19th West Pine Street, Trevor Benelman's house. That's where the party was, and me, along with every other participant who was looking for a good time was there, partying our asses off until our bodies became numb from the unimaginable amounts of alcohol we had consumed. I have been here for two hours and look like a fucking mess.
My abdomen was in a rage, and my body had succumbed to multiple shots I had taken of some beverage that tasted like shit, but my headstrong attitude prevented me from backing down against Carly; Trevor's slut of a girlfriend. The prize? Bragging rights and a one-way trip to the bathroom where I now stand in front of the mirror, my hands gripping the sides of the porcelain sink.
To my right is the toilet where I had just lost the war in my stomach from the alcohol's effect on my body, throwing it all back up and flushing it away to wherever the fuck human waste ended up in this town. My muscles ache, my face is as pale as a ghost, and on top of that, I'm drunker than hell. The next morning would not be a pleasant awakening. I could already feel the hangover coming like a raging storm.
Whatever. That's the price you pay for being stupid and letting Carly Simpson get under your skin. I deserved everything I got at this point. The booming music wasn't helping my cause any better, acting more as an enabled device to make my situation even worse than it already was. I fucking hated myself right now.
I turned on the cold water, cupped some in my hands, and splashed it on my face, trying to make myself look at least decent. My mascara smeared along with my lipstick, and in that moment, I didn't give two shits about my makeup. I just used a towel to wipe it all away, revealing my actual face behind the mask of expensive powdering designed to make me look attractive.
I'd be lucky to even get anybody's attention after all of that. At most, Carly was in no better shape than I was, so I had at least broken down her ego of being a "flawless beauty." Please, her makeup is the ONLY thing that makes that bitch "pretty." In truth, she is beyond ugly in more ways than one, and I wasn't afraid to say it to her face or Trevor's. I was only here, because I had been coaxed here by my attendant, Brittney Mendosa.
If the truth were known, she was probably in one of the many rooms of Trevor's house getting laid. That's why she had come here, so she wasn't leaving until a dick of some random guy in attendance penetrated her flower. Drunk and clueless, I didn't care anymore, only hoping she had enough sense to have whoever was fucking her wear a condom.
She was drunk as hell the last time I saw her amongst the crowd of many party guests about an hour ago, so the chances were unlikely, but seeing I was still sensible enough to still have concern, I hoped for the first assumption. Now, I had to find some way out of this godforsaken bathroom without collapsing and bashing my head open.
I used the walls as a guide for safety, eventually finding the door, clumsily turning the handle and nearly collapsing on the floor of the long hallway when the door swung out into the hallway freely. Around me, were a few party guests out cold on the floor, most likely from being drunker than I currently was or from the drugs being distributed downstairs.
Oh, that's right. Stairs. How the fuck was I going to get downstairs without killing myself?
I tried one stair and immediately pulled back, nearly collapsing forward.
"Fuck!" I said out of realization.
Well, I guess I deserved it, seeing I was the idiot to take all those shots, thinking it would make me better than my opponent. All it had done was made my situation worse. I took a couple steps back, continuing to use the wall as my guide and pulled out my cell phone. Brittney was much more tolerant to alcohol than I was, so I was hoping that she was not drunk enough to where she was COMPLETELY out of it.
I pulled up my contacts, scrolling until I found Brittney's number and quickly called her cell phone, not expecting an answer. Five rings was enough to clarify that she was either occupied in her goal of coming here in the first place or that she couldn't hear her phone ringing amongst the booming music on the first floor.
I cussed again, knowing I was stuck up here for probably another good hour or so, and just took a seat next to some random guy passed out against the wall. What to do for an hour, until my probably-passed out friend came and found me? Hmm, I could try to beat that level of Candy Crush Saga I've been stuck on for a fucking month. Sure, why not? Maybe trying it drunk as hell might give me an advantage.
Nope, not even drunk; I ran out of lives faster than playing it sober. Well, now what? Just sleep off this fucking daze? Hell no. If there's one thing I had learned about attending parties, it's that men will take advantage of a drunk as fuck female passed out and unable to defend herself. I wouldn't become Trevor's little play thing or any of his jock friends. I may be drunk, but I'm not stupid.
Waiting it out was the only thing I could do. Worst party ever.
For a good twenty minutes I sat there counting the number of ceiling tiles over and over, up until something disturbed my somewhat peace. Someone was stumbling up the steps, struggling to hold themselves steady, and once I saw who it was, I was surprised. Carly Simpson appeared, hunched over and struggling to stay up straight. She was completely out of it. I could tell from just the look on her face.
I expected her to laugh at me on the floor and too drunk to navigate down the steps, but she didn't say anything and seemed like she was stuck between either a massive drunkenness or high from the mary jane she had clearly smoked. The smell was evident enough.
She was SERIOUSLY out of it.
"Hey, can you help me? I really need to use the bathroom," Carly muttered so drunkenly that I could smell the alcohol between every other word she spoke.
It was rancid. Toxic even. It seemed like her breath could get you drunk just by smelling it alone. What the fuck had she done, aside from the shots from earlier, to get her THIS absentminded? She was never nice to me and would never ask help from ME. She'd choose Trevor or even the guy asleep next to me over me to help her in ANY sort of situation.
Now, I wondered what to do. Did I dare stand up again? Did I help this bitch when she'd never help me in anything? It may have been the drunkenness talking, but I came to a conclusion unknowingly.
"Hang on, I'll help you," I said surprisingly clean.
Again, I was out of it, so I had no idea why I even hesitated to help her, but I did. I stood up slowly, feeling my stomach roll in a way of discomfort, but I had already excreted the majority of the alcohol, so I wasn't afraid of getting sick again. I placed her right arm over my shoulders and clumsily-but-surely made my way back to the bathroom, leading Carly in and shutting the door.
