Downfall | Austin Butler

Chapter 1

I believe in miracles
where are you from?
you sexy thing, sexy thing, you.
- you sexy thing,
hot chocolate

——

RIANNE SOLACE

Never in my life could I ever imagine that I'd be standing in the middle of some randos house. Sipping some random ass colorful drink — that I can't recall ever being pushed in my hand — squashed against other party goers. Listening to — might I add — the worst music I've ever heard.

Might as well just pull off the bandage now, and let you know that I — commonly known by my friends as 'Miss. anti-social — was never a so-called 'party-goer', especially right now. But, Sydney, being oh-so herself, insisted that I lighten up a bit and spend a night out with her. So here I was, completely against my will.

To sum up my experience so far, I'd say it completely blows. I never understood why people in high school enjoyed this endless drinking and squashing out on the floor. Same thing went for college and still applies in my twenties. Sydney always got a kick out of telling people that it was just because I was an 'old soul.' I knew what she meant, but sometimes I was quite certain she was trying to imply that I acted like a grandmother. I mean, hey — it wasn't my fault that her grandmother always set up Rummikub every time we visited. That game equaled my weakness. Truly a competition whenever I'd be around. So, I enjoyed hanging out with Marilyn. Was that such a crime? In Sydney's book, it seemed to be so.

But, I seriously couldn't complain about Sydney. Especially when she'd been there for me in college — wedging her way into my life as someone I could call my best friend. Someone I could trust with the parts of me I hoped no one else could see. So in that respect, I could handle another hour watching Sydney get piss drunk just for the hell of it.

I'd been watching her for the past few minutes, dancing with some dude I never saw before — making sure he wouldn't take her away. I didn't mind it really. It gave me a good excuse to detach myself from the looming crowd and join the other anti-socials against a wall. Or so I thought. Instead I was met with a couple squashed up against the wall, practically hot glued together. I could vomit. So, I took a long swig of my fruity drink and hoped for the best.

The wall felt cool against my back and I readjusted myself to lean a bit more comfortably. The bass from the loud speakers surrounding what was supposed to be a house, but seemed more like a ritsy Better Homes and Gardens rent-a-mansion — truly lodged into my ear canals. So much, that I didn't even notice someone appeared next to me, clearly trying to speak to me but evidently failing.

"What?" I tried to annunciate over the blaring music, blinking my eyes numerous times, hoping I could catch a picture perfect glimpse of the person in front of me. The nauseating spot lights danced in colors against their skin, evading into darkness every beat. I already knew I was failing.

Their mouth moved again, and I paid close attention to their lips. God, it was like a television on mute. I couldn't help but tumble over in laughter. Jesus Christ. I was already hella drunk.

Served me right.

Was the liquid in my glass this bright pink the entire time? Like neon pink? Was I going insane?

Un-hunching myself — if you will — I stood back up, adjusting my hair as if nothing happened. As if I did not just have a laughing fit in front of a stranger. God, I sure hoped this wasn't one of Sydney's big corporate coworkers. I'd just about die on the spot. To sum it all up, Sydney got a pretty good fucking job after college — and when I say good fucking job I mean it. This bitch managed to score an internship that got her sent to the city for a real-adult job, and I ended up tagging along. I guess reading countless Cosmo magazines as a child really pays off because now she is Miss. Scratch-pad-pen-and-paper-journaling-connoisseur.