NOTE: Check out kaelking12's awesome performance of this week's chapter! PS: Thank you to those of you who take the time to listen! We're always grateful and excited to hear from you after you've listened through a chapter!

https://youtu.be/S_llHqYFv4o

CHAPTER 21

Elias

Everybody says you're not doing homecoming right unless you black out at least once. And if that's the case, then I'm handling tonight like a King.

I don't know where I am.

My phone's buzzing through the side of my face--rattling right into my ears, but I barely hear the sound. The whole room's filled with noise. Muffled music. People shouting. Chaos. The walls are shaking from it. Heavy bass beating up through the floor. 

I try to move--to lift myself up off the ground and get my head straight, but everything's sideways. The leaking base of the toilet sitting inches away from me, the pile of vomit spewed across the yellow-green tile floor, the girl sprawled out on the opposite side of the room. 

I blink once, twice, trying to make sense of things and of her—but the mix of memories kicking around my head doesn't add up.

I don't know how I got here, how she got here, or how me, Ty, and his friends ended up in this place. I remember walking—wandering the streets around Mission Bay with a bunch of strangers hoping to get lost in the night. 

I remember downing shot after shot on the sidewalk while me and the boys followed the trails of party girls who were laughing and stumbling into houses like this one. And, now I'm sprawled out on somebody's bathroom floor. 

My clothes smell like somebody else's perfume. My mouth tastes like vodka, strawberries, and the wax of a stranger's lipstick.

I lift my hand to my lips—fingers shaking, and slowly run them along the edges. They come back stained—faded red. Snapshots of me pressed up against some girl in the corner of a beat-up couch pops into my head along with a million other reasons to panic.

I don't remember her face. Or her name. Or anything I did beyond making out with her.

I don't know if she's the stranger across the room or not.

Or if I'm the reason she ended up like this.

She's a picture of chaos.

Black tears streaked down her cheeks.

Hair scattered across her face.

Her little black dress lifted up to the point where her panties are exposed.

My phone sounds off again—trying to tear my attention away from her, but I'm too wired to even think about checking the screen.

A new kind of fear comes to life in my blood while I scramble to figure out what I've done—if I've done anything at all.

I glance down at my clothes to see if they tell any part of the story. My pants are buttoned. Shirt's still on. Nothing's torn. Nothing's broken. Nothing looks out of place in the room aside from her.

I stare across the space to see if she's okay or if there's some part of her appearance that'll give away the reason why we're both in here, but I can't see anything.

Her face is a blur from this far away—just warped shapes and foggy details.

I force myself up onto my hands and knees and crawl over to her--careful not to slide through the puke spewed across the floor. Once I reach her, the storm inside my chest settles a little. I lean in close enough to finally see her clearly.

Tiny face. Long hair. Glitter-dusted eyes. Lips painted in black lipstick.

Not red.

None of it's streaked. None of it's messy. Just perfectly untouched.

The echo of Trish's words and all of her twisted accusations fade out of my mind. I'm not the monster she said I was. Getting drunk didn't change that and tonight didn't change me. I'm still not that guy--and God-willing, I'll never be.

My mom raised me to take care of women.

And wasted or not, I'll do my best to take care of this one.

I lift her up and do my best to ease her off the ground without hurting her. She's tiny—her whole body barely weighs a thing as I help her sit upright. I ease her head against the door frame and lift an unsteady finger up underneath her nose to see if she's still breathing.

A rush of warm air leaves her lungs and brushes against my skin. I silently thank God for it. She opens her mouth and lets out something between a moan and a mumble, but I'm no where near sober enough to understand what she's saying. Her eyes flutter open for a couple seconds, but she doesn't look at me. She lifts up an unsteady hand and points toward the toilet.

I waste no time picking her up and helping her across the room. As soon as she's steady enough to hover over the porcelain on her own, I reach over and gently brush her hair out of her face right before the inevitable happens.

She pukes for what feels like days until the rattle and creak of the bathroom door shuttering open interrupts the consequences of too much alcohol.

I look up, and a girl walks in—eyes wide and worried like she's lost something important. Her gaze shifts down to me and eventually over to the stranger whose hair is still in my hands.

"Oh my gosh, Ashley?!" She says and then teeters over on her heels and squats down on the floor next to the both of us. Ashley lifts her head up a couple inches but barely manages a nod before she starts throwing up again.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you? I would've come with you in here if you'd just asked. Why didn't you say anything?" Her friend asks, but Ashley's in no shape to answer. I try my best to fill in the gaps instead.

"I found her passed out in here a little while ago. I didn't want her to throw up lying down, so I tried to get her upright before that happened. I think she needs to go home—she's in pretty bad shape."

I'm not doing much better than she is, but at least I can still talk. Ashley's way past the point of being able to speak in sentences. Her friend takes off her heels and takes over my position like she's done this a thousand times. 

I rise to my feet and awkwardly hang around by the door trying to figure out the reason she hasn't answered me. Maybe she thinks I did something wrong. Maybe she thinks I'm lying. Maybe I should leave before she has a reason to suspect me of something I didn't do.

I reach for the door handle, but I barely get my fingers around the knob before she stops me.

"Wait. What's your name?" She asks, but the blank stare on her face has me nervous about answering.

"Why's that important?"

"'Cause it'd be nice to know who took care of my best friend. Not many guys would do that kinda thing--especially at a party like this so--thank you."

My face heats up, so I turn away from her to keep her from catching sight of the lame version of me.

"No problem. And, it's--Elias, by the way."

"King?"

"Depends on who's asking," I say.

She slips into a mile-wide smile which seems a little out of place given Ashley's vomit soundtrack in the background.

"Just someone who loves a good story. You're a better guy than people give you credit for, Elias. Somebody should do something to change that."

"I wish it was that easy."

'"Who knows? Dreams come true. All it takes is the right kind of rumor to change the whole world."

"That's not a bad way to think about it. What's your name?" I ask.

She shakes her bangs to cover her face and avoids making eye contact.

"I prefer stay anonymous, but have a goodnight, E."

"Yeah, you too."

I turn and walk out the door, and in less than seconds, we go back to being strangers.

I'm not even ten steps into the hallway when my back pocket starts buzzing again. There's at least fifty people packed inside the retro kitchen to the right of me and even more flooding into the living room. 

Punk rock's blasting out of the speakers while a crowd of football guys are shoving each other around turning the center of the house into a Mission Bay mosh pit. I back-track away from the beginnings of an all-out brawl until I find a quiet corner in the back of the house where I can answer the call.

It takes me six swipes to finally get my thumb to connect with the little green button flashing in my face.

I lift the phone to my ear--realizing that I probably should've checked caller ID before starting a less-than-sober conversation.

Oh well.

"Hello?"

"Ay, gracias, Dios! Where have you been, mijo? Your brother and I have been trying to call you for the last hour. Did you lose your phone?"

Shit.

"Oh, um...hi, Mama. No, I have my phone. The—sound's—uh—the sound was off. Sorry."

"Where are you right now? It's loud."

"Yeah--Josh is blasting music from the rooftops tonight. We might have lost the game, but he's going all out for his after-party. You know how he is. "

Another lie rolls off of my tongue and lands right on top of the hundreds of others I've told her.

"I do. I was so worried you two got separated. Tanner tried calling Josh when he couldn't reach you, but he didn't answer. I'm just happy you're alright. I know you boys always take care of each other."

"Yeah, we do. We always—"

Don't cry. Don't do it.

"—we always have. And don't worry about me, okay? I'm fine. Tonight's just been busy—with homecoming and the party and everything I just—"

"You don't have to explain, mijo. I was in high school once too. Have a good time and call me on your way home—"

I'm not coming home.

"—When can your father and I expect you back?"

I check the time on my phone, but the numbers look like I'm staring at them through a kaleidoscope.

"I don't—I don't know. Actually, I was hoping to crash at Josh's if that's okay. It's pretty—late, right?"

"Honey, it's only 9:30."

So that's what it said.

"I know—I mean—it's late for me to ask Josh to give me a ride home. His mom doesn't like him driving out at this time of night, but I'll be back first thing tom—tomorrow."

"Oh, Eli, I wish you'd told me sooner. There's a big plate of paella sitting right here with your name on it."

I can almost taste it. Garlic sofrito wafting through the house. Red spanish rice and seafood perfectly placed on one of Mama's family heirloom plates. The ones she believes always brings and keeps a family together.

"En serio? Which kind? Mine or Tanner's?"

"Your favorite. There's extra mussels, clams, and everything. You're missing out. It's not as good on the second day, you know."

"I know. I'm sorry, Mama. I wish I was there."

I never should've left.

"Me too. But I can't keep my little niño at the kitchen table forever. Just be careful tonight, okay? And keep your phone on, ¿Entiendes?"

"Si."

"Okay, I'll let you go back to your friends. Have fun."

"Mama?"

"¿Qué tal, cariño?"

Beg me to come home. Come get me. Keep me on the phone. Keep me talking. Keep me out of the dark.

"I love you. You know that, right?"

She laughs into the phone and the sound wraps itself around my heart and squeezes.

"Naturalmente. I make the best paella in the west, how could you not?"

"I'm serious, Mama. I love you no matter what, okay?"

"Of course, Eli. Is something wrong? Your voice—"

"I'm fine. I gotta go. Josh is asking for me. I'll see you tomorrow."

I hang up fast. Another minute on the phone, and I would've lost it. I would've given her a hundred million reasons to stay up all night, waiting for a phone call, worrying. But I don't want her worrying about me even though she probably should. Even though I feel myself slipping the longer I'm in this house and the longer I'm sitting just a room away from enough booze to drown in.

I know I said I wouldn't get drunk tonight.

I know I said that if it was for Lacey, I'd stop at two.

But she's gone, and I'm stuck in a hallway filled with people I barely know.

And I'm turning into the living breathing definition of loneliness because right now I—

—I...don't have anybody.

The only thing I've got is Trish's empty flask burning a whole in my back pocket, and it's starting to get lonely too.

I push myself off the wall and bolt through a stream of bodies to get to the kitchen, but somebody yanks me off track a few steps away from the door. Short guy Ty sends me stumbling back into the hallway and traps me in a bear hug that smells like Budweiser and BO. The less drunk version of him is light years better than this. Beer-edition-Ty is way too touchy feely.

"Dude!? Where the hell were you, man?! I've been wandering all over this house trying find you, bro. Did you get it in with that random chick you were making out with earlier? She was super into you, man! She kept asking about you after you left!"

I think I'd know if I did. I half-remember making out with some girl on somebody's couch, but I'm pretty sure that's all that went down. I may or may not have passed out on her in the middle of things. Whatever. It's not like it matters now anyway.

"No, man. I wasn't that into her."

Ty's jaw just about drops off his face.

"Seriously, King, you're a hard man to please. I thought she seemed kinda hot—wait a sec, check this out, I'm pretty sure I got her on camera earlier!"

Ty whips out his phone and sloppy-scrolls through a couple of stupid selfies and blurry photos until a video starts playing.

It's pretty shaky to watch, but one thing's for sure.

That's definitely me.

Making out with some girl.

Only it's more like the other way around.

Her doing her version of making out with me.

But it's a toss up between her looking like she's eating my face off or trying to suck the life out of me.

Apparently this girl isn't the only thing that can't make out. Her face is another since my head's blocking hers in most of the video.

But something about her seems familiar.

Dark hair.

Blunt bangs.

Pale skin.

Still don't know.

Then, she opens her eyes and looks over my shoulder into Ty's camera for the shortest second.

Something about it's creepy.

Everything about it's off.

Enough to make your skin crawl.

Those.

Icy.

Baby blues.

I should know.

But I still can't place her.

Oh well.

Wasn't that into her anyway.

"Dude, King! I coulda sworn her face was in that one, hold on, maybe it's further down my feed," Ty says.

He continues drunk scrolling through more sloshed snapshots of the night when he passes one I can't ignore.

"Woah, Ty, who the hell is that?!" I ask, barely able to keep my cool. I ball my hands into fists, and sweat breaks out across my forehead as I stare at a picture of a situation that's all too familiar.

"What are you, blind? That's Chris. He's a little pissed that I snapped a pic of him with his hands up this girl's shirt, but he'll thank me for it tomorrow. Bragging rights, you know?"

"I'm not talking about Chris. Who's the girl!"

I'm losing my patience almost about as fast as I'm losing control over my voice, but I can't help it. Ty side-eyes me like he's looking at a crazy person, but the alcohol brings his slap happy drunk smile back in full swing.

"Oh, her? She's crazy, dude. Me and the guys were hanging out smoking downstairs, and she walks in, red bra, short shorts and all, and asked if she could hang. One minute she was crying about some fight she had with her boyfriend, and the next, she's all over Chris. She didn't even care that any of us were watching, but hey—maybe she's the type who likes an audience."

You gotta be shitting me.

"W-when did you—when did you take this?"

"Right before I found you man!" He says, all smiles.

"You're not answering the question. I said when, as in how long ago."

"Oh—like literally ten minutes ago. Chris kicked most of us out of the basement when things start getting hot and heavy. Guess he's got performance anxiety."

Ty breaks into a laugh while my composure breaks into pieces.

"Can you take me to where that is?"

"Like right now?"

"Yeah, right now, right now."

"Sure, but what's the rush? You're not lining up for that girl just to get laid are you?"

"I'm not trying to get laid, Ty, I'm trying to get even."

###

Thank you guys so much for taking the time to read & listen to this week's chapter! Next update should be on FRIDAY, FEB. 14TH! See you then!

#Realtalkquestionoftheweek

1. Who is the girl in the photo?! 

2. If you were Elias, what would you do next?