What Happens When I Get Drunk

A Short Story

I fell in love with Isaac when he was still the ugly one—and the only one—in my brother’s little group, and that made me feel like I had some sort of claim on him. He was an adorable kid, but he was an awkward teen, and his attractiveness oscillated in waves. I loved him through all of them. But I’m one of those unconfident girls who thinks that anyone she has a crush on is too good for her. I did the logical thing; I was a total bitch. It definitely threw him off the scent, even if my brother was constantly hounding me over why I took such a dislike to this particular friend. After all, when we were all kids, with Isaac and Mitch in the grade above me and corrupted with the power of it, we were pretty much inseparable. When Isaac came over to play, it didn’t matter if it was me or if it was Mitch he found seated at the kitchen counter.

I adored him then, of course, in the same way anyone would adore the one who beat up the bullies for the sake of a little girl. Then seventh grade hit and Mitch, who was always a bit precocious in the testosterone department, found a girlfriend. It wasn’t much of a relationship—a peck on the lips was still seen as a huge deal. But it completely changed the dynamic of our trio. Isaac followed suit because he didn’t want Mitch to leave him behind. I learned to beat up my own bullies—it was just the way things turned out. I wasn’t bitter until I hit puberty too.

I also bitched out the girls who liked to compare my brother and his best friend, who always came out on the unfavorable end. It was when I discovered a little rumor that I was in love with “ugly Isaac” that, in my horror, I decided to make a complete turnaround and was completely horrible to him. The rumor didn’t even have a chance to circulate once. I’m pretty sure Isaac never found out.

By the time I got to high school, the two of them were well established and I, who had been around them constantly as they lounged about the house and was incapable of objectively observing their development, received the shock of my life: they were both considered attractive. It was like a little part of me died. Isaac was my discovery. No one else could see what I saw in him. What they saw was purely superficial, and if I were to somehow, in my wildest dreams, gather up the courage to go up to him and tell him how I felt, he wouldn’t think I was any different from the other girls.

So, to sum up, me: jealous, bitchy. Isaac: hot, nicest guy in the world. Mitch: loud-mouthed, obnoxious.

I actually haven’t gotten into that last part yet, but I mean he’s my brother. It should be implied that he’s everything that’s wrong with the world.

Love ‘im to death.

Senior year was lonely. I had friends, but Mitch went to college across the country in Cali; Isaac was much closer in distance but not emotionally, so I couldn’t visit either of them. Mitch only came home for Christmas week; he went skiing for most of his month off. I could say I understand that he needed to relax, but the guy’s a music major, and no matter how much he protests otherwise, his course-load is not thought intensive as far as I can see.

Besides the weekly calls and the panic-induced twice-daily calls I fired off during college apps, I didn’t hear much from Mitch. We were unusually close for siblings, and we had pretty much the same circle of friends, most of which graduated with him. My best friend in high school, Vivian, was absolutely no help; she was having an alarming amount of nervous breakdowns. Isaac called our house sometime mid-November, heard something in my voice, and we got to talking.

Long story short, I’m still a bitch to him, but it isn’t as vicious. I felt somewhat like I’d betrayed myself. Especially when I decided to go to his college.

It wasn’t purely stupid that I decided to go here. It was certainly the best school I was accepted to, and in-state makes it a cheap alternative to the expensive, all-girls school I was also seriously considering. The choice was actually made harder by the fact that one of the 16,000 students at this university would be Isaac. How can I avoid someone that my karma insists on sticking in my face?

“So, lemme get this straight. Even in your dreams you end up making a complete ass of yourself? These are your fantasies! You can do anything with them, and you trip on a rock while you’re running to embrace your one true love? You end up killing your one true love by falling on top of him? This is what you dream about?”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not like you can control what you dream about. Have you even cracked your Psych textbook?”

“If I don’t break the seal, I can return it,” Aubrey said simply.

“So you just carry it to class so the professor sees you have it?”

“No I don’t carry it to class. Are you kidding? Shit weighs like 15 pounds. No, I stick on my bookshelf. It offsets the brighter colors.”

“But you can never have too many bright colors,” I gasped. She curled her feet under bottom on the couch and glared at me.

“Weren’t we just having a humiliating conversation about you?”

“You know you would rather talk about you.”

She paused and tapped her chin thoughtfully before shaking her head. “Be that as it may, I’m not going to leave you alone until you tell me which guy you crushed to death and why you can’t manage your vestibular sense even in your dreams. HA, I do pay attention in the actual class.”

“Congratulations. I don’t care,” I said sourly. I ducked my head back down to my reading for English, strategically shaking my hair into a curtain of isolation. Aubrey violently batted it away and I grunted in annoyance. “What?”

“Jordan,” she whined, her blue eyes taking on that spectacularly pathetic shine that I despise.

“Jordaaaaaan,” I mimicked. “Jordan whyyyyy? Tell me Jordaaaaaaan.” I reverted to my normal voice. “Tell me again why I’m rooming with you next year?”

“Because you hate Bethany, and God hates you.”

I paused. “Right. The circle of life. Now let me read.”

Her acquiescence was only because she takes any opportunity to enter into a long session of sighs and heavy sighs, heavier sighs, and thoroughly odd noises. Usually I have a higher threshold. Not so much when I’m being force to read James Joyce.

“What is there to tell?” I finally burst out. Dozens of accusatory glances were thrown my way from the other people trying to study in the lounge.

“Let’s go outside,” Aubrey suggested.

Muttering to myself, I followed her to the picnic table outside our dorm. It was windy, and my loose hair instantly flapped into my eyes, sending me stumbling into shin-height splintered wood and collapsing ingloriously into a sitting position. I rubbed my leg. “Now see what you’ve done?” Her long brown curls were braided into a messy bun, and she only tossed her head to get rid of a few windblown tendrils before swinging her messenger bag up onto the table.

“Whatever. What I want to know is who you were running towards and why you never seem to make it there. Too busy tripping over nothingness and all that.”

“Too busy tripping over the giant void in my heart,” I said, pressing one hand melodramatically to my heart.

“Are you ever serious?”

“I’m never flakey,” I compromised.

“Right, you’re just always sarcastic.”

“I’m always ironic. There’s a difference.”

“No, there isn’t.”

I meaningfully ripped open the Joyce book and started to flick my eyes across the page with great intensity. She just as meaningfully ripped it out of my hands and dangled it tauntingly.

“I know you aren’t that interested in reading this—“

“Do I have to be interested? I’m obligated. What more do you want from me?”

“The guy’s name.”

“You know who it is, why are you tormenting me?”

“Listen, English major—“

“Not yet,” I felt the need to interrupt. She glared again and continued.

“You’re eventually going to have to admit to it out loud.”

“I have already informed the voices in my head. That’s as out loud as it’s going to get.”

“Alright, fine, pull the crazy card again. You’ll just have to miss out on the glories of,” she paused and checked, “A Portrait of the Artist.”

“I can just tell my teacher a complete loon made off with my copy.”

“Even a loon is sane enough not to steal this,” she said scornfully.

“It might be a magically wonderful book. How would you know, Miss ‘I’m never going to take an English class ever again even if I end up missing out on my dream job because I’m an illiterate barbarian’?” I asked. After a half-hearted swipe for the book, which she easily eluded, I decided not to make a fool of myself. I propped my elbows on the table and decided to outwait her.

The staring contest began. The wind blew. I blinked not.

“You and your contacts,” she growled, wiping tears from her burning eyes. She slapped the book back on the table, but I didn’t touch it. Instead I studied the open span of grass that grew in front of the dorm, and the idiot girls trying to sunbathe on it in 60-degree weather. The sun comes out and the clothes come off. Or, at least, they shorten and tighten considerably. Fishnets are sometimes involved.

“I’m guessing all the guys are lined up against the windows,” I said. Aubrey followed my gaze and laughed. It was somewhat fuller than a giggle, but much more feminine than my usual chuckle-and-snort. “I’m glad you’re not one of them.

“Yeah, there are already enough people gawking without me doing it. Although I sometimes wish I were a lesbian,” she joked.

“You know what I mean. One of them.” I jerked my head none-too-subtly to indicate our fellow freshman girls.

“You make it sound like an alien invasion. Need I remind you that you, Ms. Ballentine, are the alien here?”

She was right about that. With my dark blond hair, green eyes and average height, I have generic looks, but a very acerbic attitude that tends to isolate me and, too often, make me stand out. And not in a good way. My roommate, Bethany, and I butted heads all the time because she was so pretty and bubbly and, objectively speaking, the owner of the most irritating, grating voice belonging to the female gender. Even more annoying than children, the creatures that I most loathe in the universe. Even more annoying than mice. Even more annoying—and I’m only conjecturing here—than some freak genetic combination of mouse and child.

It is for this reason that I grabbed on to what salvation I could find, and I found that in Aubrey. Petite, adorable, terrifying little Aubrey. We just clicked. I pretend to be a complete bitch to hide my insecurities. She’s a complete bitch wrapped in an unassumingly cheerful package. She’s more like a ticking time bomb. I’ve seen her explode. It is an explosion of ice and deafening silence. Is that contradictory? No, that’s Aubrey.

“If I am the alien, you are the mother-ship. Hold me, personified space craft.” I reached for her across the table and she dodged away, rising as another gust of wind blinded me.

“You should really get to work, Ballentiny. I don’t know why you think you can just put off your work like that and distract me.”

I nearly hit her in the head with Joyce. “I’m going to class. Try to really commit yourself for once, alright?” she said.

After glowering at the spot she’d vacated for a good half a minute, I rose with a heavy, unnecessary sigh, and headed back into the lounge. Daydreaming about certain 6-foot, black-haired individuals, though, was surprisingly not very conducive to wading through the drivel of modernist Irish authors. I went back to the room and pulled up Sparknotes on my computer. Two months into school and I was already slacking off. And here I’d been saying that things would be different once I got to college.

Someone knocked on the door to the suite when I was just getting ready to stand and head off for class—early, like always, because part of being an outcast was being unfashionably early to everything except parties, which, due to my avoidance tactics, I usually left until too many hours had passed to make me popular with the party crowd. I wasn’t invited to go anywhere with my partying suitemates. Ah yes, all going according to plan.

Except that, according to my romantic dreams, I cannot have a relationship with Isaac without tripping and crushing him beneath me as I explode into a thousand pound woman.

I went to get the door and then leaned against the jamb with a raised brow. Aubrey’s cousin grinned and held up a box of breakfast bars. “Replacing the ones I stole?” Rolling my eyes, I turned my back and let him follow me in.

“Andale, I need to get to class.” He and Aubrey are really close, and he often hangs out with us when he’s bored, despite him being a junior with a tendency to party and hang out with girls who sunbathe on 60-degree days. He’s almost too old for that, but not quite. I actually think it would be impossible for him to grow up.

Booth’s a little too odd to be entirely conventional, and if anyone was every unconventional, it was Peter Pan, which has developed into a nickname that I’m fairly sure he finds irritating. He certainly looks grown up enough. He’s about half a foot taller than me, with a blond buzz cut and a pleasantly tan face that’s already slightly creased from smiling. He would be attractive in a bland way if it weren’t for his eyes. Eyes he shared, in a smaller way, with his cousin. Almost white-blue with a darker ring. He always looks a bit insane. Aubrey, with her slightly darker blue eyes, manages to look like an innocent little doll.

I’m attracted to him in a small way but he isn’t in any of my fantasies. It’s probably just as well for him, seeing as all my paramours (read: 3) die in them. Besides Isaac, there’s the obligatory movie star and a stranger I saw once on a city bus who made faces at me when I was fourteen and needed the attention to feel worthwhile. Never saw him again, but I pretend his name was Jacob.

“I have to get to class,” I said flatly as he stretched himself out across the two chairs in my room. He idly batted away one of Bethany’s bras, which was draped across the back of hers. I smothered a snicker.

“Aw, come on, siddown, stay awhile. Have a Nutri-grain.”

“Need I remind you that this is my room? Now, out, I’m gonna be late.”

“What time is it?” he asked me pointedly. I set my teeth and tossed a glance to Bethany’s digital clock. With a huff, I dropped down into a cross-legged position on the floor. “So what are Betty’s evils of the week?”

There was nothing I liked to do more than complain about my roommate, so I immediately launched into a recount of how she’d taken to leaving the strips from her bikini waxes strewn across her desk. I ground to a halt when the suite door opened, plastering on a smile when I saw it was Bethany coming back from her Anthropology class. She’s the only one whose schedule I’ve managed to memorize, mostly because Ive turned avoiding her into an art.

“Well,” I said brightly. “I need to be off to class.”

“Don’t let me interrupt,” she said brightly, her smile equally false as she skirted around us. She had her blond hair up in an artful bun with purple chopsticks unnecessarily stabbed through it. She wouldn’t say more. Even if she was far too confident to allow his presence to cow her, she liked one of his brothers at Zeta Psi. She stupidly thought that strolling into their parties with a new guy every time would endear her to her love.

“Oh no, not at all.” I rose and Booth stood with me, tossing one last, faintly incredulous look over his shoulder as we went back into the living room. I pulled on my backpack. “I’ll tell Aubrey you came by.”

“Hey, I wanted to ask you. Both of you. There’s an 80s party at ZP on Friday. Come at 10:30, say my name, and don’t start singing that fucking song,” he warned as I opened my mouth. I had to laugh, and he smiled and then shrugged. “Think about it. I know it’s not really your thing, but Aubrey’ll take care of you.”

“I mean, I have some papers due, but I’ll think about it,” I said. I was a little uncomfortable. Even though I’m not the sort of person to find myself attractive at all, I have the distinct impression that Booth likes me. Maybe it’s just because he’s a good-looking guy who voluntarily hangs out with just me.

Isaac was in ZP, too. I had learned that from Booth.

Friday came and I knew Aubrey would never let me not go. Bethany was flouncing around preparing for another party, and I was trying to avoid Aubrey’s hot-pink eyeliner.

“Look, I said I’d go, I didn’t say I’d dress up like a hooker.”

“Have you learned nothing? Dressing in clothes that were expressly made for girls is not hooker-ish. This is not hooker attire.” She held up the outfit she’d selected for me. I pointed meaningfully.

“Those are fishnets.” She knew how I felt about them.

“Dammit, Jordan. They barely are.”

“They’re barely something.” She flung them at my face, and I calmly (almost) accepted the rest of the outfit as it was hurled piece by piece.

I pulled on the fishnets while Aubrey politely turned around, and I admitted silently that maybe they weren’t so bad before pulling on the shorts and swallowing back a squeal of alarm. Yeah, yeah these were as bad as I’d thought. I waited until after I had pulled on the shirt, a halter with the Coca-Cola logo scrawled across it, to look in the mirror, and I instantly threw myself at Aubrey.

“What the hell?” I cried.

Giggling madly, she scampered out. I looked in the mirror again, noting how the short shorts cut into the flesh of my thigh and squeezed my waist into a muffin-top. “This looks awful!”

“No it doesn’t. ‘Sides, everyone else will be wearing exactly the same thing, and most of them won’t have half the body you do.”

“You mean fat-wise?”

“You’re not fat!” she yelled. And well, fine, that doesn’t mean I was skinny enough to pull off this outfit. Only people like Aubrey could, and I resented that she thought I shouldn’t feel completely self-conscious. Considering Isaac would probably be there, and Aubrey knew that he was the one I ended up killing in my dreams, that resentment would probably build to epic proportions if this nice turned out for shit.

I checked myself out in the mirror enough times during the next hour before the party to have Aubrey snapping at me repeatedly, and I finally collapsed onto a couch in the common room and covered my eyes. “Aubrey,” I whined.

“Aubreeeeey. Aubreeeeeey, whyyyyyyy Aubreeeeeey?” she mocked me.

“He’s going to think I’m a fat, under-aged cow,” I grumbled.

“OH MY GOD!” she shouted at me in frustration. “If you say something like that one more time I am going to abandon you to your roommate. I will wash my hands of you, I swear I will.”

It was warm outside, but still not warm enough that at 10:30 at night I wouldn’t shiver a little with the few scraps of clothing I had on. Feeling a little embarrassed as cars drove by and we waited at the bus stop, I huddled next to Aubrey, who looked immaculate in clothes that really didn’t look very 80s to me. Not that mine did especially either. The dress code was more like ‘slut’ than ‘80s,’ except with sweatbands and higher ponytails.

“We know Booth. He’s my cousin,” she said to the guys sitting in rocking chairs on the front porch of the noisy, huge brick house with the blaring music.

“Uh huh,” said one of them. They both gave the impression of being entirely too amused with everyone waiting in line. Girls were scattered about in the front lawn as they waited, their pointy heels sinking into the grass and putting expressions of petulance on almost every face. A few guys were trying to get in and protesting when the other frat brothers at the entrance wouldn’t let them past. “Sorry, dudes.”

“And who do you know?” the other of the pair blocking us asked.

“Uh, same?”

“ID?”

I showed it.

“Are you twenty-one?”

“No.” I saw Aubrey’s fierce look. “Yes! No. But yes!”

The frat guy rolled his eyes and drew a circle on the back of my hand with a sharpie.

“Does that mean--?” I started to ask Aubrey as she dragged me in. She waved her own circle-inscribed hand in front of me.

“Let’s go get some beer.”

I toddled after her, a little overwhelmed by the crush of bodies. There were already tons of people there—ZP was one of the biggest frats on campus, even I knew that much (granted Aubrey had had to tell me). “Shouldn’t we go find Booth?”

Aubrey gave me an odd look with her light blue eyes and shook her perfect curls impatiently out of her face. “He’ll find us later. Now come on.”

Once we’d forced our way to the front of the line, gotten cups and I’d managed to spill half of it on the rest of people in line as Aubrey hustled us past them, we set up shop near the DJ and she started to dance. Of course I felt a little awkward at first, but I could soon tell that no one was really watching me, and it was more fun to dance uninhibitedly with someone I was comfortable with than it was at those awkward high school dances when I and my other boyfriendless friends would stand around in a circle and force out laughter at our own bad dancing. And the fact that we were alone. Always alone.

…

I finished my beer a lot quicker than I intended to. I had only wanted to hold it so that no one would look at me askance. When Aubrey saw me finish it off, she laughed, slapped me encouragingly on the back, and poured the rest of hers into mine.

“I’m gonna go get more!” she shouted at me over the music. Everybody else seemed to be a lot closer to me now that she left. A little uncomfortably, I danced alone with a pleasant buzz in my head from drinking so quickly. When I felt someone touch me, I thought it was her, but I turned into an unfamiliar guy’s arms and instantly recoiled. He grinned with white teeth and pulled me back into him. It took me awhile to get back into a rhythm, and it was surprisingly comfortable to just drape my arms around his neck and not pay attention to what my body was doing.

Aubrey tapped me and handed me my drink before giving me a thumbs up and melting into the crowd. Dammit, I thought without vehemence. I polished off my second cup of beer within a few minutes, and the guy started to move his hands lower until one was toying with the hem of those short shorts and the other was tickling the waistband at the small of my back.

Just when I was considering moving even closer, someone shoved the guy aside, without malice but very deliberately. The guy was a little too drunk to care, and as his warmth moved away from me, I found myself looking up into entirely too familiar brown eyes.

“Isaac!” I cried with more enthusiasm than I’d intended to show. He raised one black eyebrow.

“Now now, Miss Ballentine, should I tell your brother about this?”

We slid into the music and I only tossed my head back with a scoff. “I think not. I think he would be a little disturbed, and he’d have no right.”

“You still seem in control,” he said. It took until that moment for me to fully comprehend what was happening. I was dancing with the love of my life, my stomach brushing against his and his leg almost between mine, and his hand was on the small of my back and he was smiling.

“Am I ever in control?”

“You always are, unless you’re bitching me out.” He said it softly but I winced like it was an accusation. I hooked my arm around his neck and sighed a little loudly.

“It doesn’t mean I love you any less,” I said lightly. Isaac tilted his head down so that his forehead was almost touchin mine.

“Oh really?”

“I mean really. It’s not like you’re the only one I do that to,” I said before I realized that he actually was and if Mitch had noticed it, chances were Isaac already had to. But he didn’t say anything to that, merely raised his eyebrow again and tugged my hips against his as the music changed to something that, if possible, had an even harder beat than the one before it. The DJ was good, though. I was really liking the music and I’d never heard it before. I’m more of a classic rock than a rap person.

He, like Aubrey, poured the rest of his drink into mine. “I like you drunk,” he said decisively.

“Oh, that’s nice. Am I otherwise despicable? Are you going to take advantage of me?”

When he leaned in closer I realized that even with a nose that was swiftly going numb, I could smell the alcohol on his breath. “I’m pretty sure at this point it would be a mutual taking advantage of.”

“I kind of want to test that theory.”

“Why are you still talking like a nerd?” His hand moved down to my rump and as surprised as I was, it was really easy to let him lift me a little so that I was up against him with my lips at his collarbone. I turned my head into his neck. Then I moved my mouth to his.

I don’t think I surprised him. He probably wasn’t sober enough to be surprised, although I might not have been sober enough to sense it. Isaac definitely kissed me back, sloppy but forceful, and he moved both of his hands to my back—where did his drink go?—and our dance was more of a dry-hump on the dance floor. I never knew I had it in me.

His hands didn’t go where the other guy’s had but I somehow felt like this was a lot farther than I’d ever gotten with a guy before. He took my bottom lip in his teeth as the song changed and then he whirled me around and pulled my back to his chest. I lost the rhythm again but soon got it back, not caring that the short shorts were higher than they had been from my exertions or that they were completely unflattering. Obviously he didn’t care. Obviously no one was in a state to care. Aubrey had been right.

Isaac’s hands slid across my stomach and he dropped his head to my shoulder, nuzzling my neck so that I could feel the hairs of a day’s-worth of beard.

“I really wish you weren’t drunk right now,” he said. I let my head fall back against his own shoulder.

“I thought you just said you liked me drunk.” I realized that I hadn’t had any more of the beer he’d given me.

“I’d rather you have been sober the first time we kissed.”

I moved my hands back so that I could grasp his hips and I moved against him harder. Eighteen years of repression were turning me into a complete whore, I decided, moments before I decided I liked this feeling.

Then what he said registered and I let go of him and turned to face him again. Instead of pulling me into him, his hands went to the hair around my face, and he tucked the loose locks behind my ears.

“You—“

“It would’ve been awkward with Mitch around,” he said as if he’d read my mind. “You have no idea how crazy happy I was when you told me you were coming here.”

“You didn’t even try to influence me when I was going through all the college stuff,” I almost accused.

“Yeah, like I’d be able to deal with that guilt,” he muttered, twisting my hair around one of his hands as he slowly tugged me closer again. I didn’t even notice the other grinding bodies of the crowd anymore, and I think he had surprised me into a semi-sober state.

“You—“

“Hmm?” He was obviously groggy. I put my hands to his face and forced him to open his eyes and look at me.

“So, what the fuck, man? All during high school, I watched you like a friggin’ puppy that just got kicked, and you completely let me act like an idiot?”

“What?” he asked in surprise. He grasped my wrists and moved my hands back to his hips as we started to move again. Now every brush of him against me was followed by my heart skyrocketing into my throat. “You looked at me like I was the anti-Christ.”

Oh, right. “I was a bitch because I was in love with you. How could you not have seen right through that?”

“I used to think you liked me, Jordan, like a little kid crush. You came to high school and you suddenly hated me. How the fuck was I supposed to think?” He didn’t have the capacity to be truly angry, though, so it was more of a forceful whisper as he flicked his tongue out along my neck.

My hands went under Isaac’s shirt of their own accord, and either he didn’t notice or it was just what he wanted. His mouth was back against my cheek and he seemed clueless of what the hell we were doing, but I was completely aware now. His breath was heavy and wet on my face.

I couldn’t think of anything to say except, “Well then why the hell did you wait this long?”

“It’s taken a lot just to get you to come out here. I’m surprised that Aubrey got you to drink beer.”

“You think I haven’t before?”

Did I or did I not to public high school in a big city?

“You lured me out here so I would get drunk?” I demanded then, completely ignoring the fact that he had just stated that he hadn’t expected me to.

“Booth was doing me a favor.”

“Booth was in on this?” I felt like an idiot for assuming Aubrey’s cousin had had any interest in me. “I thought—“ I cut myself off and felt him smile.

“He has a thing for you, but he knew what I wanted. He’ll get over it.”

He abruptly moved his mouth back to mine, letting his lips just slid over me. Drunk Isaac was wonderful. His hips were fitted snugly to mine, and we were all but grinding, which I had never done before, being content to gape in disgust as some of the sluttier girls at my high school made babies on the dance floor. I was almost ready to make babies with Isaac right then and there.

Just to confirm: “So what do you want?”

Isaac groaned and, putting his hands on my shoulders, set me away from him about half a foot. “What is up with the stupid questions? Aren’t you supposed to be smart?” Before I could retort, he got his tongue back in my mouth and I was almost bent backwards over his arm, like a lame move in a ballroom dancing movie or something.

The beat of the music reverberated through me, and through my legs and my arms and through him, I could feel my heart pulsing in time. How romantic of an observation is that? I was obviously looking for romance where there was none. In the dreams where I accidentally kill Isaac and movie star and Jacob, I did not imagine sealing our love with a kiss while sloppy drunk and reeling in the midst of hundreds of sweaty bodies, most of whom would be puking the crap out of themselves come morning. Ah, the crush of my younger years, what has become of us?

I giggled around his tongue. I. Giggled. Aubrey would be so proud. Mitch would kill us. But with Isaac messing around with my tonsils, I’m not really sure I cared.

Fin

A/N: This was just kind of an experiment with a college setting, because I’ve never done that and now I feel like I have a right to. Anyway… yeah, sorry about all my others stories. But seriously, please don’t ask me about them. If inspiration hits, I’ll come back to them. If not, well, I at least promise that any other story I ever post here will be finished, or at least half finished with an end in mind, before I start putting up chapters. I feel really bad for the way I’ve treated my readers, but I started Insert Foot in my junior year and I’m just not interested anymore.