Page 7 of A Dark Melody

“Sorry.” I mumble. I could feel the panic creeping back up. He knew too much now. He held power over me, and I didn’t know what to do about it. Sue would probably like me to make nice with him so he would be less likely to spill the beans about my panic attack. I should probably have sex with him or something to keep him quiet.

But then he would just tell everyone we fucked, and that would start its own rumors.

“Shall we?” He motions towards the party.

“Uh.” I pause, patting the vial in my pocket. I could use another bump. I know I should be friendly with him, but the last thing I needed was for him to realize I did coke, too. “You go ahead.”

He looks over at me. “Okay.” He nods. “I’ll see you around Abbey Dark.” He smiles, taking a step backwards, towards the party, still looking at me.

He walks backward a few more steps before spinning around and turning his back to me.

I wait until he is lost in the crowd of the party before pulling out the vial and doing a spoonful. I wait a moment longer, letting the drugs kick in before walking towards the party.

I’ve spent the last 45 minutes wandering around the party, making small talk with people I knew. I have had my fair share of liquor from bottles being passed around and have a nice buzz going, but I’m beginning to feel drained. I know I could leave now, and Sue would have no idea that I wasted 15 minutes not at the party but hyperventilating in hiding. At the same time, I know the longer I stay, the better chance I will have of getting out of eating a sandwich, so I find a corner on the bus to hide out in.

I’m sitting a bit away from everyone, against a bench on the bus, nodding along to a song playing on the radio.

“Hey again.” I look up toward the voice and see Wesley standing above me.

“Hi.” I say, folding my arms in front of me, wishing he would leave me alone.

“You don’t like me.” He laughs, his warm, infectious laugh almost making me crack a smile. He takes a sip out of a Grey Goose bottle in his hands.

“I don’t know you.”

“True.” He says, taking a seat next to me. He holds out the bottle to me, and I grab it, taking a long sip before passing it back. I don’t know why he wouldn’t just leave me alone. “What do you want to know?” He asks. I raise an eyebrow, not sure what he is getting at. “What do you want to know about me, to decide if you like me or not?” he clarifies.

I don’t know what his game is, but I fear he will tell everyone about my panic attack if I don't entertain him.

“Can I trust you?” I ask honestly, probably more so than I should.

He takes a drink from the bottle and passes it back to me.

“You mean, am I going to tell anyone about your non-panic, panic attack?” I nod, taking a sip from the bottle. “No. I’m not like that.” I pass the bottle back, and he takes a long sip from it. “I don’t do gossip. I’m not an asshole.” He smiles and leans back. “Anything else?” He passes me that bottle again.

“Um.” I pause, taking a sip to buy some time. I know I should ask him more, be friendly, and keep him happy. “In your band, what do you do?” I pass the bottle back.

“Guess.” He presses his lips together as they curl upwards into a smile.

“Guitar?” I tend to attract guitarists. I often had to switch out my backing band’s guitarist because they got too flirty with me.

“I can play guitar, but that’s not what I do.” He says, pressing the bottle to his lips and taking a sip.

“Sing?”

“Bingo.” He says, poking me on the nose. He takes another sip before handing the bottle back to me. “I don’t sound as good as you, but I like to think I sound good enough.”

“Good enough, by definition, is enough.” I say, slurring my words slightly.

Sue would be upset as I am boarding on drunk now. I raise the bottle to my lips to take a sip anyway because I’ve never made good decisions. Why start now?

He reaches for the bottle, and I hand it over, our hands brushing against each other. My stomach feels warm and fuzzy, but I can’t tell if that’s just from the liquor or if that’s from feeling a man’s touch for the first time in weeks.

“You should watch my set sometimes.” He says. “I’d love your opinion of my band.” He takes a sip from the bottle.

I’m aching for a bump and wondering if I should risk him knowing I have coke or not.

“You never really answered my first question.” I say.

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