Chapter 1 #2
The lack of volume in his tone in no way restrained the forcefulness of his agitation.
I felt every sound wave that passed through his lips vibrate through me and adjust every cell in my body into their rightful places.
As if my body was readying itself to do whatever he asked as long as he said it in that tone of voice.
It almost sobered me up. Almost.
Trying to play off my reaction to the sound of his voice, I laughed a little too loud. My smile in response was hopefully dazzling. A little part of me wanted him to find me attractive.
Okay. A big part of me wanted him to find me attractive. However, the irksome social anxiety I suffered with was bound to reemerge as soon as the effects of the alcohol in my system wore off. For this reason, I needed him to pour me one more drink. Just one more.
“Could I just have one more?” I whined, my voice coming out cute and childish. His lack of reaction was discouraging, and I blinked prettily as if to woo him out of his apprehension. I raised my glass and giggled, shaking the cup expectantly. “I swear I’m not drunk.”
Honestly, I was a sip away from being completely shitfaced. And he could see that. Shot Guy shook his head like he was embarrassed for me. My smile faded and I lowered my glass.
With one last shake of the head, he departed from our awkward exchange.
I watched him walk away and hand the bottle to a different man, pointing at me and saying something I couldn’t quite hear.
The other guy looked at me and said something, after which, they shared a laugh.
I was quick to turn away. Blood rushed to my head as my face began to feel warm with the embarrassment of being laughed at.
Trying to immediately get my mind off of this, I turned my attention out to the intimidating crowd of unfamiliar faces.
Watching the well-dressed men and women dance up on each other, it was clear they were having a lot of fun.
My sister was nowhere in sight and I watched the people around me give in to the music, laugh with friends, be free.
A half hour of me leaned up against the kitchen walls allowed for the alcohol I’d consumed to truly take effect—a dizzying, yet euphoric, sense of calm settling within me.
Not wanting that feeling to go to waste, I decided to do something out of my comfort zone and look for someone to dance with in the living room nearby.
Looking around, I chose to tuck my purse into a kitchen cabinet.
As I scanned the room for any curious eyes, my vision settled on Shot Guy once again over the shoulder of some girl he was talking to.
He met my gaze curiously, probably wondering why I had my hands in his kitchen cabinets.
A single one of his eyebrows raised curiously upon seeing me.
The girl whose face I couldn’t see, waved an impatient hand over his eyes to call back his attention, and I quickly shut my purse behind the small wooden door.
Not sure if he was still watching, I buried myself into a sea of bodies soon after, nearly gagging at the thick heat that radiated off of the bodies of these strangers. It wasn’t long before my first offer for a dance came.
My eyes trailed up the outstretched hand in my face, up a muscular arm, and ultimately to a pair of dark eyes.
This new stranger had a friendly gaze, much less intense than the eyes I had been staring into just minutes before.
With a smile, I took his hand and it wasn’t before long that he was rubbing his crotch against my behind to the beat of the music.
A sober me would have immediately pushed him off, but everyone around me was dancing this way.
I shut my eyes and moved to the rhythm of the booming trap music, mouthing a few of the lyrics that I recognized.
A slower R&B song faded in and I let out a sigh as my dance partner snaked a hand around my waist.
“Victor.” He whispered his name up against my neck as he pressed his body into mine, swaying us both to the wave-like rhythm of the slower song.
I motioned for him to come down a bit lower. He must’ve stood at least seven inches above my own five foot six height.
“Lauren,” I replied back. Victor smiled down at me, eyes like melted chocolate in warmth and in color. He smelled like expensive cologne and I boldly breathed him in.
Victor danced with me for three more songs before he finally pulled away, looking at me up and down before he asked, “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Drink?” I asked, my voice squeaking a little. “Like alcohol?”
He smiled at my response, appearing to find it adorable. “Yeah… Like alcohol. You good?”
Inwardly, I told myself to be cooler. Looking up at him, I nodded.
“I could use a drink.”
I was beginning to feel like I’d come out of my intoxication and become my usual shy self any moment.
Any opportunity to get some liquor in me was a welcomed one.
Victor motioned for me to follow him further into the dimly lit kitchen.
After asking for a moment, he went into the living room nearby to get some drinks from the punch bowl.
Just to be sure, I looked for the cabinet I’d put my purse in to make sure no one had opened it.
It was left untouched, and I breathed out a sigh of relief, deciding to leave it there.
Out of curiosity, I started to check if Shot Guy was still anywhere in sight, but I was interrupted by Victor returning to me with two cups in hand.
“One for you,” he said, handing me a red Solo cup.
The cup was filled nearly to the brim with a yellow liquid and smelled strongly of pineapples. “And one for me,” Victor said, taking a huge gulp.
“What’s in this?” I asked curiously, waving the cup under my nose.
Victor pointed to the punch bowl on a table in the living room. People were huddled around it, laughing and interacting with one another as they poured scores of yellow liquid into waiting cups.
One of the first things they teach you about drinking responsibly in college is to not drink The Punch. The Punch could have any mixture of alcohol and you would never know because people go out of their way to make The Punch taste like fruit juice.
It’s best to drink things that come in bottles, things that have alcohol percentages.
That way you know what—and how much—you’re drinking.
One cup of The Punch could be the equivalent of four shots of hard liquor and you’d never know.
You might think you’re drinking responsibly by downing two cups of The Punch without realizing you’ve actually drank enough alcohol to sedate an elephant.
To myself, I asked, you’re trying to get fucked up, aren’t you?
Against my better judgement, I took a huge gulp and smiled up at Victor.
It tasted just as sweet as it smelled and seemed barely alcoholic, but then again, that was the point.
Not many people drink alcohol for the taste.
They do it for the effect. Precisely why The Punch is dangerous.
No one ever suspects that the sweetest drink at the party could actually be the strongest alcohol in the room.
The characteristic warmth of consuming alcohol settled in at around my third sip.
“Woo, there it is,” I laughed over the music, going in for a fourth swallow. Victor chuckled and nodded, drinking with me.
“It’s good, though,” he added.
I started to agree, bringing the cup to my lips before pausing.
My face felt numb first. The sounds of the loud party reduced to a faint and persistent buzzing in my ear as the feeling in my other body parts began to dull as well.
I looked up at Victor again, only to be frightened at the fact that he was already staring at me. Eyes hard and depthless.
“What’s in this?” I asked him again, but this time for a different reason. My voice came out slurred, confused, and afraid. Even though I hadn’t been given a reason to be scared, my intuition was getting ahead of the situation. Deep down, I knew that afraid was exactly the way I should feel.
I had several shots earlier that night and not one of those drinks made the room fuzzy. The drinks I had before didn’t make me feel burning hot, yet cold at the same time, and they didn’t dull the sounds of a booming party into mere buzzing.
This drink did.
Victor continued to stare at me which only made the situation more terrifying.
He looked at me as though he’d expected this reaction.
Like he wanted this to happen. I rubbed my eyes to clear my vision, and felt my legs wobble beneath me.
Taking a step back, I nearly stumbled backwards before I felt arms catch me mid-tumble and I raised my eyes to meet Victor’s stare.
“You put something in my drink.” I said it so that he could deny it, but Victor remained quiet, watching me as whatever he’d given me began to take effect.
Victor took the cup out of my hand and set it on the counter. His movements to an unknowing observer might’ve looked nurturing, like he was just taking care of the stupid girl who had too much to drink.
Slowly, we began to move and even though I didn’t want to go anywhere with him, I was powerless to stop it. The bottoms of my shoes, scraped against the floor as he practically dragged me out of the kitchen.
Paralyzed with both fear and by whatever Victor had slipped into my cup, I did my best to give looks to the people around me. I needed them to see that I was scared, that something bad was about to happen to me, that the boy holding me was not helping me. No one was paying close enough attention.
Soon, there were no people around to shoot distress signals to. My eyes began to slowly shut against my will, blackening my vision.
We were going down an empty hall. My vision went black. Victor stopped at a staircase. Black. Up the stairs we were going. Black. Victor opened the door to a bedroom. Black. I was in the bed. Black. His pants were unbuttoned. Black. He was sliding my panties down my legs.
“No… please,” I mumbled weakly. Black.