Kiwi |H.S.|

eight

    Scattered.

    That was the only word I could use to describe this party - scattered. Half drunken glasses full of Smirnoff sat untouched on the floor just outside the entrance of the condo. Glitter covered the bags under my eyes and my lipstick was undoubtedly smeared. Sweaty, intoxicated bodies still danced and rubbed up against one another in the kitchen, even though the party had been in full swing for a solid three hours. A red headed boy was puking into the sink and the college seniors were walking around in groups like predators. An ocean of crushed blue solo cups littered the floor around us.

    Pure chaos was occurring around me as I sat on Josephine's couch in a daze, and that was all I could think of - blue solo cups.

    I grabbed Beckett's forearm as he slurred out a story from his junior year in high school. This was his second time telling the story tonight, but he must've figured that he could tell it once while he was sober, and once when everyone was drunk, and no one would know the difference. A blonde girl listened to him diligently for the second time and nodded as if she hadn't heard it before.

    "Becky," I drawl out his new nickname, leaning closer to his ear so he could hear me over the music, "Why are the cups blue and not red? In the movies they're always red." I ask him, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

    His head slowly cranes to look at me and he stops his story all together. His mouth goes slack as he licks his lips. He pauses in deep thought, "I never thought of that," he muses, his eyes slowly widening as he takes in the blue cups around us.

    It's as if he's having a revelation, "I could've sworn they were red when I first got here," he tells me, his voice coming out shaky before his breathing quickens, "W-Where are we Kiwi?" He asks me frantically, grabbing my shoulders as his face contorts.

    I peel his warm hand off my bare shoulder and muster out a light laugh. Everything around me is moving in slow motion and it's hard to understand what he's saying. Every words that slips out of his mouth gives me a headache.

    I lazily curl my arms around his arm and look at him, coming in close to his face so I can see him clearer. He doesn't mind at this point - right now there's no such thing as personal space.

    He leans into me, taking my firm grip on his arm as a form of comfort, "Relax Becky, we're still at the party." I soothe him, though I'm not sure I'm even speaking English.

    Beckett places his cheek onto my forehead, nodding. Suddenly he yanks his body from me as if I've burned him, and his face masks pure concern. Now I'm scared.

    "Your forehead feels like a furnace baby." he informs me, and I raise an eyebrow at the term of endearment, ignoring what he tells me.

    I bite the inside of my lip and can't help but stare at the loose wavy hair covering his head. His lightly tanned skin is glistening from the amount of sweat covering his body and I start to wonder what he would look like naked.

    Oh no. I think I'm drunk.

    A dark hand clutches onto mine from underneath the darkness as I'm sitting down with Becky. I gasp as I'm pulled up from my seat, my eyes are met with a pair of brown sparkling ones. I think I'm seeing stars.

    It's just Abby. 

    "You've been with Beckett all night," she exclaims looking between the two of us, seemingly annoyed, "I've been looking all over for you!" She bursts out before pulling me in close as we weave through the masses of people. I start having deja vu from a week ago.