How To Make Him Jealous

Chapter 12

First you'll see me on the news,
then never again,

I'm rolling in my grave,
Feeling like a grenade.

Maybe you're the coldest,
If you never felt it
Aqq
Maybe you're the luckiest
If you never did it.

But did you imagine it
In a different way?

***

I pull on my navy tank top and ripped shorts, tying my hair into a messy bun. I shove light makeup on, not really bothered what I looked like because from what Dylan had said, this was going to be one hell of a party.

We'd  set up camp at a fancy hotel and watched Friends until nine and the sun had gone down,  when we both slowly got ready after having a very debated conversation about who was prettier : Rachel or Monica ?

We ended up with a draw.

"You ready ?" Dylan called from the bathroom.

"Yeah." I call back.

"Fully clothed ?"

I laugh. "Yep !"

Dylan appears from the bathroom.

"Good, because the cabs waiting outside."

"Let's go then !" I say, grabbing my phone.

Something feels wrong.

We head outside, locking the hotel door, the whole time I demand facts about party's like this one, with the same host and that Dylan had attended. Dylan simply replied with :

"The house is huge, the music is loud, the people are crazy and the cups are never empty."

And so we jumped in the taxi and drove towards wonderland.

Dylan couldn't have been more right ...

The music was incredibly loud and the people were defiantly crazy on alcohol. The boos was spread around the house (that could only be described as a bloody big mansion) like a disease and it was nearly impossible to speak to the person next to you. When the song changed you could here more music be played outside near the pool and screaming and shouting as the vodka shots infected people's brains.

It was one fast blur.

One of the few things I remember was Dylan's friend Davie ...

"Hey Faith right ?" A brown haired man approached me, he was topless and wet, clear signs he'd been in the pool. "Dill has told me last about you."

"All good things I hope ." I reply, trying to sound less drunk and more polite.

"Ha !" He shouts, a little to loud. "You know there's rooms upstairs." He whispers, biting his lip . "Then maybe I won't be the only one wet." He says leaning in, his lips finding my ear.

"Okay !" Dylan shouts. "We're gonna go downstairs." He laughs over the music. "Bye Davie !" He says over his shoulder, leading me away from him.
***

Drinks were being thrown at me, left, right and centre and I was drinking them like there was no tomorrow, as was Dylan.

Four flights of stairs downwards there was slower music, it still made the floor shake and still made the blood in my ears pound. The alcohol was as in great bulks just as it was upstairs. Couples danced methodically around the room, grinding against each other, completely unaware of everyone else, in this weird drunk trance.

Something was going to go wrong.

Me and Dylan danced in the same drunk trance and drank more than our body's could take.

Dylan's breath was hot in my ear the whole time and this weird tension slowly built up between us as the alcohol changed our frames of minds more and more.

"The mixture hits you hard. Don't get that sinking feeling, don't fall apart
Some out of tune guitar, soundtrack to disaster." I felt him whisper in my ear.

In all party's, upstairs is where you go when either :
1. You don't know anyone or your friends have left you and your trying to escape.
2. When your snooping around the magnificent house and you end up falling asleep on one of the beds
3. To have sex

Why couldn't it have been 1 or 2 ? ...