cast l.h

week eight

My biology lab ran late this Wednesday and I didn't like being on campus this late at night; everything looks so different. The narrow pathways lined with freshly dead leaves felt ominous. Neon lights that scatter the commons appear creepy, like lights you see in mortuaries.

Walking alone is not unusual for me, but walking alone at 8 pm on a fairly empty campus is enough to give me the chills. My stomach grumbles as I pass the few restaurants still open and I decide to go in and eat, texting Shyla to refrigerate leftovers.

Maybe I was eating here to avoid a particular person, but who could know.

I enter the slow paced diner, where the waitresses noses are nuzzled in their classes textbooks. I seat myself at a bar stool and shuffle through the plastic lined menu. My common sweet tooth insists I order pancakes and bacon.

Halfway through my meal I get a text from Shyla ¨Leftovers are in the fridge. Luke and I are staying up a couple hours to finish painting the basement.¨

I grumble under my breath at his name on my phone screen. He has truly kept his anger at me composed so that no one would recognize it but me. Shyla is clueless to the situation. I've knowingly expected that I've made yet another friend hate me.

Surprise surprise.

¨Izzy?¨ a male voice appears from behind me. I turn on my stool and am greeted by a smiley Kyle. It's refreshing to see a friendly face.

¨Hey,¨ I say pleasantly. In the background dishes clink and early 2000 pop music hums.

He sits next to me sipping on a already poured mug of coffee. ¨What are you doing here alone,¨ he questions. I shrug and nudge my sticky plate away from me.

He laughs cautiously, ¨I promise I'm not some creep stalker or anything, I just saw you and thought I'd say hi.¨

I laugh, ¨I don't think you're a creep.¨

¨Oh good! So I was gonna meet some friends at a bar nearby, wanna come?¨ He stands up and adjust his fluffy hair beneath a beanie and shifts his hoodie. I've decided he is cute.

Let's weigh my options, do I go home and face the wrath of Darth Vader or go out and sip sparkling water and make a new friend?

I go with the latter. ¨Sure!" I reply, now putting on my own warming outerwear.

We leave the diner and walk a few blocks to a run down looking bar, old ripped cover band posters line the walls and the insides smell of thick booze and saliva. Thankfully though, this isn't a surprise, I've been to places like this.

You can bet your piggy bank on it that if a place serves alcohol to minors, they won't have clean bathrooms.

Kyle greets some muscled guys and forgets to introduce me. It kind of feels like he forgot that I was there all together. For 30 minutes I feel like a lost puppy, just following him around while sleazy wasted girls grope him and drunken guys exchange sloppy handshakes.

Having enough of being disregarded, I find myself at the sticky bar. ¨Shot?¨ A girl with a large beer stain on her shirt offers me.

Without thinking of the consequences, I down the small glass. The liquid's burn runs down my throat and a warmth fills me, one I haven't felt in over a year. At first I regret the decision, knowing completely that is restricted by my parole; but when the giggly side of me bursts through I know there is no turning back.

Fifteen minutes pass and I have somehow become best friends with the sketchy looking bartender named Todd. He slips me multiple different liquors until I feel sanity slipping through my finger tips.