❝she was the girl, who bit the horizon, who peeled the stars from the sky and put them on her tongue, the girl who was hungry for the universe, who craved magic and saw the broken boy for who he truly was- a broken boy.❞
Beca...
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Chapter 11
Dead Grandmothers and Parties
Ellis
The good news was that Heath was still alive by the time we arrived at his place. The bad news was that he wasn't really in any great shape. He had thrown up twice, fallen from the seats and onto the car floor and spent the next ten minutes of the right in a disentangled, wrecked form of himself, moaning about how sick he felt.
When we pulled up, Heath's house already had strings of toilet paper flailing from the roof like a bunch of torn sewing strings from a broken dress.
"Hell yeah!" Jem pumped his fist in the air in a total delight of a two-year-old child and yanked the key out of the ignition, killing off the engine.
I trailed reluctantly behind Jem and Heath, who were greeting several people- Jem mostly; Heath just teetering off his feet, his dilated pupils hazy with that faraway, a million miles apart distinct expression- while I kept my hands to myself as several couples drunkenly and dangerously swerved towards the food table, knocking into me and spilling their beer all over my crotch.
"My Levis!" I gasped, extracting a tissue packet automatically from my pocket- which I've taken with me just in case. It was always good to be prepared for these accidents- I mean, what if you had somebody to impress? Surreptitiously, I dabbed the denim material and Jem heaved a deep, deep sigh.
"Seriously, Ellis? You're at a party."
Anything to get the hell out of here was fine by me. "I don't care what's the occasion! My jeans are ruined."
"Oh my God," he moaned, starting towards the door without me. shoving his hands into his tattered jeans pockets (which were in an abysmal state)."Who the fuck cares? Let's just go. Loosen up."
Loosen up, his words seemed to slap me across the face, sending jolts up my spine with all the appropriate weight and drama. The problem with Jem was that he refused to let me be. He was so frustrating. He refused to let it go. He refused to allow me to sink in deeper into my shell. He refused to think I was fine to not live.
In all my life, I dedicate myself to being perfect. Partying, drinking and living life as a teenager- that was not me. And frankly, looking at all their craziness and the anarchy occurring without any order intervening, I think I'm happier without it.
Finally, with my conspicuously wet pants, we've made it into the house.
Inside was, if plausible, even more, chaotic than the front porch. Streamers and toilet paper hung like Christmas tinsel from the ceilings. People were generally losing more articles of clothing by the minute, replacing them with duct tape adhered to their body. Shots were licked, drank and sucked for every inch of skin (and I'm talking every inch). Bags of weed were surreptitiously exchanged between students, passing the baggie right around for everybody to roll a joint.
