𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝟖 (𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐂)

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟐 | 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥.

JUNE 3, 2004
ORLA LYNCH

I was fucked.

I did not stay at Cara's for only an hour. I did not call Joey right when I left, and I was not currently on the phone with him as I walked down the streets of ballylaggin.

It was about to be dark now. My phone was blowing up in my back pocket. The phone Joey had gifted me for my fourteenth birthday.

I sent him a quick text, saying I was on my way home.

My eyes stung, and I imagine they are red and swollen from sobbing my eyes out on the way to Cara's house. But I didn't care, I already looked like shit.

I was too impaired to give a shit. My head was in the skies, my vision had stars lining every ounce of light, and I was swaying on my feet as I stumbled down the sidewalk.

I didn't feel anything. Couldn't care enough to remember earlier today's actions. I was completely numb to everything around me, I couldn't feel anything except for the giggles bubbling up my throat and the hollow feeling deep in my gut.

I was starving.

And my hunger had drawn me to the flashing of colorful lights coming from a house not far up ahead. Faded and blurred music blared out of this house, and only when I got close enough had I seen the large crowds of people inside the house.

The door was open, it was basically calling me to enter. So I did.  The house had flashing lights, bright and colorful. The music was so loud it reverberated off of the walls of my mind until it was the only thing I could hear.

I looked around, curiosity flooded my limps, urging them to explore the bland house. I caught a glimpse of the kitchen, it had a few boys in there. Tall and broad, they were sipping their glass bottles of beer, talking amongst one another.

In the other room, I saw a couch and a TV. It had to have been a living room, although it was jam packed with people. Some dancing, jumping up and down and grinding their bodies on one another. Others swaying with the tunes of the music.

I've never been to a party. I would never go to a party willingly if I was sober. Only I wasn't sober, and I was curious and intrigued by everything around me. Especially the cooler filled with various amounts of drinks in the kitchen.

I ran my fingers through my wet hair, And stalked into the kitchen, looking around at the brown cabinets and white fridge, studying the creases in the wood.

I focused on the cooler set down, right beside the center island in the kitchen. I tilted my head at it before striding towards it and bending down to pick one up. It was cold and wet in my hand, the bottle had the words BEER labeled on it, and a tab for a lid.

It was a yellowish color, completely unattractive looking. But I didn't care. I didn't care about anything.

Not the look in the boys eyes as the watched me bend down.

Not the words they were whispering at each other, completely oblivious to the fact I could hear them. If I was in my right side of mind I would've cursed them out, called them a bunch of perverts and maybe even kicked one in the balls.

Because anger filled my every move when I was sober.

It made me mean and cruel, and my cruelty made me feel powerful.

But I couldn't feel anything right now. Not anger, not rage, not pressure. And most importantly not him.

I stood up, fiddled with the tab a bit before I realized I couldn't open the stupid fucking bottle. It pissed me off and I huffed in frustration, turning to face the big boys. I frowned, threw the my hand forward. "Mind opening this for me?"