Pray for the Wicked

Chapter Two

It took a full hour to find an outfit I liked that Rachel also approved of, but finally I did. We settled on a cropped salmon coloured tank top with a black front button skirt and my signature doc martens that I've owned since I was 15. Then I went back to my apartment to get ready for the party.

Now I'm sitting in the back of a cab next to Nick, who's sporting a pair of jeans and a college sweatshirt. I feel severely over-dressed. He keeps looking over at me like he wants to say something but instead, he just smiles awkwardly and looks away again. God, I feel like a teenager at prom. I thought those days were over.

"So, have you been to one of Sam's parties before?" I ask, hoping to break the silence. Nick nods and scratches his head.

"Yeah, they're pretty rad. Last time, some dude jumped off the roof into the pool and they had to call 911." Great ... this is exactly like a high school party. Why did I agree to this? I blow out a puff of air and stare out the window. I guess I'll go, see how it is and then leave after an hour. That's reasonable, right? If anyone asks, I'll make up an excuse.

We finally reach the party and I practically leap out of the cab. Nick pays the driver and links an arm through mine. I'm not entirely comfortable with it, but I don't want to be rude so I let it happen. We walk up to the front door, which is unlocked, and walk into a booming party. The lights are low, it smells like cheap beer and spirits and there is a couple halfway to fucking on the couch.

"Whoa." I breathe, dropping Nick's arm and backing into a wall. This is 100% not my scene.

"Do you want a drink?" Nick shouts over the music. I shake my head and he shrugs. "Suit yourself, I'll be right back." The music is so loud that I can't even hear myself think. Maybe it'll be better outside? I try to push through the sea of people, but find myself being shoved into an office. Not what I was looking for, but it's better than whatever is happening in the living room. I shut the door and let out a sigh.

"Yeah, it's pretty crazy, isn't it?" A voice says from behind me, making me jump. I turn to see Sam from marketing chuckling at his desk. He's sipping straight from a bottle of Crakken and I can smell the alcohol on his breath from across the room.

"Why do you even throw these things?" I ask, sliding down the wall and sitting with my knees against my chest. "Isn't it a bit ... young?"

Sam lets out a bellowing laugh and points his bottle at me. "You got me there." He says, taking a swig. "But I never got to party when I was a kid, so I figured better late than never, y'know?" I can't argue with a drunk man's logic, so I just nod. "You don't look like you're having fun, though. To be honest, you're kinda bumming me out."

"Yeah well," I snort, pulling the elastic out of my hair. "My 'date' sort of ditched me and I'm not really one for crowds or dancing." Sam frowns and moves closer to hand me his bottle of Crakken.

"Maybe this'll help boost your mood." He smiles, encouraging me to take a gulp. I oblige him, but take too much and start to cough. Sam howls with laughter and takes back his alcohol. "That was sad. Maybe you're beyond saving." I roll my eyes at him but smile. Somehow this did make me feel a little bit better.

"I think maybe I'll just go home," I say, standing up and smoothing out my skirt. "Thanks for the drink; see you Monday." Sam waves at me as I open the door and return to the boisterous crowd in the hallway. This time, I manage to make it all the way to the front door without any trouble. I take out my phone and call an Uber. Luckily there's one two minutes away.

When I get home, I take off my shoes and fall onto the couch with a sigh. Well, that was a bust! And it's only 10:00 on a Friday. I feel old. I should be out at a club or a bar or something, not sitting at home all alone. But that's my life. I'm a boring lady.

I open up Instagram and see a message request. When I click on it, it's from Brendon. Does he seriously think he can just slide into my DMs like some pervy high school boy? Ugh! I move to ignore it, but then I get intrigued.

Cam, I need your help. Please. Remember your friend Rachel? Yeah, she's currently puking in my bathroom sink ...

I don't even want to know how Rachel ended up at his house, but I know that if I leave her there she will never forgive me.

If you're lying, I'll kill you. What's the address?

I text back, putting my shoes back on and grabbing my keys. It's a good thing I only had a sip of Crakken, otherwise Rach would be SOL. Brendon sends me his address and I punch it into my GPS. I drive as fast as I can without going over the speed limit and arrive at his house within ten minutes.

I bang on the door and I can hear Rachel giggling like a toddler inside. The door swings open to a dishevelled looking Brendon and he sighs in relief. "Thank FUCK. I swear to god, I thought she was going to die."

"So you called me instead of 911? You're so smart!" I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes. "Rach, are you okay?" I turn to Rachel, who has started chewing on her hair. Why do I have to be the mom friend?

"I'm great!" She smirks. Then she comes up behind Brendon and wraps her arms around him. "Brenny here is taking good care of me." Brendon's eyes narrow at the nickname, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he pries Rachel's arms off of his torso and looks at me in horror.

I have half a mind to leave him here to suffer, but I'm not that evil. "Okay, Rachey. It's time for you to go home, okay?" I say in the most parental voice I can muster. Rachel looks at me with the saddest puppy dog eyes I have ever seen on a grown adult and falls to her knees.

"I don't wanna!" She shouts, like a literal two-year-old. Brendon and I exchange a glance and he makes a face that says 'this is why I called you'. I pull him aside and fold my arms in annoyance.

"Why did you bring me here, Brendon?" He looks at me like I'm an escapee from an insane asylum, but then quickly changes his tone and leans against the wall for support.

"Look, I know you and I left things a bit rocky, but she's your friend, Cameron. I couldn't get rid of her. I didn't know who else to call." He seems genuine, but I still feel like he's neglecting to tell me something.

"How did she even get here in the first place, B? She was supposed to be at Sam's party." Brendon's face flushes red and he scrunches up his nose in embarrassment.

"We were at Sam's party," He says, biting his lip. "But then Rachel suggested going somewhere a bit more ... private." At this point, Brendon's face is brighter than a tomato and I don't know if I want to laugh or smack him. "She was not this drunk when we left the party. I don't know what happened."

Rachel is the kind of girl who drinks way more than she can handle in one sitting, but it doesn't hit her until much later. One minute, she could be completely sober, and the next she'll be slurring her words and-apparently-acting like a toddler. "So what you're saying is that you were going to have sex with a drunk girl, but didn't wait to make sure she wasn't too drunk to fuck?" I shake my head at him and lean in to make my point. "Not. My. Problem." Brendon looks both angry and ashamed and I almost feel bad, but then I remember that he's a dick and I don't give a shit about his feelings. He left, Cam. He doesn't care about you, so don't care about him.

Before I know what's happening, though, Brendon is licking his lips and grabbing the back of my head. Our faces are still inches apart and I look into his deceitful brown eyes. They flit between looking back at my own eyes and down at my lips. Instinctually, I look down at his lips and swallow hard. Time feels like it's moving in slow motion as our lips crash together and we breathe each other's air. This is not how I pictured my night going at all.