chapter thirteen.

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Chapter Thirteen.

SULLIVAN promised Collins before the night began that she was in for an interesting one if she continued to hang around him, but this is one promise he wouldn't have minded not keeping. 

Due to the less than picturesque conversation he had with Arthur back in the gym, in addition to the fact that he feels that his heart has become a crumpled piece of paper that's been tossed in a garbage bin, he wastes no time scooping Collins up and whisking her as far away from the school as he can. Fortunately, he's become very good at pretending and putting on the facade that his mood hasn't dropped off a fucking cliff from the time he picked her up from her house to now. 

They decide that instead of wasting away at some godforsaken high school after party — because God knows how that ended up last time — that they'll be going to a swanky, modern bar downtown in the heart of the city. Collins and Sullivan are smart enough to bring a change of clothes with them so they can transition well into the young adults that they're trying to play. And, well, they do a fantastic job. (His mother would be so proud if she could see him in action.) Without incident, they're able to infiltrate Steele's Pit Stop and confirm seats right by the bartender. 

"We'll have a few rounds of your finest tequila, sir," Sullivan announces, keeping his tone even and smooth just how his mother told him. He takes out the (fake) ID and a fifty stashed away in his front pocket and passes it to the bartender who analyzes it warily. With a quick glance up at Sullivan's face and back down at the ID, he passes it back and leaves to fetch the shots.

Collins scoffs. "Lemme see that!" She snatches the ID from off the counter top and squints down at it, chocolate irises studying the plastic as if it were the answers to a midterm exam. "Where in the fuck did you get this good of a fake ID, Clayton Jericho?" She asks with an incredulous look.

SJ shrugs nonchalantly, though, not without reciprocating a sly wink as a part of his reply. "I happen to have some well-established connections." 

"It also says here you're an organ donor?" Collins raises a playful brow, gently nudging her elbow against his side.  "How considerate." He laughs as the shots are placed in front of them, taking a moment to look at the sophomore in front of him.

He starts off by telling her, "We ain't tryin' to get white girl wasted tonight, yeah? I gotta get the both of us home without incident. These are the only shots we're having tonight. Alright?" 

Those aren't the only shots they have that night.

An hour, four rounds, and a two and a half beers later, both parties are, indeed, white girl wasted. It's not something that they have done on purpose by any means — things just happen.

Time becomes immeasurable as the pair dance and laugh and drink some more; it's the type of fun that arrives too late and leaves too soon. By the time Sullivan has enough sense to look down at his watch to check the time, it's already almost two o'clock in the morning. Collins' parents are going to kill him for bringing her home past curfew and as drunk as a skunk. 

"Shit, I gotta get you home," Sullivan announces as he helps her up onto a stool by the bar because Lord knows she can't help herself. He's a bit bigger than her so his condition isn't as bad as hers since he's still able to comprehend some things around him, but neither are in shape to be driving anywhere. Handing his keys to the bartender to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, he turns around and tells Collins, "I'm gonna go out and call a taxi, okay? Don't get into any shit while I'm gone." After she gives a reassuring nod and giggle, Sully bids her one last look before turning and retreating out the bar to call up a taxi for the both of him and to call Sadie so she could call Collins' folks and pretend to be her friend she's staying the night with. (Siblings have to be good for something.) Five minutes later he returns back to the bar but not without a sight he doesn't want to see. 

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