Luke

Chapter 20

Brielle’s house wasn’t that far from school, which was pretty lucky. It was freezing outside. I walked down her sidewalk, seeming out of place from the mansions lining the walkway. I could never imagine living in a house that fucking big. See, Brielle’s house was relatively large – way larger than the dingy shack that Sam bought – but it wasn’t as big as the mansions on the street. Jay’s house was regular sized, I guess. Maybe about the size of my old home before my parent’s died.

I searched the house numbers for Brielle’s home, walking up the stone walkway. It was a long walkway with a mowed lawn and a gravel driveway. I climbed up her steps, taking a deep breath before knocking on her door. She opened it a moment later, smiling at me.

“Hi ba-” I cut her off with a kiss, walking into the house. She pulled away after a bit, smiling wide. “Well, I didn’t expect that. Hi.”

“Hi.”

She shut her door, running her hand across my chest as she walked by me. “Is everything okay? You never ask to come over.”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I lied, shrugging off my bag and tossing it to the side.

“Sorry it’s a little cold in here. I know you don’t like the cold. Want me to turn the heat up?”

“Sure, if you want.”

She walked out of the room. Her house was spacious. Just the entrance way was about as big as half of my house. The carpeted stairs were in front of me, leading upstairs to a couple more rooms. To my left was the office space / bookroom, and to the right was the living room. I made a right, the white walls reflecting the brightness of the sun, even though it was setting. I sat on the sectional, also white and posh, waiting for Brielle to come back. A dirty ashtray was sitting on the glass coffee table, indicating Brielle was smoking there. I remembered Brad again, happily distracted when Brielle entered the room.

“Want anything to drink?” She offered. “Water? Beer?”

“Vodka would be great, actually.”

She smirked, turning halfway towards the kitchen. “You’re just full of surprises today,” she winked, walking down the hall again and to the kitchen. Usually I didn’t get drunk. Well, I didn’t get drunk that day. I just wanted to be tipsy enough to know what I’m doing, but also not feel.

She came back in with a silver tray, a stack of glass shot glasses and a bottle of vodka resting upon its metal surface. She set it down, unstacking the small cups.

“I thought we could take shots together,” she smiled, pouring a small amount of vodka into the glasses. “Because we never do that anymore.”

She lifted up two glasses, handing one to me. “Here’s to us,” she beamed, reaching out her cup to toast. I clinked my shot glass against hers and we downed the drink at the same time, putting the glasses upside down on the tray when we were done.

“Vodka’s by far my favorite form of alcohol,” Brielle stated, leaning her head into my shoulder. “It’s not as girly as wine and not as manly as beer. I mean, beer is good, but vodka, mmm, you gotta love it.”