Scarlett
Two hours into the party and I'm actually having more fun than I thought I would. Who would have thought that partying sober could be fun? The only thing raining on my sober parade is a not so little annoyance named Marcus King. The moment Ricky and I got here he snatched me up and hasn't let me go since. At first, it was fine, he kept his arm around me and paraded me around to his friends, all of which stared at me like I was a cold, glass of water in the middle of the Sahara. The feminist in me wanted to protest being paraded around like some sort of prize, but the party girl in me who just wants to have a good time and enjoys the male attention shut her up quickly.
I never realized how hard it is to enjoy yourself when someone's arm is a permanent fixture around your waist and you're dragging 200 pounds with you. Every time I try and go mingle with someone that isn't Marcus, he pulls me right back to him, like he owns me or something. It's starting to piss me off. I need some room to breathe.
"Hey, Marcus I'm going to go get something to drink." The heavy bass of Future's "Groupies" drowns me out.
"Whatcha say ma?" Marcus leans down towards my level, balancing the styrofoam cup in his hand careful not to spill it.
"I'm getting a drink."
"What?" He makes no further effort to hear me better, so I point to the general direction of the kitchen, before removing his arm that made a home around me. I'm quick to get from his grasp before he can reclaim me.
I push my way through the bodies and try to find the kitchen in this hazy maze. Some ass blows smoke in my face as I'm passing by and I have to resist the urge to pop off solely on the grounds disrespect. I opt for a dirty look once I remind myself that I'm no longer that girl anymore that fights any and everybody. Ten minutes later, I finally find the kitchen. All types of alcohol are set out on the counters since unlike Lucas's party there's no bar. It's a BYOB (Bring your own booze) and BYOW (Bring your own weed) kind of party.
I rummage through the fridge which is also filled to the brim with alcohol. There's not even water or a Pepsi. Who plans this and doesn't even think 'Hey maybe we should get some water?! So no one gets dehydrated?'
Now I'm aggravated. The very familiar colorful bottles call out my name and taunt me. I go to play with the hair tie on, a strategy Barry taught me to do when I'm around alcohol. The pain from the hair tie supposed to do two things - Hurt enough to distract me from the alcohol and train me to associate pain with alcohol. The hair tie isn't on my wrist and I remember that Ricky made me take it off before we left. Something about it being "middle school-esque".
Oh Fuck.
My heart rate increases and my mouth is suddenly extremely dry. I need a drink. Anything at this point will work. I spot a bottle of Fireball sitting on a counter, virtually empty.
I loved Fireball.
One minuscule sip wouldn't hurt. Right?
I pick up the bottle and bring the poison to my lips. I'm about to see how much damage can be done from taking a sip when the abruptness of Ricky's voice makes me almost drop the bottle.
"Scarlett! I've been looking for you forever! There's some- wait what are you doing?"
I feel like I just got caught with my hand in the cookie jar. My heart is pounding out of my chest, my breathing is ragged and my hands won't stop shaking.
"Okay nevermind that. There's someone here that you have to see." She practically bouncing with excitement and there's a devious smirk on her face.
"If it's Marcus, can you please tell him that I don't want to see him right now? I just spent two hours with him. I need air." I'm still shaken up by what I was about to do and now my anxiety is through the roof. Hopefully, Ricky's oblivious enough to not notice, because I definitely do not want to explain to her why I'm acting like this over some damn fireball.
