Chapter 2 #2
I really wasn’t sure when the anxiety had started.
All I knew was that I’d spent most of my life questioning everything I said and did, whilst existing in a perpetual state of fight or flight since it had started.
It was like a fog had settled in and just never left.
Or like I’d stepped inside some sort of cage inside myself that was growing ever smaller.
No matter how hard I tried to bang on the bars or pull at the lock, I couldn’t get myself out.
But Esme and Isaac met my anxieties with love, each and every time.
I never burdened them with my emotions, and given that I felt things very inwardly, I think it was difficult for anyone to really get a read on me.
Hence, the lack of friends. But these two had this knack, this superpower of pulling me out of my own head and helping me forget my stupid doubts, even if just for a little bit.
I was pulled from my thoughts by the flash of a camera.
“Ooooo, that is going straight on my story and in my photo dump tomorrow. The caption: ‘Is anyone else’s best friend an indie movie protagonist?’” Esme giggled as she turned her phone toward me and showed me the photo.
I hated photos of myself, but I guess I looked okay.
The champagne dress I wore hugged me in all the right places and contrasted well with my waist-length curly hair that hung behind me.
My facial expression gave more Cat Stratford than mysterious girl, but that was the curse of resting-unimpressed-face.
Just as I was about to protest that photo going anywhere other than our group chat with Isaac, which they had graciously named Quincey Sterling’s Day Off after my favourite film of all time, Esme pulled me out of the kitchen and into the large living space that the Zeta Sigma Noctura house had turned into a dance floor.
The quiet kitchen with the odd straggler had lulled me into a misplaced sense of security because there were a lot of people at this party.
The lights had been dimmed, and people were laughing, dancing, doing shots, and sniffing god knows what off keys as they moved to the music.
I was graciously bopping my head in the corner when I Want You To Want Me by Cheap Trick blasted through the speakers.
Esme pulled me onto the dance floor before Isaac and a few additional guys from the lacrosse team came to join us.
Two were dressed as the Men In Black which was amusing given how terrible their dance moves were and the third was dressed in royal blue overalls and a green undershirt and hat.
No moustache though. But a very standard costume, all things considered.
“Hi, I’m Toddy.” Of course you are.
Tall, blonde, with a slightly too-square face that wasn’t unattractive but slightly peculiar to me, nonetheless, meaning every time this man had spoken to me previously, it was really all I could think about.
“What’s your name?”
I don’t know why I even bothered responding.
This was one of those painful, socially awkward moments I’d mulled over in my head before coming.
Not about Toddy specifically but just this very thing happening in general.
Because I’d met this man already. Twice.
And both times he had hit on me. The problem was that Toddy was always just a little too drunk to have any memory of it the next day, meaning I was stuck in this never-ending cycle of introducing myself to a man who never seemed to remember me.
“It’s Quincey.”
“Ooo, like the pie?” A niche reference. One that he had made every time we’d had this conversation. “Are you having a nice time? What’s your costume? I’m Luigi.”
“Where’s Mario?” I asked him, yelling over the music as he leaned down into me to hear what I was saying, before laughing a little enthusiastically.
“He’s upstairs with Harley Quinn. I believe she needed some help with her plumbing.”
No, Toddy, no. Ugh. Awful joke.
C+ for effort and being in the realm of pun-related, but overall, I had to say the joke was relatively subpar in the land of sexual innuendos that could have been made there.
I ducked out of the dance floor the moment some heavy bass music reverberated through the house.
All the lacrosse boys and several other guys from other sports teams descended upon the dance floor, giving me ample room to escape the painful conversation I was having.
I don’t think I’d ever considered charcuterie boards or platters of chips and dip to be self-soothing, but I found a lot of comfort, standing by the kitchen island and escaping the waves of people coming and going from the party.
Esme and Isaac had been summoned for sorority pictures but I was easily keeping myself entertained with the copious amounts of food in front of me.
I’d taken a special interest in the mini burgers on the serving plate closest to me.
When I say they were mini, I meant they were you-probably-need-a-microscope-to-see-them small but absolutely delicious.
One just needed to eat about thirty to feel fully sated.
I sipped on my new cocktail, The Pond Monster, something with gin and apple sours, as I watched a drunken girl stumble into the kitchen.
I know staring was rude. But when the “rules” about staring were invented, did we ever really take a moment to consider the why behind it?
Because the girl in front of me proceeded to grab handful after handful of maki and shovel them into her mouth like she was part of some eating contest only she was aware of.
She had long red hair and a chest that would have stopped any man dead in their tracks.
If it weren’t for her manners, I would have said she was drop-dead gorgeous.
She was wearing an intricately detailed shell bra paired with a long shimmering blue and green skirt that jutted out in an aquatic hemline.
Sushi platter cleared, but a California roll or two, crab or salmon maybe, still in her hand, she looked up at me and scowled. The look on her face was a cross between uninterest and mild disgust. “What the fuck are you looking at?”
Oh, good, conflict.
“Um, nothing.” I shrugged before holding my hands up.
“I’ve seen you at these parties a couple times.” She laughed to herself, a sound so jarring and clearly unkind. “You’re kind of fucking weird.”
She’s drunk, she’s drunk, she’s drunk. Still a bitch but she’s just drunk. I blinked at her, not really knowing how to respond. For a moment, we just stared at each other before her expression evolved into something more disdainful.
“Oh my god, can you stop fucking staring at me? It’s making me like seriously uncomfortable.”
“Well, your cannibalism makes me uncomfortable,” I bit out before I could stop myself. Her face was like a fucking Pokémon the way it continued to evolve, this time with an added air of confusion.
“What…”
“I said your cannibalism makes me uncomfortable.” And this was the perfect example of why I didn’t go out. Because I seemed to find myself in unenjoyable conversations with people who were not worth my time.
She sneered. “No, I heard what you fucking said. I just don’t know why you said it.”
“Because—” I thought about not finishing the sentence. I thought about just turning around and leaving, but the situation had already nosedived into something more uncomfortable.
Might as well go down with the plane because the situation couldn’t get any more painful. “Because you’re a mermaid. And you just about cleared this party out of sushi, bar the two pieces still clutched in your hand. Fish eating fish.”
And once again, we were staring at each other. And I was wrong; this is fucking painful. I wasn’t sure why I ever tried to come to things like this. I wasn’t good at being a person and trying just seemed to make it worse.
Harley Quinn strode into the kitchen a few beats later, flanked by none other than Mario himself. The mermaid whispered something to both of them before they all looked up at me and gave me a look you’d probably make if you stepped in shit.
I offered up a weary smile and a mock cheers with my glass.
I’m the dog shit, right? God, I would have thought with all the plumbing they’d been doing upstairs, the two of them would at least be in a more jovial mood.
Assessing Mario for a moment, I came to the conclusion that occupation didn’t necessarily make you good in bed.
Bitchy mermaid said something else I couldn’t quite make out before they all looked at me again and laughed. They grabbed a few drinks, the muttered ‘freak’ and ‘loser’ not going unheard as they walked out of the room.
“Zeta, cappa, go fuck yourselves!” I called out before slumping against the kitchen island.