Unlike You

Eighteen

A/N: Wait to listen to the song. I'll tell you when.

~*~

I ride the passenger seat all the way to the party, my eyes focused out the window, my brain focused on a certain grey eyed boy. He's been haunting my thought since I first met him and in the past two days, the thoughts haven't really been good ones. How could he not have stopped Sam? I'm mad that he didn't, but at the same time... Can I really be mad at him for not stopping it? I mean yes, Amy was... killed, but what if Lawrence tried to interfere? Would he have been killed, too?

The thought pains me. I don't really know what to feel anymore.

Before I know it, a loud bass and cheering fills my ears. My trance is broken and I look out the window to see a large house with people half naked dancing and talking with red solo cups in their hands.

"You alright?" I turn to face the guy who drove me here and nod.

"Yeah. Wait, I didn't get your name, Mr. Hates His Job," I tease.

"Har har. It's Ryan. You are?" he asks.

"Serendipity," I answer.

"Wow... I like it," he smirks, before exiting the car. I follow him and allow him to lead me into the house - no mansion. Blue Creek has a large population of kids who are loaded, so no wonder the house is so large.

As I follow Ryan into the house, I notice a few people staring at me. I want to believe that it's because I'm under dressed in my skinny jeans and long sleeve black shirt, but I know why. Everyone knows why I've been M.I.A. for the past year. Everyone in this town and ten other ones know what happened last summer.

"You seem to have everyone's attention tonight, yeah?" Ryan calls over the loud bass speakers.

"I guess," I laugh nervously.

"You wanna drink?" Ryan asks. I look up skeptically at Ryan whose smile is as bright as the sun. I want to make a snide remark about it, but I know now isn't the time. I think about Ryan's offer and grimace. I've never had alcohol before. Amy said the first time we drink that we should do it together. The memories of earlier flow through my thoughts, making me clench my jaw and ball my hands into fists.

"Sure," I answer, my voice stiff. Ryan takes my hand and leads me towards the kitchen. It's not a particularly large kitchen - which is an odd fact for it being in a mansion, and the fact that three couples are making out in the kitchen makes me more agitated than before. Like, if you want a damn drink, get a drink. Don't take up useful space with your make out session.

As I glare at the disrespectful couples... or booty calls, I barely notice that Ryan has shoved a small shot glass in my face. Inside, is a see-through brown liquid that looks a lot like poison. Well, that's basically what alcohol is, right?

"Bottoms up, felon," Ryan smirks.

"Yeah, not funny," I deadpan. I take the small glass from between his fingers and inspect it skeptically. My eyes flick back up to Ryan's, who already is pouring another for himself.

"Come on, felon. Live a little," he teases, punching my arm. A bit of the brown liquid slips from the glass and falls to the floor. I give Ryan one last nervous glance before I place the glass to my lips, allowing the bitter liquid to flow down my throat. It tastes utterly horrible and I scrunch up my nose in disgust.

"I hate that," I cough.

"You get used to it," Ryan shrugs. He snatches the glass from my hands and begins to pour more.

"Is there anything less... foul?" I ask hopeful. Ryan shrugs and looks through the many different bottles. I glance around nervously, hope to see some familiar faces. Two glasses clink and I see that Ryan has found an alternative. I'm hoping it's something like... I don't know, Sprite, but I frown when I read the label.