Chapter Fourteen

My eyes heavily flickered open, and I felt as though a hammer was pounding repeatedly against my head. I began to twist my body over, ready to get up, when I realized that I was restricted. Something was clasped around my waist, and I couldn’t wiggle out. I turned my body around, and came face to face with an attractive male that I recognized.

       “Dylan,” I groaned.

       “Mmmmm,” he moaned, tightening his grasp around me.

       “Dylan!” I yelled, dizziness taking over my entire body.

       “Morning, Liz,” he whispered huskily into my ear.

       “Get off of me,” I ground out. Yet again, his grip tightened around my torso. I pulled my elbow back into his chest, causing him to release me in pain instantly.

       “Geez, Liz!” he complained.

       I carefully stood up, trying to ignore the fact that the room was completely spinning around in a circle. “What the fuck happened last night?”

       He got up from my bed, and stretched. I eyed him curiously, taking note he possessed abs. Nice abs. The only thing occupying his body was a pair of boxers. I was screwed. Literally.

       “We slept together.” I gaped in response, my mind running a million miles an hour as it came in collision with a giant headache. “But didn’t have sex,” he quickly added.

       “Are you sure?” I questioned.

       “Believe me, I would’ve remembered something as monumental as that,” he smirked.

       “Prove it,” I demanded, stretching my arms up over my head, immediately regretting it when I felt my shirt rise with me. I rushed over my mirror, and saw that I was clad in an oversized, black T-shirt, and nothing else. The shirt didn’t belong to me. It had a nice scent though- a mixture of musk, sweat, and laundry detergent.

       “Fine.” He walked over to a pair of crumped up jeans that were lying on the floor, and picked them up. After sliding a hand in a back pocket, he withdrew three, small, square packets.

       “Condoms?” I questioned, not understanding.

       “Even while drunk, I always use protection; my mother raised me right,” he said, making me slightly uncomfortable with the items he was holding in his hand.

       “So?”

       “I always carry three condoms in my back pocket… just in case. If one were to be missing, then I would know that I got lucky,” he explained, placing the form of defense back into his jeans.

       “So… we just slept next to each other?” I concluded. He nodded. “Why?”

       “Because someone doesn’t handle her alcohol too well,” he said, pointedly looking at me. I rolled my eyes, staring at his figure, and then shook my head. “Yeah, I know, my abs are beautiful.”

       I scoffed, ignoring his egotistical remark, and looked back at myself in the mirror, trying to recall any events that had happened the previous night, but my mind was blank. Dylan was right, I sucked at getting drunk.

       All of the sudden, I felt a wave of nausea, and ran out of my room into the bathroom down the hall. I lowered myself down to the toilet, and thankfully reached it in time just as puke erupted grossly from my mouth. I felt like absolute shit.

       Someone entered the small room, and I momentarily stopped vomiting my guts out to look down and see Dylan’s feet beside me. Then, I heard it: laughing. Dylan was laughing. That asshole! To me, nothing about the situation was remotely funny! I felt like crap and had no recollection of the previous night’s festivities.

       “Shut up!” I groaned, feeling a rumbling in my stomach.

       Instead asking if I was okay like a normal person, he continued to laugh. Under normal circumstances, the two of us would totally be best friends. Laughing while someone was recovering from a hangover was something I can totally see myself excelling at.

       “I think you need to stick to root beer and Shirley Temples,” Dylan informed me unhelpfully.

       “I think you need to stick to keeping your mouth shut!” I fired back, placing my head back over the toilet.

       After fifteen more minutes of us bickering in between me puking, I had nothing left in my stomach to give. I stood up, brushed my teeth, and exited the bathroom with Dylan following closely behind. I reentered my room, and saw that nothing looked overly out of place.

       “So,” I said, turning to face Dylan who was still only in a pair of boxers, “what happened last night?”

       “Give me my shirt back, and I’ll tell you,” he said, pointing to me. I looked down, and then realized that the black top I had on did indeed belong to Dylan. After slipping it off, I threw it over to Dylan, and only then did I remember that I had only a sports bra and underwear on. Shit.

       I pulled a shirt and pair of sweats out of my drawer and threw them quickly on before Dylan had time to completely rake over my body. He pouted when I turned back to face him.

       “I liked you better in my shirt,” he stated.

       “Yeah, well I like you better in pants,” I said, gesturing to the jeans he had left on the floor. He got the hint, and put them on. “So, what happened last night?”

       “My memory’s a little fuzzy, but I think that I can give you a synopsis of what happened,” he said, sitting down on the edge of my bed.

       “Okay.”

       “But do you remember anything from last night?”

       I thought for a moment, searching through my jumbled thoughts for any recollection of the evening’s activities. Then, it hit me. A flashback went through my mind, and I was beginning to feel like I was in the Hangover (Which happened to be one of the best movies of all time).

       “Here, Liz, take this!” Lauren commanded, handing me a shot glass filled with a clear liquid.

       “What’s in it?” I asked hesitantly, putting it up to my nose to smell it.

       “Tequila,” Tara answered, as she had been the one to pour it.

       “Shouldn’t you guys wait to drink until the party actually starts?” Alice questioned, looking over to us in horror.

       “Alice! Stop being such a party-pooper!” Lauren scolded, taking the large bottle of alcohol she had brought, and bringing it up to her lips, pouring it down her throat.

       “You guys are going to regret this tomorrow morning!” Alice warned, pulling the front of her dress up, so it wouldn’t dip down too low.

       “Alice!” Lauren whined. “Live a little!”

       I looked over to Tara, as if to question whether or not drinking the shot would be a smart idea, and she merely nodded her head, indicating taking it would be in my best interest. I shrugged, and tipped the small glass into my mouth. The liquid burned as it ran down my throat, but it also made me feel alive. I had drank tequila in the past, not that my mother knew, and every time I tried it, I always regretted it. But now, there was no turning back.

       “I drank a lot, didn’t I?” I asked Dylan, snapping back to what was happening around me.

       “Yeah,” he nodded, “you did. What else do you remember?”

       Instead of trying to search my own brain for answers, I thought back to the Hangover, and what they did to uncover the truth. Pictures. That was it! They had taken lots and lots of pictures!

       I stumbled over to my desk, and picked up my phone, which was surprisingly plugged in, charging. Quickly, I went into my photos, and began to scroll through the ones that were taken last night.

       From the looks of it, I had been wearing a very skimpy, black dress. It eluded all straps on the shoulders, and stopped right below my butt. I looked like a hooker.

       As I continued to scroll through the pictures, I realized that they were all taken in my room, and that they were merely of the three girls and I, displaying our attire for the evening.

       Lauren was also wearing a black dress, though hers looked as if it were cut on the sides, and was even shorter than mine, if that was possible. Tara’s outfit consisted of a purple dress that clung over her shoulder, and was keeping to the overly short pattern that both mine and Lauren’s dresses had shown.

       Then, there was Alice. Out of the four of us, she had gone down the more conservative route. Her dress was a creamy white color, and brushed right above her knees, being the longest out of all of ours. It too was strapless, though, unlike our dresses, flowed out at the bottom, oppose to clinging to our bodies. She looked the least like a slut.

       “Yeah, you looked hot last night,” Dylan commented, looking over my shoulder at the pictures.

       “What happened first?” I demanded, after going through every picture only to find that I had merely taken pictures before the party.

       “Well, when I got here you were already buzzed. You hugged me, and made a point that you were so happy that I could come,” he shared, “though, I was almost positive that it was the alcohol talking.”

       “Obviously,” I scoffed.

       “Do you remember anything about dancing?” he questioned.

       “Dancing? I don’t dance,” I stated.

       “Well, last night you did,” he smirked. Dancing… As I tried to figure out what he meant, another memory hit me in the head.

       “Eric!” I shouted as I noticed the handsome boy step into the room I was seated in.

       “Don’t you mean douchebag?” Dylan sourly asked beside me.

       “No! I mean Eric!” I said, as the boy I had called out to began approaching us.

       “Hey, Liz!” he said, glaring at Dylan.

       “I’m so happy that you’re here!” I said, standing up from the couch I had been sitting on to hug him. His arms encircled around me tightly, accepting the form of greeting I was going with.

       “She’s drunk,” Dylan informed him.

       “No, I’m not!” I proclaimed, as he rolled his pretty eyes at me.

       “It’s okay, I think I am too,” Eric smiled. “You look pretty, Liz.”

       “Thanks!” I said happily. My eyes drifted over to group of people swaying against each other, and an idea sparked in my mind. “We should go dance!”

       “We?” Dylan questioned.

       “Yeah, the three of us!” I said, shocked that he hadn’t understood my meaning. I took the boys’ hands, and dragged them to the congested area. I began bobbing my head up and down to the beat of the music, when I realized what song was playing. “I love this song!”

       “Me too!” Eric gasped.

       I nodded my head rhythmically along to the song, until the chorus came up, and I decided to sing it at the top of my lungs. “Starships were meant to fly!”

       “Hands up and touch the sky!” Eric joined in.

       “This is such a good song!” I yelled over the music.

       “I know, it really is!” Eric agreed.

       “Dylan,” I said, noticing that he was inching away from us, “where are you going?”

       “Away,” he said.

       “Do you not like my singing?” I pouted.

       “No that’s not-”

       “Don’t leave me alone!” I pleaded.

       “Don’t leave us alone!” Eric joined in.

       “Someone seriously needs to videotape this,” he muttered, staying with us as requested.

       “I sang, didn’t I?” I questioned.

       “Yup,” Dylan verified.

       “I sucked at it?” He nodded, confirming my suspicions. “So, what else happened?”

       “You know you’re friend, Alice?” I nodded, as a pound of bricks decided to slam against the inside of my forehead… repeatedly. “Well, she called the cops, and they sent everyone home.”

       “Why are you still here then?” I asked.

       “I think it had something to do with not leaving you alone. I don’t know. You didn’t want to be alone,” he shrugged. I nodded, as yet another remembrance flooded my mind.

       “Are you okay, Liz?” Dylan asked, as he dropped me down on something that felt like a cloud. Though him carrying me was nice, this was better. The surface was so comfortable! I rested my head on the fluffiness, and smiled.

       “Fine,” I sang cheerily.

       “Really?” he said, unconvinced.

       “Yes.”

       “Okay, then I guess I’ll go now,” he said, turning to leave out of the room.

       “No! Dylan! Don’t go! I need you!” I cried, lifting my head from the cloud. I got up, and walked over to him. He looked down at me, confused, when I took his hand, leading him back over to the magical cloud.

       “Liz, what are you doing?” he questioned.

       “Going to sleep,” I answered.

       “Uh huh,” he said, studying my movements. Before I knew what was happening, Dylan was lifting his shirt well above his head, to expose some of the most gorgeous abs I had ever seen. His stomach looked so toned and hard. At that moment, I had the sudden urge to touch them. I extended my hand, and ran it along his bare stomach. He looked at me strangely, and then smirked. “Couldn’t resist, could you, Liz?”

       “It’s too hard,” I complained.

       “Too hard?” he raised an eyebrow.

       “Yeah, it should be nice and soft like the cloud over there,” I said, pointing behind me to where the cloud was.

       “Okay, Liz,” he nodded slowly. He handed me his shirt, and I stared at curiously, wondering what I was meant to think of it. “Put it on.”

       “Why?” I didn’t like the color black. Though, the Bruins’ colors were black and yellow. No, I didn’t black, despite the fact that it was one of my hockey team’s colors.

       “So that you don’t choke yourself in that,” he gestured to the tight dress I was wearing.

       “Oh!” I giggled, his explanation making perfect sense. I slipped the shirt on over my dress, and then pulled the uncomfortable dress down, leaving it on the floor. Slowly, I skipped back over to the cloud, and dropped down to it, patting the space next to me. “Dylan! Come!”

       He sighed, reluctantly coming over to me. “You sure?”

       “Yes!” I laughed.

       “Fine,” he mumbled, sliding his jeans off so he was only in a pair of boxers. After putting something warm on top of me, he lay down next to me.

       “You know what I like about you, Dylan?” I suddenly asked, grabbing his hand.

       “What, Liz?”

       “You’re earrings,” I said. “They’re sparkly.”

       “Okay, Liz,” he said. I smiled, as I felt my heavy eyelids shut, darkness consuming my vision, and sleep taking over my body.

       “I told you that I liked your earrings?” I gulped.

       “Yep,” he smirked. “Who could blame you, though?”

       “Is that it?” I asked, feeling as though there was a gap of time that I couldn’t recall.

       “Yeah, why?”

       “I just… It feels like there’s something that you didn’t tell me, or that I can’t remember,” I said.

       “Believe me, Liz, that’s it,” he assured me. “So, should we see how bad the damage is?”

       “I guess,” I sighed, picking up my phone as we reluctantly left the comfort of my room.

       After taking the long walk down the hallway, we came to the front room. Let me rephrase that: we came to a red plastic cup graveyard, formerly known as the front room. It was bad; really bad.

       “You’re helping me,” I said, staring at the endless piles of cups and trash.

       “Liz, there’s only two of us how do you expect us to clean this all up?” he questioned.

       “I’ll call someone,” I said, quickly opening my phone and scrolling through my contact list, until I found the one person I was almost positive would be able to help in a situation like this. I held my phone up to my ear, listening to the endless rings, until, finally, someone picked up.

       “Hello?” a gruff voice said.

       “Trevor, it’s Liz, where are you?” I asked.

       “Oh, hey, Liz. I don’t actually know where I am right now,” he said quietly.

       “Are you in the country?”

       “Yes,” he answered slowly.

       “The state?”

       “I think so.”

       “Within ten minutes of my house?” I asked hopefully.

       “One sec, let me ask,” he said, as I heard him yell something to someone who answered back in a higher, more feminine voice. After an endless minute, he returned to the phone to answer my question. “Yeah, I’m about nine minutes away.”

       “Can you come over? It’s… an emergency,” I requested.

       “Yeah, sure, sure, what happened?” he sounded alarmed.

       “Uh, just come over, and you’ll see,” I said.

       “Okay,” I heard him rustle about, “see you in a few.”

       I looked up to Dylan, and smiled weekly. “Shall we?”

       He rolled his eyes at me, and began to stack the uncrushed cups into a tall tower. I followed his lead, putting my phone away, and took out a trash bag, stuffing everything in sight in it. School was out of the question at this point.

       After a good ten minutes of some quality cleaning, the doorbell rang, and I covered my bleeding ears, as I rushed to answer it.

       “Lawson,” I said, as I saw Trevor standing before me in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt.

       “Turner,” he greeted, stepping into the house without an invitation, “are you okay?”

       “I have a hangover right now, so it feels like a nail is being hammered into my skull. But, otherwise, I’m just dandy!” I said sarcastically.

       “That’s good to know,” he said, sniffing the air. “Why does it smell like a brewery?”

       “I threw a party,” I shrugged, “and I need your help cleaning up.”

       “Who said anything about me knowing how to clean up after a party?” he questioned, as we made our way up the steps.

       “My friends told me about your lovely reputation. It really amazed me to what degree they’ve stalked you,” I laughed.

       “Ah, so you finally heard about my rep. Guilty as charged,” he smirked, though his expression instantly dropped when he saw the remnants of the rather large get-together I had the lack of sense in throwing. “Did you set a fucking bomb off, Turner?”

       “Nope,” I smiled, “a party.”

       “Who’s he?” Dylan demanded, coming into the front room.

       “Trevor Lawson, party-cleaner-upper extraordinaire,” Trevor answered, shaking Dylan’s hand as a friendly gesture. “Who are you?”

       “Dylan Collins, your typical teenage thug,” Dylan answered.

       “Trevor is my mom’s boss’ son, and Dylan goes to school with me,” I explained, their own introductions not quite what I deemed acceptable. “Let’s clean this place up now!”

       After over an hour of scrubbing, vacuuming, and picking the house up, so that it looked somewhat presentable, I made a very important life decision: I was never, ever, ever, going to throw another party for as long as I lived. Now, drinking, however, was a completely different story…