The Ice Hockey Player

Partying Hard or Hardly Partying?

Once upon a time, in a time long, long ago, Skye used to like parties. She was one of the drunk, sweaty bodies writhing around on the dance floor, maybe a little drunk, maybe a little high, and definitely having the time of her life.

Now, she wished she were anywhere else. The music was a little too loud, the vibrations on her chest and back a little too familiar. The air stank of vomit and alcohol, smells that were also too close to home.

For the seventh time that night she cursed herself for agreeing to Jas' deal of one hour. It had only been twenty-seven minutes and already the beginnings of a panic attack were rising inside her chest. Fresh air. She needed fresh air, and she needed it now.

Skye pushed herself off the wall wall and tried to leave the hot, sweaty and crowded room. She slipped through the crowd, trying not to touch anyone. Physical contact had always made her uncomfortable. She felt grabby hands on her waist and butt, and quickly shied away from any prying hands. She couldn't stand being touched anymore.

She found the kitchen, over flowing with bottles of alcohol; both full and empty. She couldn't see Jas or Lila or an open door so she left quickly, before someone there could try to convince her to come and do a shot.

The backdoors were in the next room, leading out to the backyard which was dark and practically empty. Without a second thought, she pushed herself outside and into the night air. It was cold, the wind snappy and goose bumps erupted over her arm. It helped her clear her head, pushed out the bad thoughts.

The few people outside didn't notice her, too busy smoking. She ignored them, too, and made her way to the end of the garden and sat down with her back against the fence. From a distance she could still hear the music; loud and pumping. The house was lit up like a Christmas tree, with silhouettes moving past the windows, looking like ghosts.

Twenty nine minutes gone. Thirty one minutes to go.

***

They found her. Even drunk and a little high, Jas and Lila found her hiding in the backyard by the fence, with only fifteen minutes to go. They dragged her back inside, chiding her for not giving the party a chance, for not really trying to get over her fear and for disappearing on them.

Skye didn't bother to argue. She let them lead her into the kitchen, the remnants of her panic attack lingering in her chest.

"Have you had anything to drink?" Jas asked.

"No," Skye said.

Lila sighed and leant on the marble kitchen top, her elbow landing in something wet. She ignored it though, staring at Skye intently. Lila's eyes were grey, and when she didn't blink, they reminded Skye of steel and iron, of rocks that wouldn't move.

"You agreed to try," Lila said. "You agreed, when we moved here, you would try to move past your fears. Hiding by the fence isn't trying."

Skye stared at a stain on the bench top. A house like this shouldn't have stains. Houses shouldn't have stains in general. Like scars, stains indicated imperfection, failure and secrets. And houses should never have imperfection, failure or secrets.

Too bad that was all her house ever had.

"Skye? Hello, can you please stop staring at that stain and listen to me?" Lila said, snapping her fingers in her face.

"Do you think they know the stain is here?" Skye asked, looking up into the steel eyes that had hardened further.

"Yes, and they're fine with it," Lila said. "You don't need to clean it."

Skye dropped her gaze back to the stain. It looked like a little Australia, complete with Tasmania, in an ugly brown blotch. She ran her hand over it. It was as smooth as the marble countertop, but it didn't matter. With some elbow grease it could come out.