"You look like you could use a shot."

Like macerated violet petals, the girl's voice varnished the party's tenor purple. Corrupting the piercingly loud jumble of noise, and lulling it with a lovely lilac serenade. Melding with the colors of her thoughts, the whole world glowered a faint purple hue.

Alaska turned on her heel, narrowing her eyes lightly as she peered at another girl. A glacier stare, riddled in the thrumming kitchen light from the bulb that flickered. It made a pattern across their faces, dimming them in blips of darkness as if preparing them for the illumination's final demise. This girl, who Alaska didn't recognize, had hair so fair it was argent. Almost, anyway.

Bound in a pearly blue dress, and adorned with a cheap, plastic crown reading 'birthday girl'. This must have been the infamous Melissa Garth. A faint smile came to Alaska mouth, which in turn decorated Melissa's carnation flutter upwards. Her eyes were captivating, pale and sharp yet soft all at once. Beautiful as snow, but biting just the same.

"Happy birthday," Alaska said, tone speckled by interest. She leaned her back into the kitchen counter and crossed her arms over her chest. "You're Melissa, I presume?"

Melissa walked closer, hips swaying so well the breeze would have been jealous. A smirk clung to her mouth, embedded in mischief and shining like diamonds soaked her teeth. She grabbed a half empty bottle of vodka off the counter, brushing Alaska's arm in the process, before nodding. "And you are..." she trailed off, tilting her head to get a better view of Alaska's face. She craned her neck to see the side ensnared in the shadows, and her eyes fractioned a tad. "The one my brother just punched..." she trailed off again, pressing her lips to a hum. "I presume?"

"Well, he was aiming for my friend, but yeah," Alaska nodded. Radiant was her stare, lush as flora when the afternoon rain halted in summer. And inside her stare was a congregation, collected of patchwork pain woven together with her lesser mirth, for a bittersweet memento. Because Alaska was collected of keepsakes. Melissa, with ease, harbored her attention.

She rolled her eyes, making her glittery eyeshadow sparkle with the movement. "I'm not sure how he mistook you for Thatcher Rhodes." Melissa curled her lip, and heaved a sigh from her chest. She spoke Thatcher's name like it tasted vile, even shortening his name into a scoff. She cracked open the bottle, and took a sip straight from the spigot.

Alaska's attention diverted to her neck, watching as the vein in it twitch. This was because Melissa cringed when she took the sip, but swallowing briefly sharpened the appearance of her collarbone. She didn't let her gaze stray any further, to the deep cut neckline. Before she looked back to Melissa's face, she did take a beat to glance at diamonds hanging around her throat.

"I'm guessing you aren't a fan," Alaska chuckled in a way void of humor. Like her chest was an empty cavity, whose only habitants were spiders and dust bunnies. Often times this comparison floated through Alaska's head, convincing her that one day she could pry apart her skin and bones and find an vacant cavern where her heart should have been. However, as she put on her best smile, you'd have never guessed it.

Melissa insincerely grinned, and thrusted the bottle in Alaska's direction. Her breath was sickly sweet, wafting of red wine that dyed her tongue sanguine. The aroma of lilies and amber accompanying it was a flash to the past. It reminded Alaska of listless days spent beneath to alcove of tress of a garden she used to frequent. In the flurry of flower petals, absorbing elusive silence, with a poetry book in her scarred hands It sent shivers running up and down her spine, ones that felt like a thousand tiny volts of electricity. Alaska could have sworn she could feel the paper cuts she used to get returning to her fingertips.

"I wasn't a fan when he copied my essay in our history class, and somehow convinced the teacher I was the one who cheated," Melissa started with a storm cloud forming above her. "I hated him in the ninth grade when we dissected frogs, and I forgot to put on my gloves before I started."

Alaska took the bottle with a raised brow. She wasn't surprised Thatcher would have been a menace to his fellow students, she just didn't see how the frogs and him were connected. She pressed the bottle to her lip, and the scent rising already blistered her tongue. Remnants of Melissa's lipstick transferred to Alaska, marking her red.

"He called me frog fingers for a year," she admitted in a disgruntled grumble.

Alaska snorted as she finally took a swig of vodka. The pungent sting tore into the flesh of her throat, pulling it apart as it went down. "God," she lifted her brows, partly in surprise, and partly because of how horrible the drink was. "At least it has nice alliteration," she returned. "You could have been frog hands- that doesn't have as good of a ring to it."

"He did make me memorable," Melissa relented. She twisted a strands of her hair between her fingers, over and over in a dizzying motion. Her nails were a perfect manicure, baby blue to match her dress. They glistened, and had small silver stars hand drawn onto each of them. "Now that I've told you about my unfortunate nickname, tell me something about yourself," she said expectantly.

Then, the most curious of things happened.

Melissa's eyes flicked over Alaska, up and down before returning to her face. A coy effervescence came to life on her portrait, and sung a song alluding to more than her question rose. It was like watching Clotho spin the thread of her fate, weaving her insinuations into a destiny Alaska had succumb to many times.

She hesitated, gently tapping the back of her hand in silence. Two roads were before her, one leading back home, and one leading Alaska back to old habits. That angel popped back up, speaking riddles of warning about that would happen. How upset Cassian would be if she came home drunk, or worse, not at all. How for the first time in her life, she had someone waiting for her to take the first road. The one less traveled, still waiting for it's first set of footprints. Then there was the devil, a spritely spirit twisting itself into her visceral desire to become numb.

To scrub her mind of the loss, even if it only lasted until the high wore off. Melissa was tempting, alluring with her siren eyes, and outstretched hand, holding the bottle. It was a path she'd tread so many times before- and she knew better.

Guilt settled into a lump at the back of her throat, and a twinge in her gut. It wasn't stronger than the blighting infection of ache inside though, so she tamped it down. She'd put it in her pocket like an old picture, and revisit it in the aftermath tomorrow.

She knew better.

"What do you wanna know?"

——

Melissa's lips were pressed into Alaska's neck, leaving behind a multitude of cherry imprints.

A few sips of vodka to ease Alaska's mind had morphed into a drunken fling. It had been a murky blur, polluted by alcohol and lust, that got them here. On Melissa's bed, hands tangled in each other's hair and sticky breath on their skin. The room was dim, faintly outlined in moonlight and the hallway's lamp that shone under the door. The air was dappled in mild hints of lavender, and her fluffy comforter brushed against Alaska's stomach where her shirt had been pulled up.

Alaska couldn't think straight. Her thoughts came and went, never staying long enough for her to think them through. Her impulses were guiding her, moving her hips, and her hand. Her fingertips softly traced the zipper of Melissa's, and then up and down her spine. Her touch was delicate, experienced, fluidly moving over Melissa's lower back before returning to her zipper.

"Unzip-"

"Melissa," Garth's familiar nasally snarl abruptly howled. His fist hit the door brashly, loudly pounding on it as Alaska scrambled to get up. Her eyes were widened, sneaking glances at the door and she fixed her shirt. She looked around urgently for something to wipe her neck off with, and her heart chanting it's common erratic melody. She didn't have time to, before Garth stormed in. "Someone is breaking mom's expensive china..." he started off shouting, but his voice silenced to a murmur.

Garth shoved the door shut behind him, and Alaska cleared her throat. Feverish panic was consuming her, leeching the blood from her veins as she eyed him. His face broke into an annoyed disappointment, floating from Alaska to his sister. He had sobered up by now. His eyes weren't hazy anymore, and his words were no longer a slurred mess.

"What are you thinking?" He whispered, pointing to the door. "Anyone could have walked in and seen you, like last time," he hissed.

Last time. Alaska picked up on this in particular, wondering what it could have implied. Her mind was so out of it, nothing besides that was really coherent. She didn't know if she should have been relieved, or worried, it was woozy. She was staggering across clouds, and her mind was high enough to make her nose bleed.

"I was thinking that I wanted to get drunk and make out with a hot girl," Melissa chuckled. Her face was pink, flushed and giddy like a school girl. She sat up from the bed and ran her fingers through her messy hair, breathlessly.

Seeing her work a little harder to breathe reminded Alaska to take a deep breath. "I should go- I'm gonna go," she said, standing. "I didn't know about last time, whatever happened," she rambled. If she wasn't so plastered, she most likely would have been thinking about the worst case scenarios. And she would, tomorrow when she was back to normal. For now, she just wanted to escape this room. "I'm gonna go."

"Do you even have a ride? You came with Birdie and Thatcher didn't you?" Melissa asked, seemingly having forgotten her spite for Thatcher.

"Yeah, but it's fine," Alaska said. "My uncle's place is only a few blocks from here."

"I can walk you home," Garth offered to which Alaska shook her head quickly.

"No- no that's fine, I've got it." After this she made her exit, leaving behind her jacket without a second thought. The hallways were less loud, and only a few of the terribly drunken kids were left roaming, and destroying, the house. Alaska didn't make eye contact with anyone, keeping her head down until she managed to get out.

She stumbled onto the street, immediately becoming gnawed at by the cold breeze. It sunk into her skim, tearing straight to her bones from her bare arms. She had lied about living close by, in fact, she had no ides where the hell she was. She just needed to leave Melissa's room, so she'd dismantled any questions that would have prevented her quick exit.

She searched for anything, a street sign, or familiar lamp post or something or help her figure out where she was. It was an upscale neighborhood, laden with houses on each side of the road. Picket fences were as familiar to Alaska as this location, what was recognizable to her though was the bus stop at the end of the road.

And the payphone beside it.

Alaska crossed the street, looking both ways even in her stupor. The street lights were blindingly bright, glowing amongst the stars like damn chameleons. The night smelled like autumn, crisp and snapping as a ruler against her knuckles. The world melded together as she glanced around, listening to the cicadas mock her. That's the way their chirps sounded, but perhaps that was due to how stupid she felt.

She reached the payphone, and fumbled when snagging her wallet from her pocket. She took out some change, and put them it the slot. Upon picking up the phone, and hearing the automated prompt her to dial a number, she hesitated. Alaska ran a hand across her forehead, and pinched the bridge of her nose. Worry bubbled up inside her, tainting her green. It was a sick sensation, similar to the moment she'd chosen to spend the night getting drunk.

This was stupid, and maybe the wrong choice, but she didn't have another option. She didn't know where she was, and she was too wasted to be able to formulate a real plan. So, slowly and near hostilely, she punched in her uncle's phone number. A few rings went by, louder and more tense than Alaska had ever heard. Like in a horror movie, when the music is building insidiously so you know something's about to happen.

"Who is this?" His voice came through on the other side. It was somewhat groggy, not like he'd just woken up, like he'd never gone to sleep. It was deeper than usual, marred by a flurry of emotions that she couldn't place right now.

"It's me, uncle Cas," Alaska squinted her eyes shut. She rose her arm and leaned it against the booth of the payphone, and took a deep breath. Even inside the little structure, her breath made a cloud before her. "I need you to come pick me up," she said in a lack luster sigh, before giving into the guilt weighing on her heart. "Please," she added, voice weakening into a sheepish whisper.

"Where are you?"

~Melissa and Garth- thoughts?~

Hello lovely readers! Can you believe I updated again? Without waiting months between? It's crazy... and what's even crazier is that I have another chapter pre-written for tomorrow! What did we think of this chapter? I know it went by pretty fast, and I hope it was conveyed that I wanted it to feel as flustering and confusing as being drunk, lol. Anyway, if you did like it, please vote and comment! If you didn't, please tell me where you think I could improve. Thank you, and have a wonderful day, night!