THREE YEARS AGO

I laughed my ass off.

"I swear it's true, man," I insisted.

My little brother in the fraternity, Mauri, chuckled as he shook his head. He reminded me of Frisco, which got me a little protective.

He also had that nice dude act going for him and shit. No doubt, I planned on corrupting him like we did to Frisco. For fucking sure.

Since I was bored as fuck with my own crappy life, this was a fun new hobby. Mentoring Mauri made me forget the pressure from all around because he looked at me with those hero-worship eyes.

This was probably what it felt like to have a real little brother.

I liked it.

"You should take up law," he said, nodding his head as he sized me up. "Your evasive skills will be useful in court."

I made a face. "That's your dream. It ain't mine."

"What's your dream, then?"

I shrugged. "Haven't really thought about it. I'm only good for football."

"Maybe 'cause you haven't tried anything else."

"I don't have time for anything else."

He sighed, shaking his head disapprovingly. "You need a breather, Alfie. All this expectation will kill you."

I snorted. "Dude, this is my breather." I raised my red solo cup and gestured to the party around us.

Oz stopped attending these kinds of parties when Halo attended this school year. I didn't wanna be a damn jackass and hound my best friend to come with me when he was more than satisfied to stay at home with his girlfriend.

This had been my fucking outlet ever since I arrived here. Drinking to get that perfect buzz helped me forget all that choking pressure, while surrounding myself with people through partying helped cover the loneliness.

Was I happy? Nah. But this was better than fucking nothing.

Our fraternity president passed by and spotted me. He grinned and nodded, before coming over. He didn't look very intimidating for someone who controlled a house full of college men. In fact, he looked pretty friendly and approachable.

But then, that was exactly why he won.

"How's it going, QB1?" Jags asked.

My jaw clenched at hearing that nickname.

Everyone fucking called me that just because I was starting quarterback for the university's team. I used to love it, but now it just reminded me that I couldn't escape it no matter where I went.

"Not much, Chief," I answered, because I still knew my manners. "You?"

"My classes have been killing me," he replied, with a sigh. "I'd give anything not to attend classes and still pass with flying colors like you."

It wasn't like I had a fucking choice. Our training regime was hectic as hell. All football players were given free passes when it came to schoolwork, because we couldn't be bothered. That was how intense they took football around here.

It was fucking religion.

Besides, with most of our classmates taking pictures of us instead of actually listening in class and the professors getting pissed because of the distraction, it was easier to just skip it. And they let us.

It wasn't my fault if everybody treated me like a god just because I knew how to throw a damn football.

"If only we could switch places, huh?" I teased, even though all I wanted to do right now was get more booze.

"That would be the life." Jags laughed. "Alright, I'll leave you to it. I need to go make rounds. Hey, Santi," he added to Mauri, before walking away.

I watched him go, but then I realized Mauri was staring after him. He looked scared even though there was not a bone in Jags that was worth being scared of.

"I think you're the one who needs a breather," I said, studying Mauri. "Come on, let's get you more beer!"

I headed to the back of the house where the kegs were, not bothering to look if my little brother was following me. I knew he was.

"Alcohol doesn't help me solve my problems," he said, from behind me.

"It helps you forget, though," I countered, grinning.

"Not if I die from alcohol poisoning."

I burst out laughing as I stopped by the huge metal tanks and grabbed one of the keg hoses. I raised an eyebrow at Mauri.

"What's up your ass? Nobody has ever actually died from that here. It's just a sad excuse for chicken shits who can't handle it."

He eyed the cup I handed to him for a second, before smiling and accepting it. "Yeah, you're right."

"Damn right, I am!"

That made him laugh.

We talked some more about random shit, mostly my epic endeavors in high school. Up until he brought up his scholarship provided by the fraternity.

"I wanna see you play," I told him.

"I'm pretty sure I'll be benched for this season."

"So what?" I exclaimed. "We can play lacrosse for fun. I'll tell the brothers to make it a fundraising event."

A smile played on his lips. "For real?"

"Fuck yeah, bro!" I chuckled.

If this was it felt like spoiling a little brother, then I was fucking made for it. I lived for this shit. It made me wonder if I could actually adopt brothers...

"Thanks, Alfie."

"No worries, Mau," I said, putting an arm around his shoulder and patting him. "Just don't kick my ass. Lacrosse ain't my sport."

He laughed. "I'll try my best."

"PLEEEEEDGE CONTEEEEEEEST! COME INSIDE!"

My eyes widened in delight. "Yo, you should do it."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, no. I'm not ready for that."

"Oh, come on!" I urged. "I already taught you how to drink. You can pummel the other pledges to a pulp!"

He thought about it, staring into space. "I don't know, man," he murmured.

I groaned. "Don't be a wuss."

He looked at me, and I pouted to try to look all cute and shit. He made a face and pulled away, before he burst out laughing.

"Fine," he sighed.

I raised a fist and whooped. "YES!"

We followed the crowd inside the house and went to the middle of the living room where there was a huge table with overflowing bottles of different kinds of liquor. Damn, my brothers weren't playing with this shit.

This was thrilling as fuck.

If only I was still a pledge...

I caught Mauri blinking nervously at the mountain of drinks in front of him. I squeezed his shoulders to ease his tension.

"You can do this," I told him. "Don't let me down."

He nodded firmly. "I won't."

"We call it, the 'Drink of Death.'"

The room went silent as the game master spoke.

"First two to give up lose," he went on to explain. "If y'all make it to the end, the person with the most finished bottles wins."

Three nervous-looking pledges positioned themselves around the table, and one of them was Mauri.

The sea of people in the room yelled cheers of encouragement all around. If they had their phones, I was sure as hell they'd be recording this.

But the brothers confiscated everyone's phones at the door for precaution. Too many houses along frat row got in trouble for underage drinking already. We didn't want to be one of them.

"Ready... Set... GO!"

The roar that followed was deafening. Everybody was fucking screaming at the top of their lungs. I ended up crushing my cup because I was too pumped up.

"Go for it, Mauri!"

He chugged the bottle of Jim Beam, the alcohol spilling down his chin. He had his eyes closed as he forced it all down his throat.

"You can do it!" I yelled.

I watched him go through two bottles without so much as a break. Damn it to fucking hell, that was my boy!

He was fucking winning!

"That's it, Mau! You're killing it!"

He was halfway through the third bottle when the bottle slipped from his hands and fell to the floor. Since there was a carpet in the middle of the room, the bottle didn't shatter to pieces.

Mauri looked like he was about to pass out. Losing his balance, he fell face first to the floor. Shit. I ran forward and tried to wake him up.

"Yo, Mauri. You okay, man?"

He tried opening his eyes for a second or two, before he gave up and lost consciousness. I heard the other brothers laughing.

But something wasn't right. Mauri's skin was cold and clammy. He was too pale for his olive-skinned body.

"He's fine, bro," one of the brothers said. "Just let him sleep it off."

"Pledges," Jags called. "Pick up Santiago and take him to the couch."

I frowned and watched two freshmen carry Mauri and lay him on the nearest couch. Something still wasn't right, though.

I put two fingers on his neck below his jaw to check his pulse. It was slow – too fucking slow. I leaned closer and tried to hear his breathing. Barely.

"Come on, QB1! Contest ain't over yet."

All of a sudden, Mauri's body started to shake violently. He was having a goddamn seizure! Shit! Shit! SHIT!

"Call 911!" I shouted over the noise.

It was a couple of moments before the room went silent and realized what was going on. But nobody still made a fucking move, too stunned to do anything.

I raised my voice the loudest it could take.

"FUCKING CALL 911!"

"Don't blow shit out of proportion. I'm sure he's fine."

I had no idea who the fuck from the brothers said it from behind me. If I did, he had my knuckles embedded on his face right about now.

"He's having a fucking seizure and he's fine?!" I demanded.

"Maybe he's having a bad dream."

I faced the dumb fuck who said it. "Are you fucking stupid?! Call 911!" I looked at the one who kept our phones in his room upstairs. "NOW!"

One of the brothers finally moved.

We were able to call 911.

The ambulance arrived within ten minutes.

But it was too late.

My little brother was already dead.

_____________

Next update: Next weekend! :)

Coming up next..... Chapter 18: Iris
Don't you think Alfie and Arisa deserves a proper date?