Once again I find myself sitting alone at a party. And yeah I'm drunk, but so what, it's not helping me to socialize or anything. It's three in the morning now and I'm liqueur tired, but I'm at a stranger's house sitting in an uncomfortable wicker chair, so I can't just pass out. All night I been watching Megan enviously, thinking about how nice it would be a size two, with long blonde hair and this fuckable innocence. And this thing that she said to me, as we were getting ready earlier is stuck in my head, terrorizing me. I just hear it over and over again like those voiceover things, from growing up shows like Wonder Years and shit.

My voiceover reflects on what a sad life I lead, and tells me that I'm killing my brain cells. Then I hear Megan's voice, snotty and malicious, " Yeah, like Dylan says he likes how down to earth I am. You know… he likes how I don't wear makeup or anything. He says there aren't so many girls like me. He says I'm just naturally beautiful. Of course he's totally into me. You know? I don't try or anything. I think that's the secret, I just wear whatever and guys respect me for it… by the way, I hate to tell you this… but Levi keeps calling me. What should I say? I mean you don't really care about him anymore… do you? I mean I know ex's are usually of limits…but…"

Megan's so drunk now; she looks like she might puke. Maybe she might puke all over Dylan. Serve her right, stupid slut. One more shot of apple vodka and she'll be done for the night. Ian, the blonde with curly hair, he's laughing. He says that this is lame and I agree. He asks me if I want a ride home.

"Are you drunk?" I ask him belligerently, "cause there's no way no fuckin drunk's gonna drive me home. No thank you sir." Even as I say this, I think about how nice it would be to go home with him. To make out in his dorm room, to have him tell me that he thinks I'm hot, just to get into my pants. And then, I think, I'd have a great story for tomorrow. Make Megan jealous maybe. Make her positively green. But he's not really that cute, I think. He's okay. I could do better if I played my cards right. I still had a shot at Dylan, the real prize. Megan blew him a couple times in his dorm room and now she thinks she has claim to him or something. But I could tell he wasn't in to her. She's too fake and unsophisticated for such a rich kid. Dylan grew up in the Alaskan equivalent of Beverly Hills…Equestrian Acres. He went to the Belmont Private Academy. He played Hockey and was one of the most popular guys in a school of almost a thousand kids… a total jock case, student council president and all that. Bound for Harvard probably, don't know why he ended up at state university.

The one thing Megan's good for is sniffing out the richest guys in town. She's a networking genius. She knows everybody and manages to get invited to all the hot parties in town. I really never lived until I met her, I'll say that.

Ian is another Belmont grad, Dylan's best friend, still a good catch, but sort of gay. He told me he works as a model at Abercrombie and Fitch, kind of hot, but at the same time, kind of not. I catch him looking at me with desperate drunk lust. I roll my eyes at him and he laughs at me for a long time. Sometimes he snorts with drunkenness. It goes on for a long time before he says, "Leah, don't you love me? Give me a kiss baby."

"No thanks." I say and turn my back to him. I see Megan cover her mouth with her hand and run into the bathroom. I follow her, "Megan are you okay?" I ask. She can't answer because chunks of vomit are spilling out of her mouth and landing in the toilet with a splunk noise.

Ian leans in the doorway, "So how about it? You want a ride home or what?" I look up at him. "I shouldn't leave her like this." I answer unenthusiastically. And it's true; I shouldn't leave her like this. She looks awful and there is throw-up dripping all down her red tank top. Even I'm not that cruel. Ian shrugs and closes the door on the retching noises. I hold Megan's hair back, "you okay?" I ask, but it seems stupid because obviously she's not. "Listen I'll be right back. I'll go get something for you."

I leave the bathroom to get a kitchen towel and my roommate Delia corners me. She smiles, "Just the girl I've been looking for!" She enthusiastically grabs my arm for support. She can barely stand up. Her breath smells like coke and whiskey. " Logan keeps following me around… I can't get rid of him. Like I would really fuck him. Yeah right… in his dreams. Hey listen, I'll pay you 30 bucks if you kiss him. I'm so serious okay. 30 bucks, but it's got to be more of like a make out kind of thing. Definitely not a cheek kiss." I looked across the room at Logan our party host. For a minute I consider her proposition. I could use thirty bucks, poor starving artist like myself. Instead I decide it isn't worth it; prostituting myself out. I couldn't very well make-out with Dylan and Logan in one night.

"Uhh no, " I answer, "He's like 350 pounds, and he's already balding. So fuck no. Maybe for like 200…" I turn to leave, "have fun."

"How bout for 50?" Delia calls after me. She topples over and lands on the floor at my feet, laughing and trying to pull me to the ground with her.

"Listen I can't do this right now," I tell her, "Megan's sick. She's puking all over the place."

I leave Delia on the ground and make my way toward the kitchen. I see Logan and ask him where there is clean towel I can use. He indicates the bedroom and so I turn around and head in that direction, making my way over a maze of empy beer cans. I open the door and enter the darkness. I don't know where the light switch is. I can make out through the darkness that there is someone sitting on the corner of the bed. It's Dylan.

"Hey," I ask, "what are you doing in here?"

"Trying to get away from her." He answers.

I sit down on the bed beside him. He touches my wrist and runs his fingers slowly up to my elbow. I can feel his fingers grip me lightly.

"What are you doing here?" I look directly out at the spot where I know his face is, though I can't see his expression or his eyes. I imagine that they are filled with hunger and longing. I hope that he will kiss me here in the dark, and tell me that he is secretly into me and has been watching me all night, even though I'm not the most beautiful girl here. I hear Megan retch loudly on the other side of the wall. Suddenly, I feel guilty and I change my mind about my intentions.

"I'm looking for a towel." I tell Dylan, "Megan's throwing up…and Logan, he said that there were clean towel's in here, in the closet."

"Oh." answers Dylan faintly disappointed, "I thought that maybe you came to see me."

I inhale sharply. One of Dylan's hands is on my stomach; the other is still on my elbow. With his index finger he brushes the inside of my arm slowly, while his other hand wanders up my abdomen and onto my breasts. Suddenly I am uncomfortable.

"I really need to get back to Megan. She needs a towel. I'll go find one."

I get up to go, but Dylan tightens his grip around my forearm.

"She'll be fine. Don't worry about her," he insists.

"Listen," I say, choosing my words carefully, "Megan…she really likes you. She's one of my best friends."

There is silence for a moment. Dylan is sitting so close to me that I can hear his breathing and feel the warmth of it on my cheek.

"What she doesn't know can't hurt her," He says and slowly slips his fingers underneath my top and onto my raw flesh.

"I need to go now." I pull away from him, but he is stronger than I am and I barely move an inch beneath his grip.

"Leah. I want you to tell me. What's wrong with me? Aren't I a good looking guy?" His voice is angry, but he is careful to speak no louder than a whisper, "what's wrong with me? Huh? What the fuck is so wrong with me?"

I'm scared, but I try not to show it. I tell him what I think he wants to hear.

He laughs in my face. He holds my arm tighter and I can feel his nails.

"Do you want to fuck me?" he asks. I am silent. "I know you want to fuck me Leah. A fat, ugly bitch like you. You would die for some of this homegrown cock wouldn't you?" He forces my hand down onto the crotch of his pants. I can't feel that he is serious. I tell myself not to panic. I tell myself that I can still escape. All I have to do is bite him, scratch him, something. With one fell swoop he pushes me face down into the bed. I'm too afraid to cry. I feel that this can't be happening, that I must be imagining it. I can't breathe and I'm afraid I am going to die of asphyxiation. I pray to God to save me, but I don't know if he is listening.