Chapter Five #2
I wrench free and slap him, the crack sharp in the quiet night.
His head jerks to the side, his hand flying up to his cheek as I stare at him, my vision blurring with tears.
What the hell is he doing?
“Jesus, Lennox…” he starts, but I don’t stay to hear the rest.
I turn and bolt inside.
The music crashes back over me as I push through the doorway, but I don’t stop until I reach my corner again, dropping onto the red leather seat. I swipe at my cheeks with the sleeve of my black lace dress, trying to pull myself together.
No one notices.
Of course they don’t.
Everyone’s too busy being seen, laughing too loudly, playing their parts. The party carries on like nothing just happened, like I’m not sitting here trying not to fall apart on my own birthday.
My gaze drifts to the table beside me, where a celebrity couple is deep into their drinks, already tipsy and ordering more. The waiter sets down a fresh round, and the woman barely glances at it before turning back to her conversation.
My eyes linger on the glass.
Amber liquid, catching the light.
I’ve heard alcohol takes the edge off. Takes the weight out of moments like this, makes everything feel a little less sharp.
Maybe that’s exactly what I need right now.
Because all I want is for this feeling—this whole damn night—to stop pressing in on me.
I glance back at the people in front of me, and no one even seems to realize I’m here.
Casually, I look around the room so I don’t draw attention to myself, and when I’m sure no one is watching, I make the fastest decision of my life.
I grab the woman’s glass and bring it to my lips.
The smell alone is enough to make me hesitate.
I glance around for Dad, but he’s too busy talking to Johnny to notice me, so I pinch my nose and tip the whole lot back in one go.
At first, it’s just cold.
Then the taste hits, and it is absolutely foul.
I gag, sticking out my tongue as I slam the glass back onto the table, fanning my mouth furiously. A second later, the burn kicks in, hot and sharp, crawling down my throat and setting my whole mouth on fire.
My eyes widen.
Water.
I need water.
Fast.
I push to my feet, but the room tilts ever so slightly beneath me, my head going a little fuzzy.
Oddly enough, though, I don’t hate it.
I make my way to the bar, order a glass of water, and drink the whole thing in seconds. It helps, but only a little. My mouth still tingles, and even though that drink tasted disgusting, some reckless little part of me wants another, so I turn and scan the room.
There are tall tables everywhere, all with unattended drinks sitting on them while their owners laugh, talk, and pose like they’re in a magazine spread.
It would be stupidly easy, right?
So that’s exactly what I do.
I wander over behind the latest movie franchise heartthrob, who, frankly, is nowhere near as attractive as people seem to think, and linger there until he throws his head back laughing at something someone says.
In one quick movement, I steal his short glass, the one that looks like lemonade with a wedge of lime, and slip away as if I belong.
This time, I only take a sip.
It’s still strong, but not terrible.
In fact, it’s actually kind of nice.
I take another mouthful, then another, drinking faster now in case anyone notices. A light buzz starts to build, warm and fizzy, and I can’t tell whether it’s the alcohol or the thrill of sneaking around taking people’s drinks, but either way, my mood starts lifting.
I know this is wrong.
But I can’t bring myself to care.
At the bar, Caleb is still trying to charm the heiress, and when she sets her champagne down to touch his chest, I get an idea.
This one will take a bit more finesse, since Caleb might actually spot me.
So I circle behind her, pretending to study a menu while really watching her and Caleb.
She bursts into this loud, ridiculous laugh at something he says, and when he glances away like even he’s embarrassed by it, I slide my hand across the bar and lift her champagne without either of them noticing.
Then I duck behind a decorative partition and watch her turn back for her drink.
The confusion on her face is instant.
And I slap a hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh, but a giggle escapes anyway.
Her eyes go wide. Then she frowns and starts scanning the bar, then the floor, as if the glass might have magically vanished into thin air. She says something to Caleb, and he rolls his eyes before motioning for the bartender to bring her another.
That only makes me laugh harder.
I take a sip of the champagne, and this one is the best yet. Crisp, bubbly, and far easier to drink than the others. I finish it quickly and watch Caleb lead the heiress outside with her replacement glass.
A little pout tugs at my mouth.
Well, there goes that game.
The thought makes me laugh out loud, which turns into a hiccup, which somehow makes me laugh even more. I feel fantastic, light and floaty, like nothing in the world can touch me.
So maybe alcohol really does work.
I abandon the empty glass on the nearest table and head off in search of something else.
As I pass a small crowd, I bump into someone. “Oops, excuse me,” I say, though my words come out a little strange.
I shrug it off and keep going.
At another table, a rapper is too busy talking to notice when I swipe his beer and duck away behind yet another partition. I take a cautious sip and blink in surprise.
I actually like this one.
It’s cold and frothy and, somehow, better than the rest, so I drink it down faster than I should. A second later, a burp rumbles up from my chest and bursts out before I can stop it.
My hand flies to my mouth.
I glance around wildly, but no one has heard over the music.
Thank God.
I start laughing again, but before I can go hunting for another drink, my stomach gives an ugly twist. The room sways around me, and suddenly I’m far too hot. Heat floods through me, thick and stifling, while my stomach creeps up toward my throat.
Okay, maybe another drink can wait.
My first instinct is to find Aston, but the second his name pops into my head, I remember exactly why I started drinking in the first place.
No. Not Aston.
The heat crawling over my skin is unbearable now, and I tug at the neckline of my dress, trying to fan air against my chest, but it’s useless. Sweat beads along my forehead, and my legs start to feel strangely heavy.
I need to sit down.
Or get outside.
Or both.
I start moving, though it feels like I’m wading through mud. This is all happening really fast, isn’t it? I only started drinking, like, fifteen minutes ago. This can’t be normal.
The cool air outside will help.
It has to.