Mystique

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Mystique was a place of chances and cheats, but for Noah, it was just another obnoxious party.

“Time check, eleven eleven!” The DJ shouted. “Make a fuggin’ wish, Monica Springs!” The crowd roared in response. As for me, if I even attempted to open my mouth, I’d most likely go straight to heaving my breakfast on strangers’ shoes. I was sick. Wait no, scratch that. I was WASTED. Mystique Music Festival had begun five hours ago, but the night was still young and my phone was already dead. I was still bound to the electrifying beats that threatened to crack the sky, stuck with all those nameless people, jammed in the middle of the raucous crowd that may anytime soon, swallow me whole. My friends were nowhere to be found. The last time I saw Tucker was at the admission booth. He was shouting along to the mob’s plea for free entrance. Soon enough, the gate was hauled to the ground, and everybody already had their UNFAIR share of spectrum wrist bands, including another that guaranteed two free beers.

My feet were too exhausted to jump and actually dance. The multitude of party animals were too many to get pass through. My brain was too drunk to function, and my guts were ticking to explode. I was a walking gazer, standing on the same spot I’ve been at for the last three years, ready to just puke and die at said location. The only thing I could resort to was that stupid eleven-eleven wish. Regardless if it’s the alcohol talking, I wanted a sandwich so bad. No, I didn’t wish for paramedics to come and rescue me nor did I wish for a college degree or a play station four.

I swear in that moment, all I ever wanted was a nice uplifting sandwich.

The suffocating vibe wasn’t of any help either. What’s left of my consciousness took a crack at getting me somewhere less violent and spacious. That was until my face accidentally inhaled into some fat guy’s sweaty pits. I definitely lost it. Turning around, I gagged like a fountain, a freshman business ad, credit card-less, night-life invested fountain head, truly one of a kind. In the predictable turn of events, my priceless vomit was now a puddle on the asphalt ground soaking a pair of white tennis shoes.

My eyes goggled at the sight of the said footwear. Underneath all the unpleasant layer of this morning’s fodder was a familiar fit that reminded me of a certain girl who specifically wore tennis shoes to point out her daddy’s immense wealth and net worth.

Sienna Heatherson.

The girl whom I’ve devoted all my cheesy pick-up lines, sexual innuendos and crude flirting to, the girl who expresses her undying secret love for me through anger and flashes of her middle finger, the girl who would smash my poor foot with the soles of her white tennis shoes when the jokes came in too vulgar. That girl was actually here, and by the looks of it, she was definitely beyond furious. “Noah!” Before I knew it, my left cheek was greeted with a whopping high-five. I almost fell down into my own pool of vomit. Rubbing the stinging pain off of my cheek, I looked around, but Sienna was already gone.

“Sorry.” I slurred after her.

The mystery behind Sienna Heatherson’s true feelings for me was a case long solved. I knew girls like the alphabet, and if there’s one thing that can prove that Sienna actually finds me irresistible, it’s her being a bitch whenever I’m around. She’d rather have me think of her as a challenge rather than just another girl. Either that or Heatherson might have genuinely hated my guts all this time.

I stumbled across random people as the feeling of throwing up was replaced by certain numbness. It occurred throughout the gum area brought about by Sienna’s perfectly manicured hand. The people were decreasing in number, and gradually, I gained personal space again. I could still tell that my level of intoxication was exceeding the limit. Passing by the booths selling booze, I just knew I couldn’t consume any more. The hard flat ground soon became rocky, and I could hear the swishing of dry grass along with my drunken steps. The music from across the ample lot was still audible, yet muffled. I didn’t know for how far and how long I’ve walked, but one thing’s for sure, I was going to find Tucker, and tell him with all I can remember from my blurry vocabulary that his designated driver can’t drive him back to the dorm sober.