Page 8 of Inevitable Destruction

I’m almost to the front walk when someone bumps into me. My feet slide across the concrete as I try to keep my balance. I barely hear their mumbled apology as I readjust my hat, biting my tongue and glaring around, but they’re already lost in the sea of bodies.

I roll my eyes and stomp down the walk. There are symbols etched into the brick right above the white double doors that says something about Phi, but I couldn’t give a shit less. I throw the door open, uncaring if it smacks someone.

White and blue lights flash all around to the beat of the music: “Fed Up” by Ghostemane. I step over the threshold, and the heat from all the bodies instantly swarms me. My sweats cling to my skin as I push my way through the throng, heading to the kitchen where I know the alcohol is. Limbs brush against me as I maneuver through the crowd. A hand brushes across my ass. A shoe grazes my ankle. Hair flies across my face. Lips press against the back of my hand.

I freeze, spinning on my heels as I jerk my hand away from the unexpected wet touch. A girl with glassy blue eyes stares at me with parted lips. Her tongue brushes across said lips as she blatantly stares at me. Her hair is long and brown, hanging down to her ass. Her white crop top shows off her curvy stomach, adorned with a silver piercing. My gaze falls down to her thighs. Ripped jeans and heels. I bet her feet are killing her.

I make my way back up her body until I reach her face once more. Bodies dance and sway, bumping into us, bringing us closer until there are only a few inches between us. My eyes meet hers, and I run my tongue along my teeth. She smiles, flashing bright-white teeth. I cock my head as I check her out.

Hmm.

Maybe later.

I lean down until my lips are brushing the tip of her pierced ear. “Find me later.” With that, I turn away from her, my mind back on finding a fucking drink. And Jay.

Now damp with sweat, I finally step over the threshold to the kitchen where it’s surprisingly nowhere near as packed as the rest of the house. There’s a long counter in the middle of the room, and every inch of available surface area is filled with some type of alcohol or empty red solo cups.

I zone in on the frosty glass bottle of Grey Goose. I pull a cup out of the thin plastic bag they’re in and bite the rim between my teeth as I pull the cork from the bottle. I switch the cork and cup, biting the hard, spongey cylinder instead as I fill my cup almost three quarters of the way. I don’t bother with any chaser—no point when the whole fucking goal is to get drunk. And get drunk now.

I slam the bottle on the countertop and push the cork back in the top. I bring the rim of my cup to my lips and take a small sip, savoring the potent burn sliding down my throat. I tip it back, already itching for more, and my eyes flutter closed as I swallow. And swallow. And swallow until I can’t anymore.

I hum, swaying on my feet as I toss the cup on the counter. The liquor hits like a punch in my stomach, heating every inch of me, inside and out. I push my sleeves up my arms and brush my hand over my mouth, wiping the liquid from my lips.

“Hey, man! There you are! I was wondering if you were coming since you never texted me back.”

My eyes drag open, landing on a very drunk and high Jay. His straight blonde hair is plastered to his forehead, and his pupils are blown, only the tiniest sliver of his blue eyes visible. His tanned skin is covered in a sheen of sweat.

He’s looking how I want to.

My mouth finally opens, and my delayed brain kickstarts. “I thought I did,” I lie easily enough. He doesn’t really give a shit either way as long as he gets paid.

“No worries, my man. I got—” he cuts himself off, glancing up at the ceiling. “Upstairs. Wanna try it?”

I laugh, my head light and the music feeling great as the bass thumps. “I know your shit is good, dude.”

“C’mon.” He grabs my bicep with a smile, and I turn, following him to the stairs. Bodies loiter on the steps, leaning against the wall as they chat, cups in hands. They ignore Jay and I as we start up the next flight of stairs to the third floor.

He pulls open a door to what I assume is his room. We both step in, and he closes it behind us, the clicking of a lock resounding through the room. The music is nothing but a distant sound up here, and it makes me itch.

I need it loud. Heavy. In my fucking face. So goddamn deafening I can’t hear myself think because when I can hear myself think, I want to die.

And I don’t want to die. Not right now, anyway. Right now, I want to snort a few lines, drink another cup of Vodka, and maybe fuck that chick downstairs.

She kinda looks like Essa. With her small, round face and plump lips, dark hair down to her ass. Except she’s not covered in scars her piece of shit boyfriend or whatever the fuck he is gave her.

I throw my head back against the wall I’m leaning against, squeezing my eyes shut until spots dance across the backs of my lids. “How much is it?” I ask with my eyes still closed. I can hear the shuffling of Jay’s feet across the carpet, but I don’t bother looking.

The faint creak of the mattress springs and the squeak of plastic on metal has my ears perking up. My eyelids drag open as I focus ahead of me. My gaze lands on a bunch of band posters, the ends of some curling up and away from the wall. Black Sabbath, Grateful Dead, Metallica. Apparently he’s into rock. Cool.

“Wanna do one?” My eyes fall to the bed Jay is sitting on. One leg is crossed under his ass and the other is hanging off the side of his bed, perched on the frame. In his hands is a blue-ish black metal tray with four white lines.

I swallow, already tasting the drip in the back of my throat. Funny how an hour ago I didn’t want it, but now, with those four small, white lines staring me in the face, I want nothing more than the numbness.

That’s the thing with drugs. They’re all different; coming in literally every shape and fucking form. But the one thing they all have in common is the emptiness they bring, what we all truly crave. It’s simply the method of administering a specific one we have a preference over.

I drop down on the bed, grabbing the rolled dollar bill Jay holds out for me. “You first, man. If you want more, I got plenty.”

Without hesitation, I lean down over the tray he’s holding in his lap. The scent of him fills my nostrils. Sweat, beer, and something… like citrus? I insert the bill into my nose and bring the end of it to the line. I plug my other nostril and snort the line in a quick swipe. I drop the bill and suck in another deep breath through my nose, clearing it. The thick drip settles in the back of my throat, and I gag as I swallow.

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