Flooded Lungs

1. When The Day Met The Night

Chapter 1: When The Day Met The Night

Blurs.

Everything is a blur. The faces of the people surrounding me, the music and voices thumping through my dizzy mind, the sea of awkward movement pushing up against me as I try to stumble my way through the crowd of drunk, grinding college kids. All blurs, all streaks and sensations surrounding me.

And red. Red crisscrosses my vision, rises to my face, haunts me as the color of her lips against Sean's. Sean, who, up until about five minutes ago, had been my boyfriend. Who, five minutes ago, had apparently forgotten all about me as he put his sweaty hands all over some other girl. Thinking about it puts a sick taste in my mouth.

I have to get out of here.

"Whoa!" I accidentally bump into some guy holding a Solo cup filled to the brim with beer, splashing lukewarm alcohol on myself. Great.

"Sorry," I squeak, ducking under his arm and getting out of the mob.

"Hey!" Solo cup guy calls after me. "Aubree? You're Sean's girlfriend, right?"

Again, that image of Sean pressed up against that girl flashes in my head. "I WAS Sean's girlfriend, I guess," I say sharply, surprised at how the words fly out of my mouth.

Solo cup guy stares at me questioningly, but before I can explain, a lump rises in my throat and my eyes fill with tears. I shake my head at him and run out of the room.

I trip over my God-awful heels as I enter the front hallway, which is empty, save for a couple who's busy undressing each other in the corner. Swearing under my breath, I slip them off and decide to go barefoot, carrying them along with my white clutch. Brushing away tears, I slam the door behind me as I walk out. Out of the party, and out of Sean's life.

It's a lot colder than I expected outside, and I rub my bare shoulders in an effort to be warm. All I can think of is how if Sean were here, he'd give me his jacket, and how nice it would feel, and how it would smell like him . . .

Stop, I try to tell myself firmly in my head. "You deserve better than him. Remember all the fights? And how you always felt like he was lying when he said he was 'out with the guys'? Well, here's your proof . . . "

"Oh!" I'm so wrapped up in my thoughts as I turn the corner that I run right into someone. I look up to see a boy about my age, looking concerned as he sees the streaks of tears running down my face.

"Are you okay?" he asks quickly.

"Oh, I'm fine!" I say, my voice sounding thin and unnaturally high in an effort to sound normal. "Are you?"

He takes a step back and looks at me almost patronizingly. "No, are you okay? You're crying."

"I'm fine," I say, my voice now fragile as I desperately try to keep it under control. The last thing I need is to cry in front of a stranger - especially a cute stranger, I realize, looking at him.

He's skinny, wearing a black Blink-182 shirt, black skinny jeans, and dark gray Vans. His long-lashed, auburn eyes light up even in the dim glow of the street lamp, and give his face a little-boyish quality. His hair is dark brown and feathery, with slightly side-swept bangs.

I'm suddenly uncomfortably aware of my messy hair and smeared makeup.

"Look, I'm sorry," he says softly, "but I can't just leave you like this." He looks at me, biting his lip and furrowing his brow the smallest bit. Then he reaches out and gently touches my arm, leading me to a small wooden bench. I'm so washed-out that I just let myself follow.