Misery Loves Company

Chapter 3

As I turn to walk out of the gaudy kitchen, vodka in hand, I notice a guy staring at me from the corner of my eye. If it's one thing I don't like, it's fucking starring. I was going to just keep walking but I decided on a whim I didn't want to ignore the obvious judgment radiating off of this guy. I'm liquored up and the warm buzz gives me more edge.

"Can I help you?" I say harshly in his direction.

"Do you always take what isn't yours?" he replies back cooly.

Who the hell does he think he is?

"Excuse me?" I snap.

"That's my alcohol you're taking."

"I don't see your name written on it."

"Well, it is my house, it's sort of implied"

Of course, it is. Without a second thought, I blurt out, "Looks like you can afford then!" I sneer.

I turn abruptly and walk out of the room. I can feel his piercing ice-blue eyes burning a hole into my back. My blood starts to boil. I don't have time for this, not when I have much better things to do.

As I emerge from the kitchen, my grip tightening up around the neck of the bottle, I begin to take swigs. The burning sensation I feel as it travels hastily down my throat and into my empty belly is wonderful. I swear to god, there is no better feeling.

I continue to drink and wander around searching for Ashley, taking in the scene around me. So much for her being here when I get back. Half naked men and women, all fucked up in one way or another, take up every square inch of this massive house. There are three girls dancing on a table in their skimpy outfits, grinding up against one another as men try and join in on the action. A sight I could live without ever seeing again. I even pass a guy making out with identical twins on a coach and I can't help but stare for a brief moment. Smoke fills the air and the only thing I can smell is stale beer.

I half dance, half walk as I keep taking shots on my mission, all alone. Just the way it should be. A quarter of the bottle is almost gone when I begin to realize this search for my petite, lightweight, best friend, is absolutely hopeless. Goddammit Ashley.

"Hey May, how are you?" I hear a familiar voice from behind me. I cringe. Stopping dead in my tracks, closing my eyes momentarily and pursing my lips together. I turn around slowly to face Mandy.

"Hi Mandy, I'm ok, how are you?" as I am evidently tipsy with a bottle of vodka in my hand.

"That's good. We miss you at school. Do you think you'll come back?"

Mandy attends Stamford University as well. We were both pursuing economics and were great friends, actually. Until everything fell to pieces and I dropped out and shut the world out. I haven't talked to her at all since the accident. She is the nicest person I've ever met, with the most positive attitude. I couldn't bear to be around her while she tries to fix me. I swear to god the girl would wrap me in bandaids if she thought it would help me feel better. I'm too consumed with drinking and self-destructive behaviors to be friends with a girl like her.

"Maybe."

"I hope you're doing ok," She sounds so worried.

"I'm doing... better." Trying to convince myself of this as I say it. "But hey, I've got to go. It was good to see you," I squeeze the side of her arm and then she envelopes me in a big bear hug. Holding on for longer than I'd like.

"I'm always here for you. Don't forget that."

"I know. Thank you." I turn and walk away. Not looking back.

I fucking hate coming to parties because I hate running into people I know. Seeing people from my past only reminds me of everything I've had and everything I've lost. What the fuck am I supposed to say when people ask me how I'm doing or if I'm okay? "Yes, just dandy?" Do they want the truth? Or are they just being polite? Should I come out and say that I've developed a horrible drinking problem? That I'm covered in tattoos for a reason other than wanting art on my body? Should I say I cry myself to sleep most nights and often wake up screaming out in pain? I didn't think so.