Author's note: this is the fourth installment in a ten-part series.
~
The party is at a large house near campus where a few PSA board members live with several other friends. There are maybe ten or so people gathered there by the time we show up. For me, it's a large but not entirely overwhelming amount of people to be around. There is more food, it seems like kind of a potluck. I feel bad for not bringing anything, but I dig into what's there anyway, since I am still pretty hungry. There are bottles of booze on the kitchen counter and one of the hosts is making elaborate cocktails. She hands me one and I drink it quickly, standing right there in the kitchen.
"Damn, Amir, I'll just give you a cup of pure liquor if you're not going to appreciate my artistry," she says, scolding me. But she smiles and hands me another.
I make a plate of food for myself and find a spot on a couch in the living room next to a guy I know from my organic synthesis class who is also a chem major. We commiserate about the lab earlier in the week, the one I screwed up. The alcohol is spreading pleasantly in my belly and the omnipresent hum of anxiety starts to dissipate. I down my second drink and don't have to wait long before someone comes by to put a third in my hand. I feel good, at ease in this moment. All is well, normal, even. I am with friends, talking, hanging out. I'm not thinking about anything... inappropriate.
Nadiyah enters, then, with another friend, carrying a large plate covered with aluminum foil. We make eye contact as she walks into the house. She smiles and waves. I wave back. She heads into the kitchen, announcing in a loud voice that she is late because she decided to make pastéis at the last minute.
There's no denying that Nadiyah is gorgeous -- I haven't seen her since I've been back at school, and I feel a thrill at the sight of her. She is Lebanese-Brazilian and of course friends with Mahan -- we met last year and had hung out at a few events. There had been a definite spark, but she had a boyfriend back home. This year, Mahan informed me that she and her boyfriend broke up, and he's been incessantly trying to get us together. I have been so busy, though, that until now I haven't given her much thought.
She comes back into the living room, right over to the couch where I'm sitting. She kisses my cheek and offers me one of her fried empanadas. I eat it and beam at her, tell her it is delicious. Three drinks in and I am feeling warm and social. I am glad to see her, to talk with her -- we catch up about our summers -- she was traveling in the Caribbean with her family and some friends, she was partied out. I tell her about my lonely summer working as an intern at the drug company.
"Honestly that sounds so wonderful to me right now. I just want to do something really intensely like that, just focus on one thing, you know?" she says, leaning into me, sending tingles through my body. "Oh my god, Amir, have you tried these strawberries? They are amazing," she says. She picks up a large strawberry from her plate and puts it into my mouth. I laugh as some of the juice runs down my face. Mahan winks at me from across the room.
The party drifts on into the night. I have a few more drinks and mingle with different clusters of friends spread out around the house. More often than not, I find myself sitting or standing next to Nadiyah. I move toward her or she moves toward me, and it seems there is always an excuse for her to touch me, bat at me playfully, or lean on me. I don't do a whole lot of talking. The booze has relaxed me and infused me with social energy, but I am content to listen to the conversation and laugh along with everyone else.
At some point, when we are standing alone in the kitchen, Nadiyah grabs my hand. My pulse quickens. She really likes me. And I genuinely like her. More than like, I...
want
her, sexually. I smile and give her hand a squeeze.
"Do you want to, like, get out of here?" she says, quietly.
"Yeah," I say.
"Ugh, my roommates are having a thing in our quad tonight," she says.
"My roommate is gone for the weekend. Do you want to come to my room?" I hear myself ask.
Someone else is in control of my body right now, putting words in my mouth.
Am I really going to hook up with Nadiyah?
It feels like I am watching events unfold from inside a submarine in my own head.
"Sure," she says, and she stands up on her tiptoes to kiss me. This catches me by surprise, and our lips brush together awkwardly. Her lips are full and soft. Like Jamie's, I think, and an excited shiver runs up my spine.
Enough.
I push the idea of Jamie down, down, away from the immediacy of this kitchen and Nadiyah.
Then we are outside, walking. I don't remember leaving the party. Did Mahan make fun of us for clearly leaving together? Probably, but my mind is muddled. I am drunk, it is late, and it has begun to rain in earnest. There is a chill in the air that heralds the end of the warm summer weather and onset of fall. Fall means time to get serious. Tonight, though... the booze... Nadiyah... perhaps this can still belong to the summer, not really
count
.
It is kind of a long hike. Nadiyah doesn't have a jacket so I give her my hoodie. I am wearing a light gray button-down shirt that is soon soaked through. We hold hands as we walk but don't talk.
When we get to my room, Nadiyah looks around and comments about how messy it is. It is messy, and I am surprised, since I am not normally a messy person. Maybe it's Pete's mess? I stand there, drunkenly, trying to figure it out, but Nadiyah throws off my hoodie, and kicks off her shoes.
"Which one's yours?" She asks, laughing and sweeping her arms at the two beds. I point and then she runs and falls onto my bed, beckoning me to join her. I turn off the main light, pry off my shoes, and turn on a lamp in the corner for some softer light. I sit on the bed and put my hand on Nadiya's thigh. I'm super dizzy from the alcohol.
She is wearing leggings, some sort of dark, sleek material. She pulls my hand up across her stomach, to her chest. We look at each other's eyes. Blood rushes to my cheeks, and to my cock, which is getting hard in my jeans. She sits up and begins to unbutton her shirt -- I watch, dumbly. The fabric is cold and wet from the rain. My hands are resting on my legs and I am intensely aware of my breath all of a sudden. That I have to breathe over and over in order not to die.
"Do you have any music you can put on?" Nadiyah asks.
"Yeah," I say.
