Sex, talk, heartbreak, clogs. All a part of the most exotic parties- ones Harry threw at least.
We were three hours in; sweat drenched our hairline and underarm's, tequila was starting to taste like water, and the weird party lights we had since god-knows-when made me dizzy until I was nauseous.
The guest bathroom was shut, moans leaking through the creaks under the door. I hated bathroom hoggers. The only restroom left in this little home was the one in Harry's room. It was kept locked so Harry wouldn't get infested with crabs.
It was one of those locks that could be opened by a penny, or the tip of an acrylic nail.
Every ounce of food and liquid I consumed was huddling at the tip of my tongue. I nearly missed the toilet (I halfway did).
"You're cleaning that up tomorrow."
I pulled away from the toilet with a blazing throat and mouth that tasted like bad dip. My head spun so much I couldn't focus on the voice.
I'm going crazy.
The shower curtains shook open. I turned and caught Harry's lopsided smile- the dimpled one that never failed to make my stomach bubble (in a good way).
"Why are you hiding in there?" I asked, letting the weight of my head naively rest on the toilet seat.
He huffed through his mouth. Then, I saw right past his facade.
Sarah guessed three shots, Mitch guessed two, I guessed 12 AM. The answers didn't match, but I figured it would take time to let something devastating sink in rather than drinks. We made a bet on when the high of the party would go down and he was faced with the fact that his fiancé was now his ex-fiancé.
"Too many people." He grumbled, playing with the hem of his shirt.
The toilet flushed and I was back on my feet throwing a towel on the puked bit of floor before making my way over the tub.
"You don't fit." He half-groaned, half-laughed.
"I'll make myself fit." I snuggled myself between his crossed legs and the cold tile beside the faucet. It was a tight space, but he was thin enough for us to both fit. Uncomfortably, that is.
"You look like you had fun." He said.
"Hm, what gave it away?" I sighed, closing my eyes to relieve myself of the nausea that was coming back.
"You haven't puked like that since we were teenagers."
I couldn't help but laugh at the memory. We had the bright idea of going to this popular's girl party in year 11. We left drunk, and in so much trouble. One of the cops that caught us just happened to be our neighbor and drove us home without punishment.
Our mums didn't hold back, though. I threw up my guts the next morning; as if that didn't make me feel horrible enough, Harry had to watch as punishment, with Anne giving us a well-worded lecture about how disappointed she was and how she hopes we learn from our mistakes.
It only took us a couple tries.
"I still feel horrible about that night." I wipe a tear away, stomach aching from laughter.
