Page 9 of Life of the Party

CHAPTER 3

The pavement shone in the streetlights, wet with recent rain. The air was chill and damp as I walked, smoking, my boots clipping loudly in the quiet. My mind was racing with the evening’s events and my ears still thrummed with phantom bass.

I felt like the worst friend in the world, ditching Riley when he needed me so I could swoon over an older man. But I was coming now, in the dead of night no less, to help my friend…though most of me wished I could be back at the club, basking in Grey’s voice and smile and attention instead of out walking in the cold.

I hoped Riley was all right. My experience with mushroom trips was about equal to my experience with men…both nonexistent. I talked a big game, but when it came to relationships I’d never found anyone special enough. I’d make out a bit at parties and stuff, but I could never do the one-night stand thing, especially when I was still a virgin. Most of the girls I knew were up into the double digits with their sexual escapades, but I couldn’t fathom how they could do that, how they could be so cavalier about sex. Sure, we seem to have moved past the whole waiting-for-marriage thing, but shouldn’t it at least mean something?

There were plenty of rumours circulating at school that conflicted with my state of virginity, which was fine with me. It made me seem more badass, I guess, which I didn’t mind, even if it came with consequences sometimes, like Riley’s bad trip.

Four blocks later, Ben’s house came into view—a sprawling bungalow nestled in the back of a cul-de-sac edged with manicured trees and expensive landscaping.

“Fuck, Mac, am I glad to see you.” Ben let out a waft of steamy smoke and stood from the curb as I approached.

“Why?” I looked up at the house, nervously. “I don’t know what to do any more than you do.”

“It’s not me he’s been asking for all night.” Ben raised his eyebrows. “Were you having a good time with whats-his-name? Sorry to spoil your fun.”

“His name is Grey.” I sighed fondly. My smoke sizzled as I flicked it into a puddle. “Where’s Riley? What’s going on?”

“Go see for yourself. I don’t know where to begin.”

I headed into the house then, anxious, not sure what to expect. The upstairs was bathed in darkness, so I went downstairs into the dim light of the TV room. Riley was there, alone, slouched on the loveseat, staring at the empty screen of the TV—the only light in the room. It tinged everything an eerie blue.

“Ry, whatcha doing sitting in the dark?” I asked. There was no answer, which kind of creeped me out. I flicked on the lamp nearest me. “Ry?”

“Shut that off!” He screamed suddenly, pointing a small toy golf club at me like it was a sword. “Wait, wait, Mackenzie, is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me. What the hell are you doing?”

“Exactly. Exactly.” He nodded his head in agreement, which made no sense. His hood was pulled down past his eyes. All I could see was the tip of his nose and his mouth, which was set in a grim line. “See, I knew you’d understand. I hoped you’d come.”

“Of course I came. What’s going on?”

He pulled his hood down further. His voice was hoarse and choking. “I can’t control it. I can’t. The things I’m seeing…it’s not right. They’re not right.”

“What are you seeing?” I sat down in the chair beside the lamp. “There’s nothing here, Ry. Nothing but me.”

“No, I can’t tell you. It’s too terrible. I think I’m dying. Just, just be here.”

“I am here. You’re going to be okay. Remember that one party when you ate all those hot wings before they were cooked? You swore you were dying then, but you were fine. You just gotta ride it out.”

“This is slightly different than food poisoning, Mac,” Riley growled at me. “I didn’t see shit then.”

“Oh, yes you did.” I laughed, trying to lighten his mood. “That’s all you saw for days.”

“Mackenzie!” He snapped at me, stopping my laughter abruptly. “Don’t you get it? I’m in Hell. I’minHell. I see Hell right now.”

“…What?”

“It’s evil. All of it is evil, and I see it now. I see it clearly now, and I wish I’d known the truth before. I wish I had the chance to choose again. I’d choose differently.”

“You are rambling about who-knows-what right now. Just relax. You are not going to die.” I sounded more confident than I felt. “Just take it easy; think of good things. In a few hours, this will all be over.”

“No, it won’t ever be over.” He said desperately, clawing at his hood and his face. “Help me, Mac. Help me.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted, slightly panicked by his plea. “Tell me what to do, Ry, and I’ll do it, whatever you need.”

He shook his head, and then, pressing his hands against his face, Riley began to cry, silently sobbing into his palms. I had never, in the eleven years of our friendship, seen Riley do that. Not when his dad left, not when his dog died, not even when he broke his wrist in Phys. Ed. Those quiet tears scared me more than anything he ever could have said or done. I felt hollow and lost. Riley had always been my rock—the strong one, manly, emotionless. Now I didn’t know what to do.

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