Disloyalty

- The End-

"What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost," he said.

Ironic, considering there were five people in the room dressed up as ghosts.

My smile faded, and he noticed. My mind raced with the possibilities.

He wouldn't drink. End of story.

That's not him. Andrew has always been against drinking, ever since we were young. He promised to stay away from alcohol, unless it was for a special occasion. It's what took my dad from me when I was six.

He would never... it's just not him. I was sure of it.

But what if it was? I had to ask. The curiosity, mixed with growing anger, forced the words out before I could stop them.

"Have you been drinking?" I asked, my voice sharp and laced with accusation.

"WHAT? NO! Why would you even think that?" he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at his feet.

Liar.

"I can smell it, Andrew. No one else here is close enough for me to smell alcohol unless they bathed in tequila. And I'm pretty sure no one here has done that!" My voice rose, trying to convince myself I was wrong, even though deep down, I knew I wasn't.

"Look, Mia, it's probably coming from my shirt, okay? It's your dad's old shirt—I borrowed it from your mom. You know how he was with alcohol... that's why you're smelling it," he said, grinning sheepishly as he playfully tapped my nose.

"Now come on, it's your birthday, let's not get angry, yeah?"

I wasn't convinced, though a small part of me wanted to believe him. His excuse felt plausible enough.

"I'm going to find Megan. Thanks for the earrings. I'll see you later, I guess."

"Oh, uh, okay. Bye... May," he called out as I walked away, his voice fading into the music and the crowd.

I found Megan grinding on some random guy like they were seconds away from having sex in front of everyone. I tapped her on the shoulder, snapping her out of whatever world she was in.

"HEEYYYY MIA! HOW'S ANDREW? HAVE YOU GUYS KISSED YET???" she yelled, obnoxiously puckering her lips and making the most disgusting kissing sounds.

She always shipped me and Andrew like we were the lead characters in some cheesy rom-com. She swore he looked at me with heart eyes, but I never bought into it. We were just friends, and I'd seen the posters on his wall of blonde, bikini-clad women. I didn't look anything like them.

And judging by her slurred speech and wobbly stance, Megan was drunk. Someone must've brought alcohol, despite my explicit request not to. At least she seemed to be having fun, unlike me. I couldn't shake the thought of Andrew reeking of alcohol. It bothered me more than I wanted to admit.

"Hey Megan, I'm going outside to get some fresh air. Stay here, and don't have too much fun." I raised my voice to be heard over the music.

"OKAAAY!" she shouted, her hair whipping around and slapping me in the face as she turned, hitting the guy in front of her too, not that he noticed.

She's definitely going to complain about a sore neck tomorrow.

I made my way to the door, my mind racing with endless questions.

Would he? Why would he? He couldn't be lying... could he?

Everything was too much—the music, the heat, the crowd. I felt overwhelmed, suffocated.