A/N
Mentions of suicide.
Tyler's POV:
I find myself standing awkwardly near the main entrance of the hall, holding a mostly untouched drink I only chose out of worry that I'd be judged or my fear of missing out. Honestly? I hate the taste of alcohol, and it feels as though I am the only one who does. In the last thirty minutes, I've had a total of three girls either fall into me or spill something over my black loafers. The walls, marred with graffiti and neglected pipes, a place of grime, perspiration, and thick, suffocating steam is apparently the perfect spot to hold the first night of orientation week.
The room is getting fuller and the music feels as though it's getting louder. I can't break down, not here.
I shift my focus to help distract myself, this time over to the artwork covering every inch of the left side of the bricks. The fading posters stuck on top of the disturbing art pieces displaying skulls, eyes, or even road signs, only make me feel even more uncomfortable. Even the outdated advertisements and how they have been left there to rot bother me. The sound of somebody gagging captures my and a few other people's attention, I grimace and quickly avert my gaze as his drink and instant noodles splatter all over the concrete floor.
Where is my roommate?
He disappeared over ten minutes ago now, claiming that he was going to go and buy us another drink and that I needed to stay here. If it isn't already obvious enough, I don't want to be here, so I replay his words over in my head. The only reason I haven't left yet to go and hide in my room is because I can't feel my legs. But when I say I don't want to be here, I don't just mean here at college, which was a terrible decision by the way.
At least the band playing up on stage is pretty decent. I think the drummer is really talented, the way his head bangs to the rhythm and his immersion in each song make me feel as though he deserves an audience that is anything but a crowd full of intoxicated freshmen. Just as I am straightening out my posture, suddenly very aware of my tensing body, I capture a glimpse of my roommate deep within the pit. He walks hand in hand with a blonde girl down by the red stage, leading her through the crowd towards a hidden exit.
There goes my company for the night.
I sigh in frustration, not only because he's ditched me but because of how much I envy him. I envy his enthusiasm and how he fits in so effortlessly, his outgoing persona and how he always gives zero fucks. Redirecting my gaze, I look down towards my brown sweater which is starting to feel tight, causing a pressure in my chest. Or I at least try to convince myself that my sweater is the reason for feeling as though I might suffocate.
Just as the song changes into something even heavier than before, a crowd rushes in from all directions, jumping around my once spacious cosy spot which quickly disappears as the crowd swallows it up. Suddenly, I find myself trapped. Panicking, I gasp, feeling my body tense up again which causes my drink to spill over a girl's shoulder. She initially looks startled and annoyed, but her expression softens upon seeing my frantic expression.
"I'm so sorry," I barely say, my voice strained and low because my throat has closed. That's how I know I can't blame my tight sweater anymore. It's a good job that the music is so loud, that way I don't also have to deal with the embarrassment of how croaky my voice sounds.
She goes to say something, to reach her hand out and onto my shoulder, but before I know it she is knocked in the opposite direction and swept away by the crowd. I sought comfort in her gaze of sympathy, but I was not about to step deeper into the pit to go looking for a few more seconds of reassurance. It isn't worth it and neither am I. Maybe this is the way I am supposed to go, to be swallowed by a crowd brimming with a type of joy far beyond my grasp.
