- Adrenaline -

Chapter 2: Sick.

Okay, but it can't be that bad, right? It's just a party. I don't have to drink anything, eat anything, and most importantly, try anything. All I have to do is stay for maybe an hour or two, until Cleo notices me, and then I'll be in the money.
At least, that would be the case, if it hadn't already been two hours. I'm starting to feel antsy. I've watched Cleo make out with maybe two guys now, neither of which are her boyfriend, Kennedy, which is fine, I guess. I don't care, and why should I? Kennedy has banged every other girl in school, and Cleos likely done the same. What I do care about is not being the one to approach her. I can't handle that! Imagine walking right up to her, 'Hey Cleo, remember me? Let's talk about that art deal.' I would sound selfish.
I find myself thirsty with a red solo cup in my hand, thirty minutes later, and the pit of my stomach feeling warm. Now, rather than anxiety, all I feel is utter loneliness. Can you believe that? Feeling lonely at a party filled to the brim with people. I guess it's different when you have no one that you're close to around you. The cups start to stack. Three in and Cleo finally notices me, swaying her hips in my direction, and suddenly I feel as though I should duck and cover.

"Gogh!"

She got my name right- my last name at least. It's a start.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so glad I found you! Hey, thanks for showing up, I really appreciate it." She slurs, the alcohol pungent on her breath.

Cleo leans in, getting closer to my face. I'm nervous, my stomach is churning and I don't like how close her lips are to me in general. Not that I don't like girls or anything- it's just- not her.

"Yeah, no problem. Um, I can email you the uh," I don't notice my stutter, "the art pieces that you can use for the fair."

I've got to get out of here. I look around for a way out, but the room around me starts to swirl with colors. The strobe lights are spinning with the room - these are two things you should never mix.

Anxiety and alcohol.

I hear Cleo say something about me not looking too good. Next thing I know I'm sitting alone on the cold kitchen floor, my back against the cupboard to the sink. I hear someone enter the kitchen - I hope they leave before I shove my fingers down my throat to get this shitty laced punch out of my system.
All they do is wash their hands, standing right beside me. Even with them less than five inches from my body, I could still barely identify who they are. I hear a familiar voice.

"Little art man?"

He sinks to the floor. His skin is tanned and his features chiseled. Now that I'm nearly eye-level with him, it's clear who he is.

John Kennedy.

We talk for a little bit- he's nicer than I thought he was. John offers me some water and a slice of bread, which I happily accept. It doesn't do a whole lot though- my body still feels fuzzy and hot, and my vision is blurred. It hadn't come to mind that there might have been something more than just alcohol in that punch.
I tell him I feel sick, and suddenly I'm making my way up stairs, to a bathroom down the hall. The door is shut behind us. My skin is overheating beneath every fiber of clothing I had piled onto myself. John seems to understand why my shirts off the second I enter. The cool tiles press against my body as I try to steady my breathing.
John is above me- beside me- next to me. His hands are so big. I am so tired. We're both dazed and confused, his droopy eyes looking into mine, comforting me. I think I fell asleep after that.
There are moments where I remember feeling something- warm, but not overheated like I was before. And the fuzziness isn't overwhelming either. Instead it's replaced with the kind of fuzziness you feel when you wrap your shivering self into a nice warm towel fresh from the dryer.

Next thing I know, the sun is up. The blankets smell like sweat and beer, which is unusual for my room. I shift in my bed- it feels as though I had shrunk, or maybe, my bed had gotten bigger. My perception changes, as I turn on my other side and feel hot breath against my face. Then I realize that this isn't my room. It's Johns. I'm in his bedroom, half naked, post party. A thought reoccurs to me.

I gotta get out of here.

[[A/N: it's not my best work but as of now I'm just writing it for myself. If u enjoy it then cOol leave a vote and maybe a comment. If not then uh also cool]]