Stevie
thirty-two
I DON’T KNOW why I came to this dumb party.
The last week has been hell. The rumors about me and Hunter died down only to be replaced by the gossip surrounding his fight, then they picked back up again.
I tried being a hermit as much as possible, still going to class but staying home the rest of the time. Tonight, I’ve finally hit my limit. So, when Becca said there was a big party at some frat house, I decided it would be a good distraction to go out.
Wrong.
Because as soon as I enter the party house, some guy beelines toward me with a drink in his hand. He wraps his arm around me and rubs up against me. “So, are you fucking Hunter Cruise for money or what, baby?” he slurs.
I shove him off me and some of his drink spills on my shirt. “Fuck off.”
Before he can respond, I hightail it as far away as possible, looking for the bathroom.
I pass by a group of frat bros drinking and laughing on the couch.
I accidentally make eye contact with one of them and a lascivious grin blooms on his ruddy face.
“Look who it is, boys,” he drawls. “The campus hooker. What’s your rate, baby? ”
His friends stare at me with slimy looks on their faces.
I straighten my posture and walk past them like their reaction to me didn’t feel like a hundred arrows sinking into my body.
“Slut!” one of them yells as I walk by, my skin crawling at the sound of their laughter.
I refuse to cry.
Inside the bathroom, I take a deep breath and wipe off the beer on my shirt with a damp paper towel. My top is black so the stain isn’t really noticeable.
My face is flushed from embarrassment when I look at myself in the mirror, but I’m not going to run away. A braver part of me wants to stay and face this shit head-on.
I fluff up my hair in the mirror and head back out. I can do this.
I spot Becca getting a beer from the keg and decide that I’m going to drink tonight. Alcohol, that is. Becca’s eyes widen when she sees me holding out a cup to be filled.
“You’re drinking?” she sputters.
“Yes.”
“Well, well, well.”
I shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Okay, Miss Lemonade.”
The beer tastes disgusting, but I gulp half of it down as fast as I can. I need to feel a buzz. Becca grabs my hand and drags me to the dance floor. I gulp down the rest of the beer and put the plastic cup away. We dance to a couple of hip-hop songs, but I’m not drunk enough to really let loose.
“I want tequila,” I tell Becca. “Or vodka.”
She looks at me like she’s never seen me before. “Who are you right now?” But she leads me toward the kitchen where there are bottles of different liquor on the counter.
“Shots, shots, shots!” she yells.
The guys standing in the kitchen are quick to oblige her. We click our plastic cups and take the shots. I immediately ask for another. There’s no time to second-guess what I’m doing. I know it’s a bad idea. But I really want to quiet my mind and pretend life is better than it really is.
Only 15 minutes later, I’m really feeling the effects of the alcohol. Becca and I are back on the dance floor, alternatively jumping around or grinding on each other. We’re surrounded by guys cheering us on and I feel carefree and a little reckless.
One of the guys near us grabs me by the waist and spins me around.
He starts dancing with me and I let him, wrapping my arms around his neck.
He holds me tight, his hands skimming my back.
I throw my head back and close my eyes. I don’t even care what he does to me.
My head is spinning but I like the way the alcohol is dulling everything.
So, this is why people get drunk, isn’t it?
I totally get it now, because I feel like nothing could possibly hurt me.
“You look hot,” the guy dancing with me says.
“Thanks.”
“Do you wanna go upstairs?”
“What’s upstairs?” I ask, blinking up at him. His face is kind of blurry.
“My room,” he says, grinning.
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Come on,” he insists. His hands roam down my back, and he grabs my ass. “It’ll be fun.”
“I need another beer.”
“Sure thing.” He disappears but is back a minute later with a plastic cup filled to the brim. I take it from him and down it as fast as I can. I look for Becca in the crowd but can’t find her. The music is pounding into my brain and I think maybe I do want to go upstairs.
“Where’s your room?” I ask my dance partner.
He smiles. “I’ll show you.”
I follow him up some stairs and into a room that’s a little messy but not too bad. There’s a lamp on in the corner, casting a dim glow over everything. His bed is unmade. He backs me up against the door and starts kissing my neck. It feels…okay.
I close my eyes and Hunter’s face appears in my mind.
I miss him so much.
I push the guy kissing me away and go sit on his bed. My head is spinning like crazy. “I need a second,” I say. He comes and sits down next to me. His arm comes around me. He tries to kiss me, but I move my head away at the last second, so he goes back to kissing my neck.
I wish it was Hunter kissing me instead.
“Stop,” I tell him.
He pushes me down onto the bed and lifts my shirt. Sloppy kisses pepper my stomach. I try to push him off me. “Please stop.”
But he just keeps kissing me and lifting my shirt higher, exposing my bra.
I cover myself, not wanting him to touch my breasts.
I feel so dizzy and weak. Every time I open my eyes, the world swims before them.
Ugh. Suddenly, there’s a heavy weight coming down on me and I feel like I’m suffocating. I struggle to get out from under.
“Come on, baby, don’t fight.”
“Get off.”
“It’s not a big deal. Just relax.”
“I want to go back downstairs.”
His tongue licks the side of my neck and I want to puke.
“Stop!” I yell as loudly as I can. A second later, the bedroom door swings open violently. A figure is silhouetted in the door frame, backlit by the hall light. I cover my eyes against the harsh light.
“Get the fuck off her,” the figure says. It’s Hunter’s voice. At least I think it is. My heart leaps in my chest.
“Hunter?” I reach out my hands toward him. The guy whose room I’m in scampers off me.
“I wasn’t doing anything, bro,” he says.
“You sure about that? Why was she screaming?”
“I swear I wasn’t doing anything.”
A crashing sound.
“Ow! What the fuck?”
Another crashing sound. “Next time a woman says stop, you better remember this, asshole.” A punching sound that doesn’t stop for a long time.
I try to get up but my head spins. I flop back down on the bed and cover my face. The next thing I’m aware of is the sound of the door closing. I still can’t open my eyes. Am I alone?
“Hunter?”
The bed dips. A hand pushes hair off my face. “I’m here.”
“Hunterrrrrrrr.”
“It’s me, princess.”
“I’m so drunk,” I whine.
“I know.”
“I’m so sorry.”
His thumb caresses my cheek. He doesn’t say anything. I must look such a mess, lying on some stranger’s bed, unable to open my eyes or get control of my body. If I wasn’t so drunk, I’d be mortified.
I lift my hand and put it on Hunter’s as it continues to caress my face.
“Will you forgive me?” I ask.
“For what?”
“For being so stupid.”
“Hmm.”
“I missed youuuuuuu.”
“Did you?”
“Yesssssss.”
“How much did you have to drink?”
“Two beers and three tequilas,” I groan.
“Jesus.”
“Are you mad at meeeee?”
“I need to get you home.”
I squirm and grip his hand tighter. “Don’t leave me.”
“I’m not leaving you. I’m taking you home.”
“I need you so much,” I whimper.
“Alright, let’s go.” His strong arms slide under me and lift me up from the bed. I press my face to his shoulder and breathe in his familiar, delicious scent.
“I’m never drinking again,” I tell him.
He chuckles and it lifts my mood. “I’ll hold you to that.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and hold him as close as I can. Safe. With him. Like always.