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IF IT WEREN'T for what happened that night, Robine Cuoco wouldn't be dead.
I can still remember the faint smell of the sweaty people dancing to the music blasting through the speakers that night at Amelia's party. The sound of bottles of beers being opened, the howling from the soccer team in the middle of the living room as they play beer pongs, the random chatters from some of the people at the back end of the room. I can still feel Leo's lips on mine.
I remember driving towards an old convenience store a few blocks away from the party at half past two in the morning, with Robine on the passenger seat as we belt out into an old Whitney Houston's song. We were both laughing, the only difference between us early in that morning is that she's sober, and I am not.
I think I had finished about seven bottles of beer and one glass of wine that night, and Robine, being Robine, the good girl that she was, only drank coke, and nothing else. But she let me drive anyway, because that had been our routine for the past years of knowing each other. I am always the one behind the wheel, even in certain situations like that night, when it's against Robine's discretion.
The truth is, she didn't want me to drive that time. She insisted on driving us both back home, but I was adamant and ninety percent stubborn for my own good. So she let me drive.
When we get to the convenience store, almost fifteen minutes before three in the morning, I immediately proceeded towards the beverage section, looking for some root beer. I remember Robine clicking her tongue in disagreement, but I just stuck my tongue out at her as I grab myself five root beer bottles and started rummaging through one of the aisles looking for Cheetos.
Robine bought herself a cold diet coke, and then we headed outside. Before reaching my car, she asked me for my keys. Telling me that I shouldn't be allowed to drive in my drunken state, I just nearly missed a step down the mini steps outside the convenience store, and I stumbled while walking towards my car. I laughed at her, and then I remember opening one bottle of root beer.
Looking back at it now, I have a lot of regrets that night. I made a lot of mistakes that led to regrets that led to me staying up until one in the morning replaying that night inside my head over and over. As if I wasn't suffering enough.
If it weren't for that night, Robine would still be alive.
And I wouldn't be here pretending not to remember anything that had happened that night.
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