t know Mila’s friends all that well. They were nice the few times I’d hung out with them, but I wasn’t really part of their whole friend group.
“Can you elaborate on the slut plans?”
“Find a man who looks like Eric.”
Another laugh burst through my lips and I rolled over onto my side to look at Mila, grinning against the soft faux-fur pillow.
“Mila,” I started. “There are not going to be men who look like Eric at the bar we’re going to. You need to go to, like, a fucking distillery.”
She moaned, fluttering her eyes dramatically. “He’s so middle aged. Take me to the bowling alley, Eric. Show me off to your other divorced buddies and then fuck me in your zero-traction shoes.”
“I really don’t think he bowls,” I said between giggles.
“Don’t care. It fits in my mind-image of him. My fantasy.”
My phone buzzed in my purse and I fished it out. All the color drained from my face when I saw the contact name.
“Block him, angel,” Mila said quietly, instantly catching on.
I deleted the text without reading it, but I still couldn’t block him for whatever reason. I knew I needed to. He only messaged me a couple times a year at this point, none of it ever what I needed to hear from him. And it would probably help with closing that chapter of my life for good, but…
I powered my phone fully off and stuffed it back in my bag, my palm sliding across the comforter to link my pinkie finger with Mila’s.
“Some day,” I assured her. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Mila hopped up and offered her hand out to me, sympathy in her brown irises. “Pregame?”
“Sure.” I nodded as I used her help off the plush bed.
Ivan poured us shots of some Russian vodka and we inspected his handiwork with the pelmeni, Mila being especially critical of his crescent dumplings when she thought they were unevenly filled.
I thought they were filled quite nicely, however, and the feeling only intensified when the alcohol hit my bloodstream.
Everything felt better with a bit of Russian Standard in my stomach.
Mila’s friends arrived together a few minutes later, all dressed in some variation of the same going-out outfit.
Like always, I got quieter once I was around other people, all my attempts at joining the conversation feeling awkward or forced.
I wished I’d taken another shot. Nobody really seemed to notice, but I felt worlds away from them.
Like there was suddenly a pane of glass separating me from everyone else, and I was looking in through this window that was only visible to me. I messed with the locket around my neck, clicking it open and shut, wishing I was different, wishing I didn’t carry the secrets I did.
Eventually, we all piled in Ivan’s old Chevy Tahoe. He complained about the scent of everyone’s perfume filling up his car and Mila smacked his shoulder. Early 2000s music blasted from his stereo system all the way downtown to the new bar Mila wanted to try.
He pulled to a stop on the curb, throwing his hazards on.
“Spasibo, Vanyaaaa,” Mila said while hopping out of the passenger seat. “You’re the best!”
“Ne za shto. Call me later.”
“How fucking fancy was that plate?” Zoey asked Mila incredulously as she shut the door to Ivan’s car. “I’m very shocked that we get a personal driver both ways.”
“It was a sentimental plate,” she explained, tugging her dress down to cover her ass again while we crossed the sidewalk.
“Well, kinda sentimental. I may have played it up a bit to get favors. It was from a trip to Russia, so I feel like it’s valid to convey some devastation about it being broken.
I just also happen to have seven others of the same plate in a box at my parents’ house. So…”
“So…You’re a manipulative little mastermind,” Zoey surmised.
“Precisely. I’m sick of paying for overpriced car services.”
Still talking and laughing about that plate, we all showed our IDs to the man at the door, then went inside.
Pink and blue lights flickered over my bare skin, deep bass vibrating through the air and anchoring in my bones. The room had a pulse, something faded and low, full of possibility.
This was good for me.
I needed to do normal things.
Not jump into the ocean after a stranger then let him eat me out in the back of his car while suffocating me with his palm.
Excitement tingled through my bloodstream while Mila led me and her med school friends towards the bar, backlit by lime-green lights and stretching half the length of the room, the bartop glossy and shaped like a wave.
Bartenders wearing all black shook metal cups and leaned over the bartop, taking shouted orders right in their ears.
I watched a girl with a sleek ponytail, a rag tossed over her shoulder, her eye makeup dark.
She was shaking her head at some male customer as he gestured with his hands, clearly irritated. Classic male.
We approached the bar, getting a round of whatever was cheapest, downing our cups before ordering more.
━━━━━
I had no idea how long it’d been since Ivan dropped us off, or what I’d even been doing since arriving here, but I was having a great time. My cheeks hurt from smiling and my skin felt warm. I was dancing, and amazingly not thinking about anything at all. Nothing could touch me.
Until a pair of brown eyes caught mine from across the room.
Brown eyes, brown hair. Tall. Probably wanted to drown me.
Mason?
It was like a beacon was shining on him, the light luring me to him. Is this real? I shook my head and he disappeared for a second, but when I glanced back I swore I saw him again. A flash of his shoulders, the back of his head, something.
I blinked harder, feeling like I was hallucinating.
No. He wasn’t here.
I was making things up.
But my pulse was already off-rhythm, my fingers trembling. It was unsettling how quickly he’d thrown me off-balance. Not even him—the thought of him. That wasn’t good.
He was already digging himself deep into my psyche. That one meeting was a once in a lifetime type of connection. My life in his hands and my soul laid bare.
I turned back to Mila, but she’d disappeared somewhere. Weaving through the crowd, I tried to keep steady on my feet but I was stumbling over my platform Docs, constantly looking over my shoulder as I tried to find my friends again.
I’m way too drunk right now.
There is literally no way Mason is here.
It only took me a minute to find Mila and her friends again, going back to get more drinks. Serena linked arms with me, tugging me along with her, smiling widely and chattering about some guy she knew and liked—or some guy she’d just met? I wasn’t really sure. Shit, she was even drunker than me.
I tried to focus my vision, focus on putting my feet one in front of the other as we tripped through the mass of sweaty bodies.
The hair on the nape of my neck was damp and sticking to my skin, my head heavy with alcohol.
It took way longer than it should’ve to reach the bar, and I wasn’t sure if that was because of the density of the crowd or the way my brain was perceiving time.
But after a few minutes and another drink, I was feeling good again.
Laughter kept bubbling out of my chest, all my words slurring, my thoughts happy, and disconnected bubbles floating through my skull. The world was a mirage, a smearing of still images that pulsed with light and joy. I loved everyone.
Mila and I were kissing—wait. We were kissing?
I pulled away from her, gulping in air and wiping saliva off my mouth. Wasn’t the first time.
She was smiling ear-to-ear, hanging onto my shoulders, swaying drunkenly.
“I love you,” she slurred.
“I love you, too.”
“Fuck Anthony. Fuck him…to hell.”
The name was like a bucket of ice water over my head, a stone dropping heavy in my gut, a lump swelling in my throat. I loosened my arms from around Mila’s waist, instinctively trying to put space between us.
“Oh, shit,” Mila said, eyes widening as she held either side of my face, getting closer to me. I could smell the fruity liquor on her breath. “I’m so, so, so sorry, Dakota. Forget that…him. Please, I shouldn’t have said it. Please don’t be sad.”
I swallowed hard. The room was spinning. I tried to force myself to smile, but tears were stinging in my eyes. The alcohol, which had been making everything better, was now making everything worse.
God, what the fuck? It’d been so long since I’d seen him.
I felt nauseous.
Surely people got over things like this quicker than I was.
It wasn’t even that I couldn’t hear his name. I could. I had to hear it all the time.
Just not now.
Not when I wasn’t expecting it.
“Please don’t be sad,” Mila said again, tears glossing her own eyes now.
“I’m okay.” I tried to take a deep breath, but the air was too hot, and the lighting was too dark, and the music was too loud. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
“Can I come with you?”
She wasn’t grabbing me anymore, only linking her pinkie finger with mine. She knew I liked that, even while she was shitfaced. Fuck, thinking about Mila made me want to cry all over again. I loved her so damn much. She didn’t even know the rock she’d been for me.
“Yes, come with me.”
We made our way slowly to the bathroom, where only two people were in line—miraculously.
When it was our turn, Mila and I went into a stall together.
I could barely see it was so dark, but the darkness was nice, in a way.
I was safely locked in a stall, my spine pressed against something solid and cool, the music muted, and the only person in front of me was Mila.
I tipped my head back to rest on the wall, staring up at the ceiling while I tried to get a hold of myself.
“I’m sorry,” I breathed. The thrumming of the bass almost swallowed my words, but I knew Mila heard them. She heard me when no one else did. “Today was already weird.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really, no. I’m too drunk to try and have a real conversation right now.”
“So am I.” She giggled. “But I’ll always try for you. I can be anything you like, Kota. Even sober. Ty moya malen’kaya luna. Moy zayka.”
“I have no idea what you’re saying. And I don’t want you to be sober.” I looked down at her, bliss starting to pull in my veins again. We were almost the same height, but the platform boots gave me a couple inches. “I really, really want to fuck my professor, though.”
Mila screamed. Like, full volume.
“I fucking knewwwww it. I knew it. Do it for me.”
I couldn’t stop myself from laughing as I shook my head. “It’s never going to happen.”
“Maybe. Never say never. Never-ever say that. Never-ever-ever, babe. You don’t know.”
“He doesn’t like me. And I don’t want to be suspended, so.”
“Then be sneaky. Duh.”
I smacked my palm on my forehead. “Duh! Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Shut that cute little mouth,” she scolded, reaching for my lips while I frantically turned my head away. I had no idea what sort of men she’d been touching tonight. “Let’s go back out there. Yeah?”
“Yes.” I promptly unlocked the bathroom door and opened it right as Mila yanked her dress up and her thong down. “Mila!” I slammed it shut, sliding the lock back into place. “I didn’t know you were going to go pee!”
“You know now.” She was faintly bobbing her head to the music that muffled through the walls. “I’m almost done.”
“Okay. Well…Let me know.”
“Done.” She stood up and the toilet automatically flushed behind her as I re-opened the door. We both washed our hands, then headed into the madness once again. Bathroom gospel; I was born again.
Good.
Time to get even more fucked up.