Straight Boys - Chapter 5: Chapter 5
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Loud music filtered the Hill Haven neighborhood, the bass reverberating throughout the street, vibrating my whole body through the car. As I pulled into Jose Rodriguez's palatial home, I could see different cliques of teens from school littering the yard - some of the goth kids smoking under the tree, a few guys from the team out talking, people going in and out, and a lone girl sitting at the edge of the sidewalk. Along with the few crazy kids loitering outside of Rodriguez's house, there were also a number of beer bottles and cans and a few wrappers from Swiss cake rolls or Little Debbie sweets.
Parking the car just beside the curb across the street, I sidled out and made my way towards the bustling party. Girls laughter and loud screams of joy mixed in with the music created a sense of youth that I was not feeling tonight. I still couldn't loosen up about my mother and Lola. I still couldn't even force a smile to my face, or simple 'hello' back to the few that saw me entering the party. All I could do was head straight for the kitchen to grab a bottle of vodka from Jose's Parent's cabinet where I knew they hid it from long nights at his house.
Screwing the lid off, I took a drawn-out drink from the bitter substance, not even acknowledging the acid-like sting it slid down my throat with. That type of feeling was better than the chronic ache in my chest.
"Yo, Andrew! It ain't even midnight, and you're already bringin' out the big guns?!" Jose was by my side, a large, toothy grin tying his features into a nice bow of riot. I only let my eyes look at him for a second before they were blankly back on the bottle attached to my lips. With one last gulp, I dropped the clear glass, only a forth of it gone, as I tried to speak with psuedo-enthusiasm, "Yep! I just thought we needed to get this party started!" Jose cracked at that, his fist going up to pump the air as he grabbed two more bottles of the same spirit. I was glad that he didn't take mine.
"You right, man, you right," and then he disappeared, the only thing telling me he was even here was the stench of his overpowering axe spray.
I was just glad he didn't take my bottle, and left me alone to drown in my own sorrows in peace.
Taking another powerful swig of the tasty substance, the burn lessened, I started to make my way to where all the action was. Already, I was feeling the effects, by the way I swerved by people with less agility as before, and the blackened spots clouding my vision.
In the living room, couches were pushed up against the wall, some housing different people that looked like they either didn't want to be there at all, or people that didn't know the meaning of 'Get a Room.' On the makeshift dance floor, different teens were all doing different things, mostly gyrating, though; I mean, there were some people doing the Sprinkler and Running Man, even the window washer. Girls were wearing provocative choices for clothes, and one guy was even running around in his smiley face boxers. It was Ashton.
I inhaled the musty air, pretty sure a little sweat going through also, before taking another drink from the half empty bottle of love and happiness. The anecdote was curing my emotional down spiral, even bringing a drunken smile to my face when Mandy Hartfield walked by me with a flirtatious smirk, her short blonde locks slicked back elegantly and her shy smile turned sultry.
I was buzzing, the vodka humming through my veins at light speed. The feeling was nice, better than nice, in fact. It was amazing, the sensations of the booze wildly throwing me over the wall of hatred for God at what he did to my family, over the wall that was caging my once good life behind the ten mile high bricks. I was alright, I was finally me; a slightly disoriented, Picasso painting of Andrew Parsley. I was drunk, with the bottle somehow almost gone.
The song was changing to something dark and sensual, creating a red environment of flying hormones and horny teenagers. Out of nowhere, a girl that looked familiar but I had no idea the name of was snaking her arms around my neck, her body pressing closely to me.
"Hey, Andrew," her voice, a velvet slur, prickled at my neck, just as her abnormally long nails tickled my skin. And her purple lips the size of Washington D.C. were planting kisses along my jaw to the beat of her hips swaying to the song.
By that time, I was too drunk to even comprehend words in my brain, let alone properly talk. So, I kept my mouth shut, but my hands firmly planted on the girl's waist as an answer. I could feel her lips stretching into a smile against my hot skin. I could feel her hips knocking against mine, and my hands moving on their own accord, exploring her exotic body, and abandoning the empty bottle of sweet nothing. Like all the many other times I danced with a girl, I leaned into her ear and kissed the spot just below it, and like just the same, she melted right before my dazed eyes.
"Quinn? Quinn! Hey, we need to go!" It was the lone girl from the sidewalk when I first arrived. Her auburn hair was in disarray, her eye makeup dripping down her face and clothes torn. She looked distraught, eyes wide and spinning in all different directions like she was expecting something to pop out at any moment to kill her. Usually, when I wasn't drunk, I would have asked if she was okay, see if she needed help because a girl didn't look like she did and not be in danger, but my motor skills were burned out. They weren't functioning correctly because of the waste my body was. The only thing I could do was stare hazily at her under my eye lashes.
"Olivia? What's wrong? Are you okay?" Olivia shook her head and grabbed Quinn's wrist before dragging her into the sea of dancing people towards the front door. I didn't try to go after them. I just stood where I was, slightly confused and slightly less drunk, but still wasted off my ass.
Deciding that I needed more rainbow juice, because everything was slowly coming back, the problems and images of my lifeless sister lying on an uncomfortable hospital bed, I clumsily went looking for something, anything to get me back on the happy train before I hit rock bottom. I needed to forget because remembering and thinking about it hurt. I didn't want to have those thoughts. I wanted everything to go back to normal.
Bumping between blurry faces and unimportant people, I made my way to the fridge where all my best friends were currently waiting for me.
"Miller Light, my friend! Where have you been all my life?" I murmured, gripping onto the cool can lightly. Popping the drink open, I downed the whole can in just a few seconds. The cloud was slowly starting to ascend higher back into the sky, but I needed more. A good time was what I needed, so I did the same with another can, and another, until I drank enough beer to build a throne out of the tin material. I didn't normally do that, but given the circumstances, I thought it necessary.
Wasn't it?
"Woooo! Parsley! Chug, chug, chug!" A crowd appeared out of nowhere when I moved onto another can, not even sorry for drinking a whole case. The cheers were fuel for me to keep going, the flashes of videos and pictures being a shove into the wrong, yet seemingly right direction.
"Another! Another," the crowd demanded; and what the people wanted, the people got. I bent into the fridge for one more drink, but was hit with a tsunami of bad feelings. I started feeling queasy, like I was going to puke a week's worth of food all over the place, so without warning, I slammed the fridge door shut, pushed through the booing crowd and went to the closest place to me with as little people as possible. A potted plant.
Luckily, it was fake, but the bile and liquid chunks of chicken meat from lunch earlier were not. And to top it all off, a dark skinned girl was standing oddly close to the plant and almost got a leg full of my throw-up. She, herself, looked green in the face when she saw me hurling everywhere.
"OhmyGods, that's disgusting!" She wasn't wrong. The contents of my stomach projecting from my throat as I was bent over a stupid plastic fern had no good smell, and hurt worse coming up than it did going down. And it didn't stop after two up-chucks. After about a minute of projectile vomiting, I was finally done. Everyone around me took no mind of my slouched body, keeping on partying, while I sat in my own misery. I didn't care, though, liking the fact that nobody was paying attention to me.
I groaned out in pain, my throat hurting like Hell. My surroundings were starting to mush together into one, horrific monster, but I was too drunk to do anything about it. Why did I drink so much?
I was stupid.
"Andrew?" A recognizably baritone voice abruptly shouted over the blaring speakers. I was surprised I even heard him, what with all the noise and my drunk self, but I did. I couldn't get a good look at him, though, but Zachary Rogers was definitely standing over me. His voice was blanketed in what sounded like bewilderment and question, but his face too fuzzy to see what he was thinking properly.
"Andrew, dude, you look horrible." Zachary knelt before me so he was eye level with me, and that's how I could start to puzzle the pieces together to form a clear picture of his flawlessly fair face. That's when I could actually see concern in the mirrors of his eyes between my lazy ones.
"Hey... I look... I happen to look sexy. You don't know what yur even talkin' 'bout." Zachary laughed at my fumbling words. He took great pleasure out of seeing me in a state like I had been in, I could see it in the way he looked at me.
"Yep. Sexy, that's what you are." I nodded with that creepy smile I always got when drunk. Zachary rolled his eyes, not finding me very funny. Whatever, my face was hilarious.
"Alright, Drew, c'mon. Let's get you home." Wait, what? No! I was having so much fun! Zachary wrapped his muscular arms around my lanky body, pulling me up to my feet. I was struggling against him, but I was too drunk and too tired to stop him from straightening me up. "NO! I'm... I'm not goin-g anywhere. I'm fine, see?" I wiggled out of Zachary's embrace to hold my arms out shakily and give a crinkle eyed smile of assurance. He didn't believe me one bit.
"Fine. But I'm driving!"
"NO!"
Zachary yelled so fast, I almost fell into a face-plant. Alright, Mr. Bossy-Pants.
◇
Some party eh? It's kind of cliche, yes, but at least it wasn't COMPLETELY unsalvagable.
I don't really go to parties, being that they're unnecessary obviously, but I made do with what I've read in stories and what I've heard around my town. Pretty goodish
But what do YOU GUYS think? All good thoughts, all good thoughts I presume?
How do you like Zachary's sudden burst of friendliness towards Andrew? Do you think he has a motive or what? Idk myself.
And here's another question I'm curious about...
How old do you guys think I am?
I'm just curious because I can be pretty immature but act really old like I'm 70 or some shit like it.
Anyway, time for the daily reminder! LIKE and COMMENT please because it would mean the world to me.
And, also, I entered this smashing book into the Wattys. I don't think I'll win in any of the "challenges" or whatever they're called, but I'll try.
Anyway...
Tootles. *waves goodbye*
Parking the car just beside the curb across the street, I sidled out and made my way towards the bustling party. Girls laughter and loud screams of joy mixed in with the music created a sense of youth that I was not feeling tonight. I still couldn't loosen up about my mother and Lola. I still couldn't even force a smile to my face, or simple 'hello' back to the few that saw me entering the party. All I could do was head straight for the kitchen to grab a bottle of vodka from Jose's Parent's cabinet where I knew they hid it from long nights at his house.
Screwing the lid off, I took a drawn-out drink from the bitter substance, not even acknowledging the acid-like sting it slid down my throat with. That type of feeling was better than the chronic ache in my chest.
"Yo, Andrew! It ain't even midnight, and you're already bringin' out the big guns?!" Jose was by my side, a large, toothy grin tying his features into a nice bow of riot. I only let my eyes look at him for a second before they were blankly back on the bottle attached to my lips. With one last gulp, I dropped the clear glass, only a forth of it gone, as I tried to speak with psuedo-enthusiasm, "Yep! I just thought we needed to get this party started!" Jose cracked at that, his fist going up to pump the air as he grabbed two more bottles of the same spirit. I was glad that he didn't take mine.
"You right, man, you right," and then he disappeared, the only thing telling me he was even here was the stench of his overpowering axe spray.
I was just glad he didn't take my bottle, and left me alone to drown in my own sorrows in peace.
Taking another powerful swig of the tasty substance, the burn lessened, I started to make my way to where all the action was. Already, I was feeling the effects, by the way I swerved by people with less agility as before, and the blackened spots clouding my vision.
In the living room, couches were pushed up against the wall, some housing different people that looked like they either didn't want to be there at all, or people that didn't know the meaning of 'Get a Room.' On the makeshift dance floor, different teens were all doing different things, mostly gyrating, though; I mean, there were some people doing the Sprinkler and Running Man, even the window washer. Girls were wearing provocative choices for clothes, and one guy was even running around in his smiley face boxers. It was Ashton.
I inhaled the musty air, pretty sure a little sweat going through also, before taking another drink from the half empty bottle of love and happiness. The anecdote was curing my emotional down spiral, even bringing a drunken smile to my face when Mandy Hartfield walked by me with a flirtatious smirk, her short blonde locks slicked back elegantly and her shy smile turned sultry.
I was buzzing, the vodka humming through my veins at light speed. The feeling was nice, better than nice, in fact. It was amazing, the sensations of the booze wildly throwing me over the wall of hatred for God at what he did to my family, over the wall that was caging my once good life behind the ten mile high bricks. I was alright, I was finally me; a slightly disoriented, Picasso painting of Andrew Parsley. I was drunk, with the bottle somehow almost gone.
The song was changing to something dark and sensual, creating a red environment of flying hormones and horny teenagers. Out of nowhere, a girl that looked familiar but I had no idea the name of was snaking her arms around my neck, her body pressing closely to me.
"Hey, Andrew," her voice, a velvet slur, prickled at my neck, just as her abnormally long nails tickled my skin. And her purple lips the size of Washington D.C. were planting kisses along my jaw to the beat of her hips swaying to the song.
By that time, I was too drunk to even comprehend words in my brain, let alone properly talk. So, I kept my mouth shut, but my hands firmly planted on the girl's waist as an answer. I could feel her lips stretching into a smile against my hot skin. I could feel her hips knocking against mine, and my hands moving on their own accord, exploring her exotic body, and abandoning the empty bottle of sweet nothing. Like all the many other times I danced with a girl, I leaned into her ear and kissed the spot just below it, and like just the same, she melted right before my dazed eyes.
"Quinn? Quinn! Hey, we need to go!" It was the lone girl from the sidewalk when I first arrived. Her auburn hair was in disarray, her eye makeup dripping down her face and clothes torn. She looked distraught, eyes wide and spinning in all different directions like she was expecting something to pop out at any moment to kill her. Usually, when I wasn't drunk, I would have asked if she was okay, see if she needed help because a girl didn't look like she did and not be in danger, but my motor skills were burned out. They weren't functioning correctly because of the waste my body was. The only thing I could do was stare hazily at her under my eye lashes.
"Olivia? What's wrong? Are you okay?" Olivia shook her head and grabbed Quinn's wrist before dragging her into the sea of dancing people towards the front door. I didn't try to go after them. I just stood where I was, slightly confused and slightly less drunk, but still wasted off my ass.
Deciding that I needed more rainbow juice, because everything was slowly coming back, the problems and images of my lifeless sister lying on an uncomfortable hospital bed, I clumsily went looking for something, anything to get me back on the happy train before I hit rock bottom. I needed to forget because remembering and thinking about it hurt. I didn't want to have those thoughts. I wanted everything to go back to normal.
Bumping between blurry faces and unimportant people, I made my way to the fridge where all my best friends were currently waiting for me.
"Miller Light, my friend! Where have you been all my life?" I murmured, gripping onto the cool can lightly. Popping the drink open, I downed the whole can in just a few seconds. The cloud was slowly starting to ascend higher back into the sky, but I needed more. A good time was what I needed, so I did the same with another can, and another, until I drank enough beer to build a throne out of the tin material. I didn't normally do that, but given the circumstances, I thought it necessary.
Wasn't it?
"Woooo! Parsley! Chug, chug, chug!" A crowd appeared out of nowhere when I moved onto another can, not even sorry for drinking a whole case. The cheers were fuel for me to keep going, the flashes of videos and pictures being a shove into the wrong, yet seemingly right direction.
"Another! Another," the crowd demanded; and what the people wanted, the people got. I bent into the fridge for one more drink, but was hit with a tsunami of bad feelings. I started feeling queasy, like I was going to puke a week's worth of food all over the place, so without warning, I slammed the fridge door shut, pushed through the booing crowd and went to the closest place to me with as little people as possible. A potted plant.
Luckily, it was fake, but the bile and liquid chunks of chicken meat from lunch earlier were not. And to top it all off, a dark skinned girl was standing oddly close to the plant and almost got a leg full of my throw-up. She, herself, looked green in the face when she saw me hurling everywhere.
"OhmyGods, that's disgusting!" She wasn't wrong. The contents of my stomach projecting from my throat as I was bent over a stupid plastic fern had no good smell, and hurt worse coming up than it did going down. And it didn't stop after two up-chucks. After about a minute of projectile vomiting, I was finally done. Everyone around me took no mind of my slouched body, keeping on partying, while I sat in my own misery. I didn't care, though, liking the fact that nobody was paying attention to me.
I groaned out in pain, my throat hurting like Hell. My surroundings were starting to mush together into one, horrific monster, but I was too drunk to do anything about it. Why did I drink so much?
I was stupid.
"Andrew?" A recognizably baritone voice abruptly shouted over the blaring speakers. I was surprised I even heard him, what with all the noise and my drunk self, but I did. I couldn't get a good look at him, though, but Zachary Rogers was definitely standing over me. His voice was blanketed in what sounded like bewilderment and question, but his face too fuzzy to see what he was thinking properly.
"Andrew, dude, you look horrible." Zachary knelt before me so he was eye level with me, and that's how I could start to puzzle the pieces together to form a clear picture of his flawlessly fair face. That's when I could actually see concern in the mirrors of his eyes between my lazy ones.
"Hey... I look... I happen to look sexy. You don't know what yur even talkin' 'bout." Zachary laughed at my fumbling words. He took great pleasure out of seeing me in a state like I had been in, I could see it in the way he looked at me.
"Yep. Sexy, that's what you are." I nodded with that creepy smile I always got when drunk. Zachary rolled his eyes, not finding me very funny. Whatever, my face was hilarious.
"Alright, Drew, c'mon. Let's get you home." Wait, what? No! I was having so much fun! Zachary wrapped his muscular arms around my lanky body, pulling me up to my feet. I was struggling against him, but I was too drunk and too tired to stop him from straightening me up. "NO! I'm... I'm not goin-g anywhere. I'm fine, see?" I wiggled out of Zachary's embrace to hold my arms out shakily and give a crinkle eyed smile of assurance. He didn't believe me one bit.
"Fine. But I'm driving!"
"NO!"
Zachary yelled so fast, I almost fell into a face-plant. Alright, Mr. Bossy-Pants.
◇
Some party eh? It's kind of cliche, yes, but at least it wasn't COMPLETELY unsalvagable.
I don't really go to parties, being that they're unnecessary obviously, but I made do with what I've read in stories and what I've heard around my town. Pretty goodish
But what do YOU GUYS think? All good thoughts, all good thoughts I presume?
How do you like Zachary's sudden burst of friendliness towards Andrew? Do you think he has a motive or what? Idk myself.
And here's another question I'm curious about...
How old do you guys think I am?
I'm just curious because I can be pretty immature but act really old like I'm 70 or some shit like it.
Anyway, time for the daily reminder! LIKE and COMMENT please because it would mean the world to me.
And, also, I entered this smashing book into the Wattys. I don't think I'll win in any of the "challenges" or whatever they're called, but I'll try.
Anyway...
Tootles. *waves goodbye*
End of Straight Boys Chapter 5. Continue reading Chapter 6 or return to Straight Boys book page.