The Love of My Death

Part 3

   I'm fighting sleepiness as I drive home. My head kept falling as my eyelids kept closing. When I finally pulled into the driveway, I could feel a strong bass resonating inside of me.

   Another party, Lana? Seriously? She promised to stop throwing them!
  
   I quickly leave my car. I rush through the front door that is already open. Teenagers dancing in sweat on sticky floorboards fill the living room. I continue pushing through the crowd in the hopes of finding Lana.

   My feet are being trodden upon, and I almost took an elbow to the face. To see where I'm going and avoid having more people step on my feet, I stop pushing through the crowd.

   I can see Desiree waving a red cup in the air past all of the hands flailing around. I move in her direction. I finally approach her and attempt to communicate over the loud music, "Hey! Can you tell me where Lana is?!"

   Desiree gives me a mascara-covered, intoxicated stare. "Huh?" she asks as she moves her ear in front of my face.

   "Where is Lana?!" I say louder.

   She speaks with a slur, "Oh, she's... somewhere... I think upstairs?... I don't know."
 
   "Desiree, you look really out of it. In Lana's room, you should go lie down." I suggest.
  
   "No, the stairs are hard; I've already tried," she mutters, waving her hand around dismissively.

     I let out a sigh. Thank goodness I don't party like this. Then I say, "Let's go, I'll help you up," I throw her arm around my shoulder.

   "Oh, okay," She says carelessly. I pull her to the stairs and help her walk each step. When we finally reach the top, I drag her into Lana's bedroom and place her on the bed.

   "Thank you, Leya," she says, before covering herself with a blanket and getting comfortable. I was about to leave the room when I heard a loud gag come from Lana's bathroom.

   Oh no, Lana. She hates throwing up.

   When I enter the bathroom, she is sitting on the floor with her head hanging over the toilet. I run over to her and gather her hair out of her way.

   She keeps throwing up while sobbing. When she is finished, she wipes her mouth with some toilet paper. She flushes the toilet after throwing the piece of toilet paper inside. I take her hand and ask, "Are you alright?"

   "Do I look alright, Leya?" she asks furiously. "I've called you so many times! Were the incoming calls invisible to you?" When I pick up my phone, her name is listed next to "24 missed calls".

   "I'm so sorry, Lana! The restaurant was super busy today!" I apologize.

   "Yeah right," she replies cynically, "You probably just ignored me!"

   "Why would I do that, Lana?" I ask.

   "I don't know! Why did you?!" she asks furiously as she shakes her head.

   "Lana, I'm telling the truth!" I start to cry.

   "Oh, of course, you are telling the truth; good girls always tell the truth. Even though they are truly sadistic on the inside, they seem so innocent and flawless. It sounds just like you!"

   Her words break off a piece of my heart. Maybe she's right. Why do I make such a big effort to be someone I'm not? But I am confident in my goodness. I am aware of my empathy. So what makes me sadistic to her? I don't like to see others in pain. I mean, look at me now! I'm holding her hand while she's screaming at me, yet I still feel terrible for her.

       "Do you realize how much I love you, Lana? Because it doesn't seem like you do."

       "I have my doubts. It is all a lie. You are a living lie!" she cries. "What happened to you? Where is my thrilling older sister? The person who would go to any lengths for me?" she asks.