This was a therapeutic chain of events.

FOUR

I walk into the gates of heaven through a big black door, decorated beautifully with black metal bars, confining your restriction of sight through small square pathways of hell leading back into the real world. Scott barred up all his windows every time he had a party like this one, one to stop adolescent little shits from trying to get in or throw shit at the window and two so that is a cop car came passed, they would have less of a chance to see what was going on inside, because man, what was going on inside was insane.

I walked through the narrow black hallway followed closely behind by Bono, into the living room, which was a perfect picture of pure and majestic organised chaos. With all of the house lights off, Scott had decorated the room with strobe boxes and colour lights that flash between green, red, blue and orange repeatedly, all the colours you wanna see when your stoned. One time when I was at a party not too dissimilar  to this one, I had a bad trip on ecstasy and the strobe tripped me out so much I passed out. Hopefully that matter would not repeat itself this evening. 

I stood in the doorway for a minute or two just taking it all in, in the far corner of the room there was a long cream leather couch, infested with either wanna be Brad and Angelina's or passed out sophmores who obviously could not hold their liquor. On the other side of the room was a table, supplying booze ranging from vodka, to my personal favourite whiskey. However I found whiskey to be more of a drown your sorrows kind of drink, and looking at this right now, I certainly had no sorrows. On the other end of the table there was a range of, shall I say 'goodies' or 'hand outs', whihc varied from pre rolled joints, foot tall bongs, endless packets of cigarettes, small tubes of acid and my personal favourite, individually wrapped packets of the god sent blessing that is angel dust, or better known, cocaine. In the centre of the room there was a long coffee table which was littered in bongs, pills, red plastic cups, beer cans and the butts and fags and joint which had been put out on the, I'm sure, mahogany table. Two more couches lined the opposite wall of the living, and a plasma screen TV hung above the fire place. The music that I could hear was coming from two speakers over in the corner of the room, covered in a see through plastic sheet - good thinking Scott.

There was as least 50 people filling up the living room alone, and more and more were throughout the rest of the house, people were shoving past us to get to the goods, but I didn't care. I just stood there, like the child I once was on Christmas morning, your parents tell you to take advantage of Christmas day, because it only happens once a year. Well this was my Christmas day. 

***

An hour and a half in to the party, I was mortal off my face. After participating in the triumph of lighting three bongs, two squares of acid, nine glasses of whatever, and five lines of coke. I could move anything in my body, the only thing that was fractionally prominent was the never fading crooked smile from my face. After around 40 minutes of crazy dancing, grinding, trippin' out, and 10 cigarettes later, I fell on to the couch and haven't moved since. When around 20 minutes had gone by, I managed to sit myself up right, but sitting like this only made me stare at the majestic red wall in front of me, body shaking, legs numb and pupils dilated, Bono found me, and was almost as smashed as I was, actually no one was as smashed as I was. 

"Ronnie." He slurred from across the room, my eyes managed to move in my skull, but to me he looked like he had a twin, a very fuzzy disorientated twin. He walked straight into the coffee table and fell taking two people down with him. He started laughing, but no noise came out, I stared at him for about 30 seconds before I fell off the couch laughing at him, clutching on to my throat to breathe. My reactions were very slow, so when someone tried to help me up, I only thanked them when they were half way across the room. 

Bono came and lied on top of me, handing me the joint that was between his fingers. I took it from him and very slowly (like tortoise slow) placed it in between my chapped lips and sucked in the amazing, unbelievable, euphoric green leaves that graced my throat and lungs, streaming straight to my head and taking away all the fuzz my beloved cocaine had left me with. That's when Bono left me with the joint and had spotting a girl making eyes at him, making his move he got off me and headed over.

"I'm- i'm  o.n a... mis-sion." He slurred stumbling over to the girl and pinning he up against the wall, attacking her with his lips of poisonous beauty. 

Now that I had started to relaxed, I could almost feel my pupils rearranging them self to be as normal as they could in the state I was in. I lent forward putting my forearms on my knees and took another drag. Rhapsodies taking over my body, I had to find out where he got this from, was the only thought on my mind right now. My eyes became heavy and I felt myself drooping in and out of consciousness. Willing myself to stay awake, I scanned around the room for anyone I could get with in order to keep myself busy. 

That's when I saw a guy standing in the corner, holding a bottle of beer, looking relatively sober, though his droopy eyes told me otherwise. He was hot, sporting dark black hair that pushed back and fell in an off centre parting shadowing his face, a tight fitted black tee shirt, black jeans and another oversized dress shirt undone over the top. His eyes were blue, and the intoxicants in his system made them glow even brighter. I didn't recognise him, but I didn't care, it wouldn't be the first time. After a minute or so of eyeing each other, he pushed himself of the wall and made his way over to me, his eyes never leaving mine. Where he stood, my eyes levelled up with his crotch and I stole a sneaking glance for my benefit. My eyes returned to his, and he came and sat down next to me. I took another drag of the almost disappearing joint from in my fingers and let the smoke fall out of my mouth in seductive rivulets. 

Without saying a single word, his hand moved up to the side up my face, where he cupped my cheek and moved hair behind my ear. Come on dude, get on with it. We both leant in and it was like fire, the good kind of fire, like the feeling you have towards the fire that lights your cigarette. With our lips moving in motion, only after about 3 minutes of this, he ripped his lips away grabbing my hand and dragging me upstairs roughly. If any girl says they don't like rough sex, they're lying.