My room's a disaster, not of massive proportions, but there's a significant amount of dresses strewn across the carpet, and the white wood of my dresser is hidden beneath product. It's so bad that Spencer has to pick his way across the floor to reach my bed. He tucks his legs under him, places his hands on his thighs and watches as I sit in front of my mirror for final touches. The ribbed orange material of my dress folds in on itself and exposes a large expanse of thigh, which catches his attention and draws a loud wolf whistle from his lips.

"So who's going to be there tonight?" he asks once his show of appreciation comes and passes.

Just as I'm about to answer, my hairband snaps. It springs against my cheek, ruining my makeup, and causes three fat tears to trickle down my face. "I don't know," I mutter as I hunt for another hairband. "I barely know the people there myself."

"But you must have some idea."

"My brother, Jess, Matt."

"And."

"And?"

"Will he be there?" he asks, his eyes widening ridiculously.

"Isaac?"

"Yes, Isaac."

"I don't know, I suppose so." I turn from my reflection and fix my eyes on him. He squirms a little but refuses to look away, challenging me almost. I rise to the bait, latching on, and raise a brow. "Why does it matter?" I ask, my head falling to one side as I watch him squirm some more.

"You know why it matters."

"Do I?"

He closes his eyes, a semi-angelic expression washing over his face, and runs a hand across his forehead. "You kissed him, Lizzie."

"We weren't together."

"I know, but you still kissed him. Some part of you liked him enough to do it. Some part of you might still like him enough to do it again."

"What do you want from me?" I wail, blinking hard to trap my tears behind my buzzing eyelids. This isn't the second, third, or even fourth time this has come up, and I'm sick of it.

I wasn't the one who cheated.

I wasn't the one who messed up.

Yet, I'm the one under investigation.

Wasn't it enough that I picked him? Against all advice, I still chose him. Chose us.

"What I want," he says, his voice cracking, "is to know that it'll never happen again. For you to tell me that it'll never happen again."

So it isn't enough then.

I turn away from him, my gaze fixed on my tear-streaked reflection, and I shake my head. Well, it's more of a whole-body affair, the shock rippling through me until I'm a blubbing tremor. Then I feel his hand resting on my shoulder, his grip grounding me, returning me to reality, and I can't help but cry harder.

"Why don't you trust me?"

"I do trust you." He crouches down and wipes away my tears before crushing me into his chest. I melt against him, my arms winding around his waist, and inhale his clean scent until I feel like I'm falling into a valley of cotton, fluffed and waiting to curve around the contours of my body.

"It's him I don't trust."

I freeze. Literally, freeze.

"You don't need to trust him," I whisper, the words floating away. "But you do have to trust me."

"I do trust you, Lizzie-bear."

My grip tightens, and I burrow further into his shirt. "Then we don't have any problems. Do we?"

"No, I guess not."

"Good, because Jess and Matt will be here any minute, and I'm a disaster."

He pries my body from his and cups my face between both hands. A scary intensity burns behind his hazel eyes, the golden flecks I love swirling. "You're my disaster," he says, smiling softly.

"Your disaster?"

"All mine." He casts his eyes towards my door, which is propped open as per my parent's request, before returning them to mine. He dips down, his lips brushing against mine and smiles as I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer.

"I love you," I whisper as we break apart.

He stands up and returns to my bed. "Me too," he says as he grabs his phone. "Me too."

I manage to pull myself together before Jess and Matthew arrive. That is, I manage to pull my hair into a low bun and wipe away the remnants of my spoiled makeup, leaving me with a bare face and flyaways. It's not that I'm a mess, but when compared to Jess, who has a kiss-proof red lip and a killer eye look in emerald tones, I'm positively plain.

She offers me her lipstick when we hop into the waiting uber and whips out her emergency edge control.

"You're like Mary Poppins," I laugh as she turns my head and gets to work, slicking down my troublesome baby hair.

"Only for you," she winks.

The driver slows as she goes to work on my face, eyeliner and mascara finding their way into her hands once my hair is gelled to perfection and my lips are the colour of Louboutins. He speeds up once she finishes with a regal flourish and laughs a little.

"They're insane," Spencer says by way of apology.

"Not insane," Matthew corrects. "Perfect."

"Thanks, babe." Jess brings his hand to her lips and kisses his knuckles.

"Where's my thanks?" Spencer teases, shoving his hand back. I knock it aside and roll my eyes.

"You'll get plenty of thanks later."

"I'll be holding you to that."

Elle lives on the other side of Milton street in a large Victorian with a high pitched roof and bay windows. The detailing is painted a tasteful cream shade that perfectly compliments the brown brickwork.

The front door is ajar, an indistinct bass dripping out. I open it, leading the others in. Unfortunately, the first person we see is perhaps the one I wanted to avoid most.

His eyes drop to my hand, or rather, mine and Spencer's hands. They linger, matched by the slight downwards pull of his lips. Then Elle appears, Henry and Essie hot on her heels, and Isaac's shoulders relax, his face too, and I'm free from his microscopic investigation.

"Lizzie." Elle throws her arms around me in an unexpected show of friendship. "I'm so glad you came."

"Of course, I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"He'll behave," she whispers, her voice lower than a murmur.

"You sure?"

"A hundred per cent. He won't like it, but he'll behave. That's how you know he's a keeper."

I stiffen, my smile tight and uncomfortable, but allow myself to be swept into Essie's arms. Her excitement is semi-infectious and helps wipe away the awkwardness of Elle's unwanted admission. For that's what it was, a dig to tell me that like Henry and Paula, she's firmly on team Isaac. Even if it's the losing side.

Once Essie lets me go, I introduce the others. Isaac wastes no time bundling Jess in his arms and spinning her around. She giggles into his shoulder, and they fall into easy conversation, the two of them disappearing into their own world.

Spencer watches on in uncomfortable disgust, his glare fixed on the two of them. Matthew only laughs, good-naturedly, while I elbow Spencer and redirect his attention to Essie and Elle, who share a not-so-secret, secret look.

"Drinks anyone?" Elle asks, saving me from further embarrassment.

"Drinks would be good," I say, smiling gratefully.

She leads us further into the house, leaving Matthew behind with Essie and Henry. It's not busy, that is until we reach the kitchen, which is the heart of any truly good party. The granite countertops are hidden beneath plastic cups and half-empty bottles of soft drinks and spirits. A pizza box or two are thrown in for good measure alongside the odd empty beer bottle or long-forgotten mixer.

"Tequila?" she asks, raising a bottle. "Or vodka?"

"Tequila, always tequila."

"Spencer?"

He winces and shakes his head. "I'll find a beer."

"Top left of the fridge. If not, there should be some in the freezer."

He thanks her and turns around. The moment he leaves, his body swallowed whole by a crowd of unfamiliar faces, I let out a shallow breath and hoist myself onto the countertop.

"Here." Elle stuffs a plastic cup into my hands. The amber liquid glints under the sharp spotlights and swirls deliciously. "You need this more than me."

I only smile and take a tentative sip. It's strong, much too strong, but it helps lessen the fizzing inside of me, mellowing it out until it's not even a hum.

"What do you see in him?" she asks, jumping up beside me.

"Do I have to see something in him?"

"Yeah. He's your boyfriend, not some random guy you can ignore."

I sigh, the realisation bringing the fizzing back, and take a large sip of my drink. "I see everything and nothing," I say, winking.

"You're the queen of non-answers," she laughs.

I laugh too. "Being with him is as natural as breathing, then."

"You sure? It didn't seem so easy back there." She nods at the corridor. "If anything, it seemed as easy as not breathing."

"He's my first...well, everything. The first boy I liked, the first boy I loved, the first boy to break my heart, and the first one to put it back together again."

"That doesn't mean he has to be the last."

"What do you mean?"

She chews on her lip and gulps down a glug of tequila neat before casting the bottle aside and taking my left hand in hers. "I know we didn't get off to a good start," she says, my laughter interrupting. "But, if I'm completely honest with you, like truly honest, we're the same, you and me, and I've always known that."

"The same?"

"Person. We're fiercely independent and very loving in our own way, and scared of change. But that doesn't mean we can't be vulnerable. It doesn't mean we can't say to hell with it all and jump off a cliff with our eyes closed."

"You've lost me," I say as I down the last of my drink.

"Isaac is the cliff, Lizzie."

"Isaac is the cliff?"

"Isaac is the cliff."

A girl with bouncy blonde curls and an impeccable smokey eye barrels over. She grabs at Elle's attention until I've all but lost it, allowing me to hop off the countertop and pour myself another drink.

With my plastic cup clutched in my hand, my purse in the other, I head towards the living room. Jess, Matthew and Isaac are huddled in one corner, a golden glow cast around them as they laugh. Jess beckons me over the moment she spots me, her smile widening as she tugs me into her arms and holds me close.

"Where's Spence?" Matthew asks, glancing over his shoulder.

"Looking for a beer."

"Shit, drinks. Do you want anything?" Matthew glances at Jess and then Isaac.

"I'm good," Isaac smiles.

"Vodka coke."

"Lizzie?"

I raise my cup. "I'm good too."

Matthew whisks Jess away before I have a chance to drag her back, leaving Isaac and me to shuffle awkwardly from foot to foot. The music slips into the space between us and helps push us further and further apart.

He glances at his shoes and wraps a hand around his bicep. "I'm sorry about yesterday," he says, the apology bringing back the earlier fizzing while dragging us closer together. "I didn't mean it, not really."

"You didn't?"

"Of course not. We can be civil, Lizzie."

"What about friends?" I smile shyly, peeking up at him from underneath my lashes.

"Friends?" he snorts.

"Is that so impossible? Unimaginable?"

"Yes." He pauses, rolling his eyes. "And no."

"I'll pretend like I didn't hear the first part."

"You do that."

I glance up. His smile is bright, attacking, and I can't help but smile too. Friends. For real this time. I don't think he's my cliff, but he can certainly be one of my rocks. I think we need it; at least I know I do.

~*~

At some point, the thin veneer of decorum that clung to everyone slips away, and the semi-respectable house party turns into a rager. The music, already loud and booming, finds a secret layer of bass that shoots through me with each pulse. And the alcohol, already too strong, seems to get stronger.

I stumble out of the living room, which has become a nightclub in its own right, and struggle upstairs. The steps refuse to stay put and zip up and down, stilling only when my foot makes contact with their carpeted surface. Eventually, I make it to the top, my fingers curling tightly around the smooth bannister, and try to recall Elle's directions.

"Third door on the right," I whisper, my throat burning. "Third door on the right."

Once I find it, I pause, allowing the hallway to fall into place, and the tug on the handle. Except it's locked, which is a fate worse than death at parties like this when all manner of atrocities could be going on in there.

For one, someone could be simply using the bathroom, which isn't an atrocity in itself but can be different degrees of time-consuming.

Worse yet, they could be vomiting, which is a scale one atrocity.

But, worst of all, they could be getting it on.

It seems unlikely, seeing as there is minimal noise. That is until one minute passes, then two, then ten, leaving me to bang feebly against the painted wood as I sink to the floor.

Isaac finds me like this fifteen minutes later. He's in a much better state than me and offers me a brilliant grin as he sits beside me. "Have you tried shouting?" he suggests after another failed round of knocking.

"I would," I croak, "but I think I'm losing my voice." There was a lot of shouting downstairs. It was the only way to speak. That and every single song seemed to be mine for the belting.

Isaac laughs as he hauls himself up and pounds on the door, shouting until the lock clicks. Unfortunately, the door itself doesn't open.

"Do we go in?" I ask as I drag my own body up and lean against the cold wall.

"It's up to you."

I glance at the door, then at him, and shrug, my hand wrapping around the gold handle and pushing down. Only in doing so, I get the shock of my life.

Well, that is, the second shock.

Or is it the third?

***

What's behind that door?

Or rather, who?

I hope you enjoyed the chapter. If you did, please remember to share, comment and vote.

xxx