The Disaffected

CHAPTER IV

I turned and faced the house. It was two stories and constructed of deep red brick. With it's vaguely Georgian exterior and double staircase entrance, it could have maintained an air of dignity were it not for the crushed beer cans that glistened across the front lawn. Side stepping an abandoned pizza box, I pushed my way through the throngs of students and managed to squeeze my way into the house.

My only references for college parties came from movies. I always assumed there was some degree of hyperbole in those filmed scenes, some sort of exaggerated stereotype that the movie industry collectively and secretly agreed to follow, but I was shocked that if anything, the movies understated what a true fraternity party was like.

There were no visible windows in the once grand house, they were all covered up with cardboard, or frayed flags, or ragged towels. The music was deafening, and I felt the rhythmic bass reverberate deep in my stomach. However, it was the people that shocked me. Every single attendee was young, beautiful, drunk, sweaty; together this collective mass heaved and dipped with each beat of the music like one great ocean swell. Pushing against the tide of people, I managed to pull myself up onto the staircase that was comparatively less crowded. The treads of the wooden staircase sagged deeply in the middle, and the handrail was brightly polished by ever present hands gripping them each and every night.

I was thankful that I managed to have a little to drink earlier, even if it was with Max and Morgan, but was soon realizing that I needed more if I were to re-join the masses below. However, my path down the stairs was suddenly blocked by a couple. Hips, hands, tongues, there was no part of their bodies that was not touching the other's. They grinded into one another, pulling at each other's hair, gurgling animalistic, primal sounds into one another's mouths. I turned away from the pair, looking for refuge at the top of the staircase where my eyes all of a sudden met Seb's light green ones. He seemed to sense my uneasiness and expertly elbowed his way towards me until he outstretched his hand, the green and blue lights glinting off of his signet ring. With the couple now leaning on me, I grabbed his hand with no hesitation, clutching onto it like a life preserver. The second floor was noticeably less crowded. Still holding my hand, he led me through clouds of smoke and pockets of meaningless conversation until we found an empty space next to a large, arched window. When we stopped, he finally released my hand and put his in his pockets.

"I thought you would come with your friend," he leaned forward, inches from my ear, and talked closely to me so I could hear him over the music.

"I don't know her that well," I was mortified by his use of "friend", "she was a random roommate that just got assigned to me."

"She seems....enthusiastic."

"I think Morgan's here honestly," I instinctively looked over my shoulder as if she might suddenly appear by the mention of her name, "but she ran off and I didn't really want to look for her."

He nodded silently, seemingly understanding that I didn't want to push the subject any farther.

"Do you need something to drink?" he finally asked.

"Please."

"Same, follow me."

He grabbed my hand again and I followed him deeper into the house. The house had an odd layout, as if cobbled together by indecisive architects. We'd take a sharp left down the hallway, only to be greeted with an even sharper right turn. The front of the house that contained the party was traditional and imposing, but the further we got into the back of the house, the smaller and narrower the proportions became, as if the house were shrinking, or we were growing larger. We suddenly stopped, and I found ourselves outside of a small red door, the only door at the end of the winding hallway. Seb reached into his shirt and produced a brass key on a chain that hung around his neck. The key was skeletal and worn, and it fit perfectly in the red door's lock. He turned the key, pushed the door open, and guided me inside. We were in a beautiful wood paneled room. It was octagonal shaped and the steep oak clad ceiling pitched up like the inside of a witch's hat. On the crown molding that wrapped around the room, someone had painted very small, gold words. I took a step closer to the wall and softly sounded out the names.