The Only Constant Is Change

Bleached-Blonde Bitch

You jolt back from Cassidy's grip, blinking and looking at her vacantly.

Nathan…? Jayden… kissing…?

Then like a slap in the face, the meaning of her words register in your mind. Nathan is kissing Jayden. With one simple sentence, you're left seeing red.

You snatch your cup back from Lauren, red-hot anger coursing through your veins and propelling you past a protesting Cassidy. Your vision is blurring and all you can focus on is the glint of light at the other side of the room, the reflection of the moon on the sliding glass door leading to the deck.

The pounding music fades away, silenced by the thoughts thundering through your head.

It doesn't matter to you, that you had just met Nathan barely two days prior.

It doesn't matter to you, that you had no claim to him aside from a brief kiss.

It doesn't matter to you, that really, he was allowed to kiss whomever he wanted.

All that really mattered, was that you could feel your heart breaking the exact same way it had with Chris.

And then you're slamming the glass door open, a tall girl with bleached-blonde hair jumping back from Nathan at the loud bang.

Nathan almost looks relieved to see you, and his lips part as if to say something, but he stops as he catches sight of the murderous look on your face. The pure anger that flooded your veins earlier is giving way to feelings of hurt, of being used yet once again. Your throat constricts painfully, signalling the onslaught of the inevitable tears, and then bleached-blonde bitch is speaking,

"Caaaaan we help you, are you lost?" she's intoning condescendingly. Once again, it's like a switch is flipped; there isn't hurt, there isn't sadness, just the pure, cold fury that's screaming at you to punch her right in her stupid face.

Instead, your voice comes out as a low, strangled hiss, "Jayden?"

"Yeah, I'm Jayden. Thanks for the reminder, I almost forgot," she responds, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

A loud scream of pent-up rage cuts through the air, and you can barely recognize it as your own before you're hurling your cup at her face, charging at her. In that moment, fuelled by the bottled up resentment and hurt, fuelled by the alcohol, Jayden isn't just Jayden; she's the embodiment of the insecurity, the inadequacy that plagued you since Chris had cheated on you, she's the girl that was chosen over you.

Your fist makes contact with the side of her head, and suddenly everything is a blur of screams, of flailing limbs and uncontrollable tears. A pair of arms wrap themselves around your waist, roughly pulling you away from a cowering Jayden.

And then you're looking into the concerned, frightened eyes of Nathan. He's pinned you to the wall, holding both of your wrists in one large hand. It's when you realize that he's scared that you're going to hit him next that your anger fades into hurt and a feeling of increasing shame. You want to say something, to offer some insufficient apologies but you can barely breathe through your tears.

"Let go of her," Cassidy's demanding angrily, appearing at your side and pulling you away from him, "You're the reason she's so fucking upset."

---

"There are other hot swimmers out there… like you know, Ryan Lochte and Michael Phelps… right? Ryan's kind of stupid and Phelps' is a butterface… but you can always just put a bag over his head or something… " Cassidy is sitting next to you on your bed, rubbing your back while you sniffle stupidly into her shoulder.

You hear Lauren groaning as she chimes in with, "Seriously Cass, put a bag over his head? Go with Lochte, Allie. Even if he does have rocks for brains, it's not like the two of you are discussing rocket science while he's banging you."

"No, I would choose Michael, Allegra. I would imagine Ryan calling out JEAH during sex would be a traumatizing experience," comes the soft, British-accented voice of Ian's girlfriend, Hannah.

Ian had returned home with Hannah, and was currently downstairs, herding everyone out of the house and calling cabs for those too drunk to drive home.

You attempt a laugh, but it comes out as more of a choked hiccup. Hannah frowns, her pretty grey eyes clouded with concern. She lifts her small frame out of her chair, coming over to pull you into a warm hug.

"I should check on Ian, would you like me to make you a cup of tea while I'm in the kitchen?" she asks, stepping back to look at you, concern written all over her pixie-like face.

You shake you head, "No, but you're great Hannah, thanks." She smiles, patting your hair before striding over to the door, pausing to ask if you're positive you don't want that cup of tea before disappearing into the hallway.

"She's so British. Offering to make tea," Cassidy chuckles, ending her statement with a long yawn.

You flop facedown into your bed, burying your face into a pillow, "Go to sleep guys. I'll be okay. Especially you Cass, you're cleaning up our war zone of a house tomorrow," your words muffled by the pillow.

"You sure Allie? Do you want anything before we leave? You should have some water, or you're going to have the worst hangover in the morning… I think you drank the equivalent of your body weight in alcohol…" Lauren's worried voice asks.

Nodding into your pillow, you assure them both that you'll be okay. You feel the weight of their bodies lift from your bed, and then the padding of their feet over the carpeted floor.

"Just yell if you need anything, I'm going to take a shower, but Lauren's going to stay over." Cassidy calls, and then you hear the door click shut and you're left alone in the silence of your room.

Judgement no longer impaired by the alcohol and rage that had overtaken you earlier, you feel the growing sense of shame following your actions. You wonder vaguely if Nathan is ever going to look at you the same way again, if he's ever going to even want to talk to you after this.

No, because you just punched a girl in the face over nothing, Nathan isn't your boyfriend, he can kiss anyone or anything as he damn well pleases. This isn't Christopher all over again, Allegra.

And then your thoughts are back to Chris, the repressed sadness and hurt threatening to overwhelm you once again. It's the acknowledgement of that unhealed emotional wound that forces you to your feet and over to your desk. You open your macbook, impatient as it starts up and allows you to log in. Opening your internet browser and navigating to Facebook, you never once contemplate or question your actions as you do something you swore you would never do.

The familiar profile loads on your screen, Christopher Eagan Reid. Your fingers fly over the keyboard as they type a single word into the 'compose message' field.

"Why?"

With a sense of finality, you hit the send button. Only then, do you dare let out the breath you've been holding.