The Collide Series

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“So are you going to tell me why you decided to take me to this party with you?”

From the passenger’s seat of the car, I finally asked the question that had been eating at me all afternoon.

I’d spent the better half of my day anticipating Morgan’s change of heart, and when it never came, the true confusion started to settle in.

It didn’t make sense for my twin sister to invite me to go to a party with her.

Morgan was never short on friends to do anything with.

Even at a large school like the University of Miami, Morgan could still make herself stand out in a crowd.

She was That Girl.

So when she invited me to a party earlier that day, of course I was skeptical. Given a choice, Morgan wouldn’t even bring me along for coffee, much less what she was calling the biggest party of the school year.

“Lauren.” Morgan smiled, pulling the car over into park.

The engine was cut and we sat in silence for a few stretched seconds before the audible click of her seatbelt.

“You have to stop acting like everything I do comes with some ulterior motive. Maybe I just feel like you don’t get out much,” she said to me.

This was true. I didn’t get out much, and it was Spring Break.

Here I was, a freshman in college for about six months now and I’d never even been drunk before.

It didn’t make sense for my twin sister to ask me to go to a party with her, but rather than question it, I just went with the flow.

This would be my first college party, and even if my sister was behaving a little suspiciously, I wanted the experience.

Morgan stopped walking at the driveway and looked over at my outfit, her face twisting judgmentally. She didn’t say anything, but as her eyes moved up and down my body, I could tell she thought my flowy red dress that stopped mid-thigh wasn’t the business.

“Is that my church dress?” she asked. I rolled my eyes at her familiar shade. The dress was pretty, I thought. Not too revealing, but showed enough to give off a sexy allure. The sleeves went to my elbows, it hugged me at the waist, and flowed prettily at the skirt. It made me want to twirl.

And so I did. “I think I look great.”

“Of course you do.”

She dropped the subject, letting her heels click along the brick driveway as she walked toward the front door.

I could feel the vibrations of the loud music, shaking the floor from under my black wedges.

I took a moment to take in the extravagance of the property, careful not to wear my wonderment so plainly on my features.

The house was in a nice neighborhood, situated on a large plot of land, noticeably far from the next house over.

I could feel the chill of a sea breeze and smell the saltwater that must’ve been nearby.

Houses by the beach in South Florida are millions of dollars and I briefly wondered which one of Morgan’s friends was living so rich.

“Alright, Lauren,” my sister said, running her fingers through her straight, black hair. “Since I drove here, you drive back, alright? A couple of my girls are here already and we’re driving them back, too. Find something to do, but stay sober.”

Aha, there it is, I thought, as I caught the keys she threw my way. The metal dug into my fingers painfully and she shrugged, offering me one of her picture perfect smiles. It was just like Morgan to invite me to a party because she needed a designated driver.

“You really brought me all the way over to this party so that I could play driver for you and your drunk friends?” What kind of disrespectful ass… Honestly, though, I should have known better. Actually—I did know better. This was the explanation I’d been searching for all along.

Morgan met my stare, and only her face was identical to mine—same eyes, same nose, same lips, same dimples.

Everything else about us, however, was one-hundred percent different.

Morgan had waist-length, straight hair, and I kept my hair natural—full of big curls that stopped at my upper back.

My sister was wearing a dramatic make up look, a sharp contrast from my simple mascara.

She was dressed in a tight black jumpsuit, which I suppose did make my red dress look modest.

To see us was to see that we were barely identical, even though we were identical twins.

“You don’t even drink, Lauren,” she argued. “What’s the problem? You’re not old enough anyway.”

“We’re the same damn age!” I raised my voice. She shook her head, rolling her eyes at my behavior.

Morgan and I were both nineteen, but if she thought I was the only one of us who shouldn’t drink, I was ready to call her out on it.

Both of our parents were in the legal field and they were always trying to lecture us about the law.

I was not about to sit for a lecture from her. If she could drink, I could drink, too.

Instead of pushing the issue even further, she opened the door, allowing the loud music to flow out into the quiet neighborhood.

“Doesn’t matter, you have the keys,” she shrugged, letting herself in. I followed in after her and watched her quickly squeeze through a crowd of dancing college students, trying to put as much distance between the both of us as possible.

“Morgan!” I shouted after her, trying to get my voice over the booming music. It wasn’t a question of whether she’d heard me, but she didn’t turn around. Anger rose within me. “I don’t know how we’re getting home, because I’m about to get fucked up, too! Watch!”

My voice rang loudly above the music, calling everyone’s attention except for my sister’s as she ran into a group of girls and screamed with excitement upon seeing them. I shoved the keys in my purse and tried to not meet the eyes of the dozens of people who were staring at me.

Parties when you’re sober are so intimidating. It certainly didn’t help that I’d called the attention of every guest in the room my way. I felt the uneasiness of anxiety begin to settle in the pit of my stomach. I needed to hide, or to leave…or a drink.

Alcohol tasted so bad.

After my first shot, I simply didn’t understand the appeal.

The liquor still burned my throat after my second swallow.

After my third, the vague chemical flavor was almost undetectable as the effects settled in.

My skin felt warm and I got a little more comfortable, so I tried for a fourth, slamming my shot glass down on the kitchen counter.

People all around me in the kitchen were socializing and rubbing up on each other, drinks in hand. They were all strangers to me, and I was still not comfortable enough to talk to any of them.

I turned my attention back to the young man with the bottle behind the kitchen counter.

The music coming from the living room was loud enough to pour into the kitchen as well, so I was shouting when I asked him for my fourth shot.

In watching him talk with friends, pouring drinks, and telling people not to touch things, it was easy to determine he lived in this house.

Shot Guy examined my face a little before pouring me my fourth shot.

“My sister is such a bitch,” I said to him as I forced down another gulp. What little that was left of my sobriety questioned my decision to share this with him. Still, I kept talking. “She’s the selfishest person I know.”

He set the bottle down and gave me a look that I couldn’t quite read. Maybe it was something I said. Maybe it was the way I said it.

“Most selfish,” I quickly corrected myself, cleaning up my tipsy grammar. I peered up from my shot glass, only to be surprised that I still had his attention. He watched me like he expected me to fall off of my stool any moment. Like he was ready to catch me if I did.

At the last thought, my cheeks grew hot and I looked away briefly.

He was attractive, I observed, but in a kind of brooding way. Like he was above everything he deemed unnecessary, and like he deemed a lot of things unnecessary. It made him seem older, but as I looked over his athletic frame and handsome features, I decided he couldn’t be a day over twenty-one.

I raised my glass for a fifth shot.

Shot Guy looked me up and down, a judgmental glint in his light brown eyes, drawing the bottle in his hands further away from me ever so discretely.

He had the most gorgeous eyes, I found myself thinking.

They clashed with the dark brown complexion of his skin, making his gaze that much more striking.

Realizing I was staring, I shook myself out of my haze, opening my mouth to speak.

“No, you don’t understand.” I tried to defend myself upon realizing he didn’t want to pour me another.

I motioned for him to get closer, cupping a hand around my mouth as though I had a secret to share. He just looked at me. I beckoned him close even harder, assertively demanding he put his ear closer to my mouth so I could tell him everything. Finally, he leaned in.

I smiled, and whispered, “I’m not drunk.”

Shot Guy sighed like I wasted his time and he started to raise his head, prompting me to grab on to his shirt out of reflex.

“No, stop. I’m not finished,” I complained. He looked at my hand, which had the fabric of his shirt balled within a fist. “I swear I’m not drunk. Not yet. I need another drink. Fuck being sober. Fuck my sister Morgan.” I cleared my throat, and shouted louder, “Fuck Morgan!”

I didn’t know if he knew who my sister was, but in my tipsy state, I half expected him to laugh with me. Instead, he managed a grimace of – irritation? – reaching for my hand to pry away my fingers from his shirt. I raised my glass again, asking for another shot.

He finally spoke.

“Ain’t you think you’ve had enough?” Shot Guy asked, voice laced with an angry type of concern. His tone threw me off guard for a second, his voice low and rich. He didn’t bother shouting over the music, but I still heard him loud and clear.