The lawn was littered with debris from empty red solo cups, potato chip bags filled with whatever drugs you could conjure in your mind; and then some. So in other words the 'cliche party scene'. I've never really been a 'party person' but apparently you have to go to at least one in your lifetime, in Matt's opinion.

Until I told him I was going to go to a party, then he went all 'All Might' on me.

Some people were leaning against the outside of the house, smoking probably whatever they could get their hands on to make them high. Others were 'dancing' or who knows what else to the dangerously loud music blasting from the speakers. Then you have the infamous party pool, god knows what's floating around in there.

If it wasn't already obvious enough, I already hate parties and I've only been here for maybe five minutes. They honestly just seems to be a hotspot for stupidity. I feel way more comfortable alone with my technology, drinking coffee and being lonely.

I've been looking around trying to find Hunk. Keith and Lance went off to do their own things and now I'm on my own, not that I mind. Turns out Hunk was on the termite infested steps, making his way to Shay who's standing under the porch light talking to one of the popular douche cheerleaders. 

Hunk began waving to her as he quickened his pace, so I stopped mine. 

I don't want to ruin his good time. I might be the annoying, quick-witted friend of the group, and usually I would love to embarrass them, but Hunk's nervous enough as it is so I'll give him a free pass. 

For now.

The hinges creak as I whip open the side door, immediately falling victim to the waft of smoke clouding my eyes. The smell of weed and vodka sting my nose and I feel a strong desire to rip out my lungs and scratch them till they bleed. At least the metallic smell would overpower the skunk scent. Obviously I refrained from doing so, for everyone else's sake.

I weaved through sweat stained bodies, teens grinding like their lives depended on it, more like the lives of their unborn children. Someone's gonna go home pregnant.

My eyes quickly scan the scene in front of me, scratch that definitely three or more are getting pregnant. I quickly and awkwardly snuck away, despite the fact that a trains engine could be drowned out by the volume of this crappy music.  

My legs carry me around the room. I'm just exploring, trying to pacify my boredom. I wander into the kitchen, where two teams consisting of dumbasses are going head to head in a keg race. 

Boring.

I grab an unopened water bottle and lazily walk around, ignoring the lustful looks I get from the horndogs in our school who, when sober, don't even know I'm not a girl and barely glance in my direction.

Somehow I ended up at the top of a staircase leading to, what I assume is, the basement. My body jolts down the steps, the strobe lights blinding me the farther I descended down the carpeted staircase. Originally I was hoping the basement would be empty and quiet but instead I was met with horny teens making out in any free space available.

Couches, coffee tables, even the piss stained carpet. I mean come on! Have some decency. That was basically my cue to nope to fuck out of there as quick as possible before they could even think about dragging me into their orgy.

To be honest this party's unfortunately exactly what I expected. I honestly want to leave, there's nothing here for me, but I don't. Unfortunately guilt has a way of stabbing you when you don't want it around, so I escape through the backdoor and hold my own in the yard.

The night isn't chilly but the breeze is nipping at my exposed torso, so I take the sweater wrapped around my waist and drape it around my shoulders. I sit on one of the chaise lounge chairs, away from most of the commotion, by the pool. My earbuds were chilling, tense in my back pocket, knotted to a point of no return.

Because I'm a lazy piece of shit and don't have any common sense, I just put them in my ears not bothering to remove the knots. The kinks were pressed firmly to the lid of my chin and the jack was plugged into my phone but I have to hold it an inch away from my face to actually listen to the music. 

Worth it. 

If I'm really being honest though, nowhere around this house was commotion free. It was loud no matter where I went. Actually, loud is a huge understatement. 

Lucky for Rolo his house was far from other houses, so no one really complained about the noise unless they were at the party. I turn on my phone to see what battery percentage I'm on and of course it's low (about 25%).Damnit! Just my fucking luck. Now I'm stuck. What am I supposed to do? 

I lean my head back and grunt in frustration, deciding to go in and hold my breath while grabbing a drink, cause why not. It's a party after all. Apparently someone turned on some fog machines, which weren't even necessary, and somehow the music got louder. 

I pour myself a cup, clueless to where I left that unopened water bottle. I think the weed is getting to me, cause next thing I know I'm creeping up the stairs. The whole time I'm hoping no one notices me, not that it's hard, half of these people can't even see two feet in front of their faces. The alcohol hasn't kicked in yet so I know it's not that.

My finger lingers on the brace between the two lenses of my glasses, attempting to navigate while stumble down the dusky hall, in search for a room that enforces some form of silence. I knock on a few doors, I don't bother with others as I walk away with a scowl of disgust. My options begin to dissipate and soon I'm only left with one more room. The door is sealed shut by a thin layer of cobwebs and dust. 

The tarnished golden knob is dented in the corner, a lock long picked away and ready to burst. My hand falls forward and I lean all my body weight into the door, trying to push away whatever's behind the heavy slab. I hear a tumble, like cardboard boxes falling in on one another and upon closer inspection, it was.

I enter the mysteriously gorgeous room tucked away in the corner of the house, it's so magnificently quiet I might just shed a tear. Haha... fuck you Rolo.

It's devoid of any significant mementos, no photographs or frames on the walls. A sheet hung on the back wall, covering a window bathing in what appears to be pure moonlight. I make my way over and tear down the murky white linen cloth, flooding the room with a gorgeous display of purple tainted moonlight. It was now lit by the nights calming rays, bouncing off lowly specks of dust suspended in the air, dislodged from the sheet and toppled boxes. 

The back wall around the window is covered in a phenomenal mural. Seriously, this thing is incredible! It seems like something Keith would draw, it's totally his style. The reds mingling with deep blues, purples resonating from the heat of their battle; purple being the peace maker in a war of misunderstanding. 

Black coyotes fighting on the red side and white fighting on the blue. They fight for a cause but neither side wants the violence. It's evident in the stances of the faceless coyotes, that they're stuck. 

They can't move.

Frozen in someone else's war.

Forced to play the part of tortured soldiers caught in a puppeteers shadow show.

Aside from a few old pieces of furniture, white sheets and dust covered cubes, the room remained untouched by whatever Rolo's skimpy friends would stigmatize it with. 

There was a metal bed frame with a mattress and some scattered white sheets sprawled on top, against the back wall, laying horizontally beneath the window. It seemed comfy and the room seemed undisturbed but I wasn't about to take my chances with it.

My eyes scanned the room once more and behind a cluster of boxes I was able to identify the outline of closet doors. I made my way to the double doored closet, which was behind a few old paintings, crouching into the little space. Only once I was situated, did I pull out my headphones, deciding to waste my battery just listening to music. 

Just before I hit play on a random playlist, a creak sounded from the rusted hinges of this bedroom door. Footsteps came into the room, sloppily and hurried. Immediately my brain flashed to the assumption that to two people were getting heated. However, when failing to hear laugher or the suckle of interlocking lips I grew confused.

I didn't want to pull out my earbuds so I just sat and tried my best to see if I could figure out who just walked into the room that I stupidly left the door open to. The sound was more of a shamble, a depressed dragging of feet.

It was only as my eye peered through a broken shingle in the closet door that I realized it was just Lance with a shit ton of alcohol. Seriously, I don't think anyone could hold that much liquor safely. He was downing some unknown beverage from a typical red solo cup, before throwing numerous forms of bottled fermentation into the sea of sheets.

His body didn't fall far behind as he sat on the mattress, sinking like a top-heavy ship into the cushions, not bothering to check them all all. He bent forward and threw his head into his palms, breathing heavily and already reaching to pour himself another drink. After he shifted, I could make out a bottle of Tequila, two of gin, a few shot glasses worth of Triple Sec, and maybe vodka or rum... I can't really tell from the confines of the closet.

Damn being in the closet sucks.

I kinda feel bad for Lance, a little, but I don't want to get out. He's so obviously drunk and I have no idea what kind of drunk he is so I stay put. There might also be an underlying explanation as to why I'd rather watch, probably so he doesn't hurt me or so I don't hear something I shouldn't. Cause honestly, right now, Lance is shit-faced. 

Somewhere in my brain, I'm able to rationalize that it's been six years and he's a different person but I don't know what kind of person that is. I don't know him and he doesn't know me. We're strangers with a past but even people you thought you once knew can change immensely in an adolescent time-span that significant. 

Puberty just does things to you, I guess. I don't know I try to ignore it. Hormones are gross. 

I decide to turn my phone back on and begin my playlist, tuning out the vibrations of shitty music from the floorboards and the rooms below.

Yeah alcohol isn't exactly as glamorous as people make it out to be, and Lance's state of emotional instability is just proof of that.

It might have been about ten or twenty minutes till I heard a second pair of footsteps enter the room. I'm not sure who it is, the dark corners seem to encircle this unknown figure as they shuffle towards Lance, wavering before grabbing a shot glass and holding it out for a fill. 

I didn't want to interrupt them so I just kept listening to my music on low, watching through the cracks of the door (I'm not a weirdo). The lyrics were pounding in my ears, and I'm actually surprised no one's heard my music from this room. 

I was zoning out, trapped in my own mind and still hung up about the dumb music, but when I snapped back my mind raced. I switched to my camera app, still hooked up to my music, and snapped a quick picture then proceeded to let myself behold this once-in-a-reality experience. 

Did that just actually happen?

Well Damn.

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