Lost in the Party

This story is a sequel to Love and a Fantasy

The first trickle of regret began to race down his spine when he saw the oscillating lights spilling out onto the mismanaged lawn of a multi-story home. The music was powerful enough to shake his chest even from his current vantage point, and he already spotted two… "guys", manning the front door, talking loudly with one another with a lot of raucous laughter and slaps on the back. They weren't exactly physically intimidating; David surmised that he was taller than both, but with their backwards trucker hats and matching Corona beers, their forms looked ghastly under the sickly yellow porch light.

He turned to Makayla, dressed fabulously a skin-tight black sweater under a leather jacket with a short black skirt and tall boots which brought her up to near his height. Her blond hair was hanging down over her shoulders in elegant curls. They had joked about dying it black to fit the theme.

"Nervous?" she asked him with a smirk. Their group of friends tittered from behind them.

He smiled and lied. "Not in the least, ma'am."

When had lying to her become so easy?

They made their way to the door, the moon now close to midnight. One of the two guys, the bigger one, looked down at David and said, "Woah, woah, woah! Who d'you know here?"

David looked calmly back and said, "I know Josh, Brayden, and Alex. And we have wrist bands."

"They got bands?" asked the smaller guy.

The big guy squinted as their party of ten all held up their wrists, displaying green rubber bracelets. He counted them in his head, maddeningly slow, though David thought that it might have been his best effort. When at last he had them sorted, he said, "Alright, you're valid."

"What's the ratio like?" asked a voice from behind the door.

"Three guys, seven girls," called the big guy.

The small guy slapped David on the arm and said, "Not bad, bro."

David smiled and nodded. He could feel the warm night breeze ruffling his black hair effortlessly into a messy part. He liked it that way. Makayla pulled his arm, hidden underneath a long sleeved black shirt, through the door. "Hey, we got in!"

He smiled at her in response; it seemed to be his only response these days to her. Well, not the only response; he turned to her and kissed her. Again, he lied, "I feel like dancing."

She grinned. They were already buzzed from the pregame. "I think we should get some drinks first."

They almost had to yell to make themselves heard over the music, emanating mainly from the living room to their right, where strobe lights and pulsating speakers made sanity an afterthought. Already, David hated where he was, but when Makayla asked him how he liked it as she pulled him through the hordes of sweaty people all smelling like stale beer or some mysterious red jungle juice, he replied, "I love it!"

They found a place to get drinks. David got a beer from a keg and Makayla got the jungle juice. He smiled, genuinely this time, when they did their tradition of exchanging first sips before taking their own drinks. Then his heart panged with an ache so deep he almost felt it cripple him. He looked into Makayla's shining face, her brilliant green eyes, her white teeth, her subtle lipstick and her dimpled cheeks. He found his love in her brightness, in her soft hair, in the aroma which entered his nose whenever he was near her, a mixture of several compounds which looked to him more like ingredients for a potion than perfume.

He put an arm on her lower back, below her short jacket, and slowly pulled her forward, and their slightly parted lips met for a few seconds. Makayla giggled and asked, "How much did you pregame?"

For her, it was a little game, but for him, that kiss represented the passion which had been lost in limbo for so many months. He was being stupid. The back of his mind itched with the thought of another name, another face, another body, but here was Makayla's in front of him, gorgeous and soulful. He leaned in close to her and whispered in her ear, "I love you."

The song changed and a cheer went up from the crowd. For that moment, Makayla thought he really was drunk and giggled again, but when they met eyes, she saw the feelings behind his dark brown irises. Then she registered how gentle his touch was, how he seemed to regard the drink in his hand as an object of vanity. Then it was her turn to pull him towards her, one hand on his face, a cold hand, but her hands were always cold, and acrylic pink nails scratched his scalp as she drew him into a kiss, a true kiss, and another cheer erupted from the crowd. They broke apart, but no one was looking at them; a sophomore had just done a backflip off of the stairs.

"C'mon," he said, "let's go dance."

And so they went to the living room. Bodies were packed in so tight here that it seemed to be more of a ritual of compression rather than an expression of movement. Yet still they did their part, and David felt himself slowly losing that second name. From what he heard, she never came to parties anyway. He wondered if she had a second job, or if she was simply too tired after a day of classes and working at a coffee and confections shop downtown. Either way, he would understand.

Understand? He caught himself in the train of thought and focused back on Makayla. But it was getting harder. He had now taken three drinks, and with each cup he discarded he felt himself deteriorate further and further. He loved Makayla, he really did, but why did her hair keep turning a chocolate brown in his mind? Why were her eyes a hazel brown rather than green?

God, he'd just met Makayla's parents a few weeks ago. He remembered that dinner, how well he'd gotten along with them. They were great people. Her brother could have been his brother; he reminded David of his childhood friend now lost to time. Her mother doted over him already, and even the father seemed like a cool, relaxed man with a comfortable retirement around the corner. He had laughed jovially to David's jokes, patting his large belly and stroking his beard. Why was he now wishing her cheek was someone else's when he put his lips to it? Why was he wishing he could… exchange her, if ever there was a thought so vile. He shuddered when it came to him, he grabbed Makayla and pulled her close, a little roughly this time, and kissed again, and again, trying to feel her, trying to feel any warmth from her that seeped through her thin clothes. They were both covered in a sheen of sweat from dancing in the heat of a packed frat house living room. It brought out the newfound hollowness in David's cheeks, the paleness of his caramel skin, the gauntness under his eyes. All things he had gained, or exaggerated, in the last few months, ever since that day at Patty's Sweets and Pastries. On her, it made her lips look softer, her hair more glossy. He pulled her in again, and this time they stayed together until the song ended.

"David, what's up with you?" she asked with a coy smile. Her right hand began finding itself on his shirt, under it. She put down her drink on a nearby shelf and wrapped the other arm around his back, bringing him maddeningly close to her.

It sent a throbbing pain through his head. Another trickle of regret formed on the back of his neck. He smiled in response. A classic, by now.

She giggled and bent him to her ear. "You wanna find a room? Maybe get out of here?"

He felt a wrenching in his heart which presented itself as an acidic sizzling in his stomach. As a pre-med, nearly graduated, he should have had a more clever diagnostic, but all he could think of was his misery. How could he be experiencing heartache when the object of his heart, the person he loved most dearly, was standing so close to him, close enough to be sharing heat from one another's bodies, to be sharing breath.

"I… gotta use the bathroom," he said. Too quietly, at first, so then he repeated louder, "Bathroom!"

She winked. "Want me to come along?"

He hated himself for shaking his head. Fortunately, some of their friends from earlier found them at that point and encircled Makayla, which allowed David to escape down the hall. The music faded slightly, but not enough for him to notice the ringing in his ears. When he noticed a line of people waiting outside a door, he asked the guy closest to him, "Bathroom?"

He nodded, bouncing slightly to the beat while holding a drink in his hand.

David hated parties. He hated dancing, really. He liked spending time with Makayla when it was just the two of them, or maybe just their closest friends. Looking around, he saw drunk guys make awful passes at girls, he saw frat brothers shotgunning beers and doing keg stands. What was this life? He wasn't much for the philosophical bend, but it just seemed so… ridiculous. But then again, maybe he thought so simply because he was miserable and the sight of those having unapologetic fun was a painful reminder of what he lacked.

When he finally got into the bathroom, he closed the door and felt peace for only three seconds; precisely as long as it took the smell to hit him, locking him in another purgatory. Here was quiet, relatively, here was isolated. He didn't have to love anyone here, even that putrid face, leering out from the mirror at him. There were no obligations; there was no one here to hold. But that in itself was terrifying.

David sat down on the edge of the tub, trying not to let the perversive atmosphere disturb him, and failing. Was he really such a bad boyfriend? He'd met her family, he'd taken her out to countless dates… When her dog passed away, it was his shoulder she'd used. When her exams were stressing her out, it was him to whom she turned to study. Was there anything wrong with him for giving her that? Was there something wrong with him for wanting a thing back in return?

He remembered a moment from his childhood when his father had come back from a long day of work to find David's mother crying on the sofa. When he asked her what was wrong, she wasn't able to give a clear answer; it just seemed something was wrong. Without hesitating, he'd gotten her a warm cup of chamomile tea, found her favorite pair of soft socks, and tucked her into a blanket. He'd skipped his afternoon run to read to her. Later that night, when she was sleeping tearlessly, David saw the weathered look on his father's face and asked, "Daddy, what's mommy gonna do?"

"What d'you mean, Davey?"

He worked through the words slowly, with concentration. "Well… you took care of mommy all afternoon and night, and now you're really tired. Is she gonna make you something? When I made my bed one week in a row, she made cookies for me. Are you gonna get cookies?"

His father had laughed, but then he knelt down and looked at David soberly. "Son, when you love someone, you don't do things for them expecting that they'll reciprocate."

"Re-ci-pro-cate?"

Shaking his head, his father corrected, "When you love someone, you don't need them to… make you anything. You do things for them because you want to, because… you don't like seeing them hurt."

"Was mommy hurt?"

"Yes, Davey."

"And you made it better?"

His father smiled. "I tried."

After several moments, David frowned again and said, "I still think mommy should make you cookies."

Laughing, his father had tousled David's hair and gone to finish up some work.

A knock on the door jerked David back into the present. Into the very rancid, loud, and obnoxious present. A loud voice pierced the door panel: "Yo! Hurry it up in there!"

David got to his feet and opened the door, finding a frat brother there whose face morphed from irritation to recognition. "Hey, David, what's up man!"

He recognized Alex, a junior pre-med with a blond mullet and a vape sticking out of his shirt pocket. David said, "Hey dude, not much."

"You straight bro? You yak or something?"

David snorted, his mind elsewhere. "Nah, I'm good. I gotta go find… my, uh… my girlfriend."

Alex grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. "Next time lower the THC in your brownies, bro."

David wasn't high, but he nodded and moved forward as though on a mission, slipping between people brusquely and earning some angry reproaches. At last, he found her, now alone, her phone screen lighting up her face. She smiled when she saw him. "You were gone a while. Are you-"

The rest of her words were drowned out in a kiss which lifted her from her feet. He said, "I do wanna get out of here."

"Okay, let's do that." She was breathing a little heavily, and her eyes got that fluttery look he recognized when he'd really surprised her.

He grimaced at himself, now leading her by the hand and back to the door. They'd been at the party long enough for the dates to change, but the night was still young. As they made their way through the crowd, he promised to himself that from now on, he'd love her as his dad had loved his mom, as Makayla deserved. Hot guilt began to eat its way through his heart when he thought about some of the sidelong glances he'd gotten in the last couple of months from her. Had she sensed that his heart was divided? Well, there would be no more of that. From now on, his heart was hers, and hers only.

"Hey, wait!" she said, stopping them in their tracks.

"What's up?"

She peered over the crowd on her toes and a smile broke out on her face. "Kelly! Hi!" She turned back to him and said, "I'm gonna go say hi to Kelly!"

"Can you meet me outside?"

"Yeah, sure."

So he continued outside while she met her girlfriend and hugged. Once he stumbled through the door, he gulped cool night hair and the haze of the interior gave way to the mixture of vapor and cigarette smoke of the porch, where frat brothers and guests alike lounged. He was just scanning the area when his whole body froze.

On a couch just ten feet away from him sat Sammy, the girl from the coffee shop, the girl with the luxurious brown hair and carefree eyes and the soft, rounded jaw that just begged for a gentle hand to hold it during an embrace. She was laughing unabashedly at something; he didn't hear what, and that wasn't because his ears were still ringing from the party. He noticed one of the four guys she was with, among her company of nine total people, had his arm around her shoulders.

Fresh pain wrenched his heart from his chest. It withdrew it slowly, agonizingly through his ribcage, it drained every last bit of oxygen from his lungs. It filled his mind with venom. Who was this guy? He looked like a dunce, sloppy, too old for college; like a frat brother who had failed out so many times the only reason he was still around was daddy's money. Her bare shoulders looked cold; why was it his hand that should hold them, and not David's?

In that moment, the night seemed to melt away. It was just him, alone, looking at her, alone, and wondering what the hell he was going to do with himself. Makayla had just committed to graduate school at UCSF, where he was going to medical school. As far as he knew, Sammy had no plans to be in the Bay Area. In fact, he didn't know her plans at all, and that irked him somewhat, as though they were friends already.

She caught his eye and smiled at him, and that was the worst thing she could have done, for it forced the bile into his throat, the self-hatred, the loathing, all of it curdled to the surface in a half-baked smile that he threw back at her, brushing hair out of his eyes. Were it not for Makayla's voice carrying over from the doorway, he would have been caught staring at Sammy. As it was, he was able to tear his gaze away at the last second and look back at his girlfriend, the love of his life, his future.

She smirked at him. "You look rooted to the floor there."

He unfroze and put an arm around her. "Let's go."

"Where are we going?" asked Makayla as they moved to the stairs.

"I think," he paused and kissed her, angrily passionate, turning her on the spot, his eyes closed but his mind willing Sammy to look this way, to see you happy he was, how committed. When they broke apart, he whispered in Makayla's ear: "I think we should go back to my place." 

While he was cradling her head, his eyes found where Sammy was sitting. Was it his imagination, or did she look unhappy, recoiling within herself, away from the touch of her man? It gave David savage pleasure to see this, though in truth he did not know if she saw his embrace with Makayla at all. He then felt guilty for it, for so many things, for using Makayla as a tool to make Sammy jealous, for not wishing the best for either of them.

"I think… that's a great idea," said Makayla, kissing him on the ear.

They walked down the steps of the frat house, voices hooting and hollering in the air behind them, the music still pulsating in David's bones as he held Makayla's cold hand and wished, in line with half his tortured heart, that it was Sammy's fingers in his own.