Rage With Benefits

Extras #2: Stupidity is Alcohol's Girlfriend

The evening of Bryce's party

Emery was hammered.

The only thing his sleep-dulled eyes could decipher were random blurred blotches of colors as he stumbled over the hallway filled with horny teenagers. "Watch it, man," one grumbled when he accidentally hit his elbow with his arm. He was too drunk to apologize.

"What the hell is wrong with this house?" Emery whined to himself as he bumped into a couple of furniture. He was looking for something, yet he could not remember what, or who.

Turning left, he found himself in the second-floor hallway with a view of the foyer downstairs where he saw his best friend screaming at the top of his lungs, shirtless, his feet planted on the liquor table. Bryce was pulling on his pants as if trying to get him to get down, but Ian wasn't budging.

"Make out! Make out! Make out!"

Emery laughed before chanting along until he got tired and went back to looking for an open room. That's right, he was looking for a room to sleep in. The image of his mother reminding him to immediately look for a bed when he's drunk flashed before him, determined to do exactly that as he twisted a few doorknobs here and there until he finally found one at the corner. Before he could step inside, he paused at the sound of someone giggling, followed by an all too familiar voice.

"Don't you have a boyfriend?" he asked as soon as he was pinned down the wall by a relatively shorter girl.

She blushed, clearly drunk as she stood up her toes to meet his eyes, their faces barely inches apart. "Aren't you a little too hot to care about that?"

Cameron smirked, setting his glass down the drawer as he held her by the waist before pulling her in for a heated kiss. The blonde girl quickly responded, her empty red cup tumbling down the ground as she wrapped her arms around Cameron's neck, forcing herself onto him as close as she can.

"Cameron?" Emery called, but Cameron was too far to hear his voice and Emery was too drunk to walk up to them, so instead he decided to enter the empty bedroom with a heavy heart, head hung low as he closed the door.

The room was indeed empty. Just a few pieces of furniture and an all-white bed with a picture of a yellow flower hanging above the headrest. This must be a guest room, Emery guessed when he opened a few drawers which only had towels and slippers in them.

Plopping down on the soft bed, he sighed as he stared at the light blue ceiling, the image of the man he likes making out with a hot blonde kept repeating in his head. Emery sat up and suddenly, what is probably the most ridiculous idea popped into his mind, one that made his drunken self excited and giddy.

He needs to write a confession letter. Like right now.

Maybe this could change things. He did watch how things turned out for Lara Jean. Maybe this one will get him to end up with a hot guy that he likes, too. While he's at it, he should also probably send tons of letters to all the guys he's been into for greater chances.

But then again, he's only ever been into this one guy. He'd be fooling himself if he says otherwise.

Emery rummaged through the drawers in search of something to write on and write with. Finally, he saw an old calendar and a purple inked pen underneath the heap of random stuff. He ran back to bed, dropping onto his stomach as he thought of how to start this confession.

There wasn't really much to think about. He's drunk and he could barely spell out his name.

"Dear, Cameron..." he slurred, fingers shaky as he tried to finish a sentence. "I like you... a lot..."

He frowned before crumpling it and throwing the paper to the side. "No..."

He wrote again. "Hi, this is Emery and I'm gay..."

Faint music could be heard from the background as Emery continued scribbling out words that no adult would understand. "Dear, Cammie," he muttered to himself. "Date me?"

Thirty minutes he did that again and again and again until he was surrounded by a pile of crumpled pieces of paper that all contained Cameron's name. When he finally made one that satisfied him, he grinned and folded the letter written at the back of a December page, tucking it into his back pocket.

Then he passed out.

A few minutes later, he heard voices talking. The party seemed to be already over because the house appeared quiet. Emery slept with his face buried deep inside one of the fluffy white pillows, his eyes forced him back to sleep, but his mind was awake long enough for him to hear a bit of their conversation.

"Just take him home, man. He's clearly out of it," voice number one said.

"I'll take care of him," the other assured. Emery knew who it was. "Sorry about the mess."

"It's fine, go. Dad's gonna be home any minute now," he heard shuffling. "By the way, have you seen Bryce?"

Emery felt himself getting lifted up from the bed. He groaned, pushing the face of whoever it was trying to disturb his sleep away but gave up and just let himself be carried outside.

"No."

"That jerk. What am I supposed to do with all this?"

They were now descending the stairs. Emery turned his head around to bury his face on the man's chest. It smelled good with a hint of tequila. "Just ditch it. You don't live here anyway," Cameron chuckled, occasionally changing the position of his arm under Emery's back.

"Nah," the other guy shrugged until they reached the doorway. "Drive safe."

"Thanks, Mark."

Emery was then plopped into what he was sure was a car. He shifted in his place, eyes still closed as he inhaled the scent of apple freshener. He heard the engine starting before dozing off a few minutes into the ride.

He didn't remember a thing when he woke up the next day.