Fixing Her

Chapter XIII

"Dylan I don't think that's a good idea," I keep telling him, so that maybe he changes his mind.

"Come on, it'll be fine," he insists. "Please. I won't leave your side, and you'll have fun. It's on time you get out a bit. Come on Hayden. Just this one."

"Why can't you just go with the boys?"

"Because Thomas will probably just suck faces with Iona, I don't even know if Landon's going, Elaine doesn't go, and don't even dare ask if Parker and Isaac will come."

"But....."

"We'll stay just two hours for my reputation not to implode."

I realize he won't give up. It's Dylan, he never gives up.

"Fine," I give in as he does a victory gesture, clearly very proud of himself.

"You're a saint Hayden, thank you."

He's like a kid that has just convinced his mum to go to a party when he rushes up the stairs. I on the other hand, don't know how to feel. These kinds of parties never end good, and my last one definitely did not.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

The sound of blasting music and smell of alcohol get dominant the closer we get to the party. There are drunk students from school on the grass, on the roof of the garage, and obviously inside the house, and all of them are each holding a big, red plastic mug which I know is filled with a high percent of alcohol.

Dylan parks in front of the house, and we get out, only for me to realize that I'll be deaf in the morning and not able to breath with my nose anymore.

I chose to wear black jeans and a white top with thin straps. It's too naked for me, yes, but according to Dylan, "no one gives a flying [ehm] since everyone are too drunk to care", and I came to the conclusion I should try to push my limit for once.

We get inside the house, and while my nostrils give my brain alarms to get out of there, Dylan bro hugs some guys who already seem to be drunk.

"This is Hayden," he introduces me to his friends.

As I utter a "Hi", the guys introduce themselves as Jacob, Alex and Simon. Apparently they aren't shocked to hear the word "bestie" leave Dylans mouth, which means they've known him long enough to know he's crazy. On a good way.

As an hour passes with me just standing awkwardly behind Dylan while he tries to make sure I'm having fun (which I'm not), I excuse myself to go sit in a corner and let Dylan have fun instead of having to keep an eye on me.

"Okay, call me whatever you need," he tells me, the way he talks revealing the alcohol has gotten into his system.

Step by step I walk up the stairs and into the big bathroom. Discovering it's good enough to stay in for an hour, I lock the door and sit down on the soft, blue carpet that's covering most of the tile floor. A few people try to open the door, but they eventually give up.