The Place Where Broken Hearts Go h.s.

Chapter 7: Hypnagogic

hypnagogic: (adjective) sleepiness inducing

"Are you sure this is the place?" I frown, skeptical.

In front of us, sits a gigantic mansion lodged in the western outskirts between a sod field and a strip mall. The house is three stories tall, with giant stone pillars protruding from the floor. The windows are bright, not a light off. Bass booms down the cobblestone driveway, lights are flashing from somewhere, and the smell of pot drifts from the five-car garage.

"Is that a fountain?" Isabelle gasps.

Sure enough a fountain is wedged in the middle of the perfectly trimmed front lawn, spewing up crystal water.

My eyes widen. "A literal fountain."

What doesn't this place have? Besides a parent supervisor, I mean.

"Do I knock?" I ask Isabelle.

She laughs, and pushes past me to open the enormous, thick, wooden door.

Music spills out in an instant, and I regret not bringing ear plugs to block out the noise.

"How do people function in here?" I scream to Isabelle, covering my ears with my palms.

"They don't! That's the fun thing about parties!" She shouts back, at least, I think that's what she said.

Isabelle pulls me to another room, and yells in my ear, "Niall said to meet out back!"

I just nod, giving up on speaking over the extraordinarily excessive music.

We weave into another room, cautiously stepping over passed-out bodies and red solo cups. The entire house reeks of alcohol, and there are multiple stains in the carpets. Whoever lives here will have a fun time cleaning up tomorrow.

I open a door, only to find a couple making out on a granite bathroom sink.

I open my mouth to apologize, but the pair hasn't even noticed my entrance. I just shut the door, semi-horrified, and walk away.

We wander into the kitchen. A grand room, overflowing with snacks and garbage that are mingling on the expansive counters. The far wall is made entirely of glass that overlooks an equally impressive backyard. I poke Isabelle and we make our way to the french doors which I gratefully open. The relief from the music is instantaneous. Instead of overpowering it's muffle, trapped inside the house behind us.

"There he is," Isabelle points to a blonde head perched by the pool.

"How do I look?" She asks me.

I scan my best friend. Her blonde hair is wild and glamorous, her navy dress tight and dramatic. Her round eyes are sparkling gems.
"You've never looked better," I tell her with a smile.

Isabelle nods, and flips her hair behind her shoulder. "I've got this," Isabelle mutters repeatedly to herself, squeezing her eyes shut. 

I stand awkwardly with my hands folded, assuming the pep-talk is a way for Isabelle to assure herself. Whatever she has to do.

She then grabs my hand, and saunters over to Niall me stumbling behind her. 

Niall is flung on a pool chair next to two of the boys from earlier. I am let down a little when I see Harry is not one of them.

Niall sees us, and his eyes light up when they land on Isabelle. He reaches for a hug, and Isabelle returns it smoothly. "I'm so glad you came," he says beaming.

"Thank you for inviting us," she smiles brightly, and I am impressed at her regained composure.

"Yeah th-" I begin to say, but no one is really paying me any attention so I clamp my lips shut.