Chapter 18

18

MINA

The Past

May 25 th , 9:00 p.m.

"Ella!" I shouted her name from the top of the stairs, waving frantically, hoping she'd see me.

She stuck out like a sore thumb, wearing a baggy white sweatshirt, amongst all the other girls who looked more like me, in dresses that could be more charitably called lingerie.

But somehow she saw me and waved back. I gestured her upstairs, and then watched her thread her way through the crowd. "This place is one hour away from an orgy or a horror movie, but I couldn't tell you which" she said with a snort, before taking me in. "So it's been like that, has it?"

"Is it that obvious?" I asked, raking my fingers through my hair.

"Depends!" she said with a grin. "Do you want me to lie to you, or tell you the truth?"

"Just lie for now, thanks," I said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her into the room that Trent had assigned for us.

Ella looked around, with increasing concern. "Our chances of being in a horror movie just jumped up twenty percent."

There was a lot of dark wood furniture jumbled up in the room, I'd give her that—probably everything the guys hadn't wanted to get ruined from downstairs. "I wouldn't play Ouija in here if you paid me," I agreed with her. "But," I said, locking the door from the inside. "This room is ours." I showed her the key on its chain around my neck. "Trent said so."

"Which would explain why it smells like sex," Ella said, giving me a wicked look from underneath her bright blue eyeshadow.

"You're supposed to be lying to me right now, remember?" I lightly complained, pulling out my phone to look at myself in my camera.

"You look fine. I was just giving you shit." She reached for my wrist and pulled it down, taking half of my anxiety with her.

Ella was my emotional support person.

I had no idea how I'd ever function without her.

I took a deep breath. "I know. It's just, that—" I began, but then didn't need to finish my sentence because she'd heard it all before.

All of the other RRP guys' girlfriends were gazelles, when I felt like a zebra on a good day, and a donkey on a bad one.

They were all moneyed and graceful, got blowouts, and always had nice nails. They weren't bad people, and some of them were really smart—even occasionally friendly!—it was just hard to be around them without playing the comparison game.

The thing was, I'd understand why Trent was with me, if I looked like they did and had a last name that dripped generational wealth. But because I didn't—while it was fun to pretend to be a princess some of the time—it was a lot easier to feel like a princess when I wasn't around literal goddesses.

And, not for the first time, I wondered if I just had a magic vagina.

Honestly, it was the easiest way to explain things.

"Are you wondering if you have a magic vagina again?" Ella asked.

I inhaled to lie, half a second too late—she was already laughing.

"I should've never told you that!"

"No, you shouldn't have!" she agreed, snickering. "I've gotta work tomorrow. So you get three drinks, Missy."

"It's not work if they don't pay you," I teased. Ella was always volunteering at the local zoo, giving tours to elementary school kids. "We both know you'd pay them, just to get to hang out with the animals."

There was a loud knock at the door. Ella and I both jumped, and then whoever was outside tried the handle, but found it locked.

"Maybe they're just looking for a bathroom?" I guessed quietly—while Ella raised her hand and hacked her empty fist up and down in front of her chest, in the international signal for "it's a murderer with a knife—run."

I made a face at her, unlocked the door, and opened it up to find Logan standing outside. "Yo, Mina, Ella." He was as tall as Trent was, and broader than a barn door. He always looked like he was ready to go off half-cocked—I suspected he'd been on 'roids since he was fifteen.

"Hey, Logan," I said, giving him a companionable nod.

He answered it with a frown. "Trent said it was my job to serve you both tonight."

Ella's nose wrinkled like a bunny. "Uh, no thank you!"

"I can get my own drinks, Logan, but thanks."

And Logan—he didn't look relieved at being let off the hook, like he should've, you know?

Instead he looked concerned, and as I moved to close the door again, he stuck his foot in the way. "Please?" he asked, looking vastly pained to do so.

I assumed he was currying favor with Trent, so he couldn't back down, but now, in hindsight—I knew.

How couldn't I have seen it at the time?

"Define serve?" I asked him, accidentally dooming us both, opening up the door.

He made a show of looking us both up and down. "Mostly in the bartender sense. Because one of you belongs to Trent, and the other I'm not into."

Ella gave me a disparaging glance, before huffing a sigh. "I'm sorry he's not into you, Mina," she said, flinging up both of her hands, miming innocence.

I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out briefly at her, before returning to the younger guy. "I'm not Trent's truck, Logan. I don't belong to anybody."

"Yeah, well, he calls you his lamb, so?—"

And that was the other thing about the RRP wolves. Their girlfriends were called lambs, I think short for lambda, a shout out to some other sorority that'd been more popular on campus once upon a time—and while I was okay with Trent calling me that occasionally, I wouldn't be caught dead in one of the matching sweatshirts some of the other RRP girls had with cute little cartoon baby sheep on them .

Then again, none of those other girls would've ever asked me if I wanted one.

"You do have an ass like a dump truck," Ella told me, sounding suddenly reasonable. I whirled on her, and she started laughing at once. "It's a compliment! You could put Wide Load on that thing!"

I groaned, and then started laughing too. "Not helping!"

Logan looked as confused as a dog whose owner had faked throwing a ball. "So can I get you both something to drink or what?"

"I will take whatever the hell is in that punchbowl you were working on earlier," I said, before pretending to glare at Ella. "And she will have water."

"Or Diet Coke!" Ella piped up.

Logan just shook his head and then disappeared back down the stairs, I assumed heading in the direction of the kitchen.

"What even was that?" Ella asked, once he was out of range.

"I don't know." It was hard to parse out what was dumb shit unique to Trent's frat lifestyle, and guys giving other guys hard times just because they could. "Lowkey hazing?"

"I'm gonna make him get me twenty waters in that case," she said with a grin. "Shall we mingle?" she asked, with a slight British accent, like we were in a Regency-era show.

"Oh yes," I proclaimed, similarly, with fake enthusiasm, only my accent sounded more like Julia Child's. "Let's."

The cabin already had all the makings of a rowdy party. The storm hadn't let up, so there was no place for people to disperse outside. RRP seemed to have brought up plenty of kegs, guessing from everyone's red Solo cups, and the mix of guys to girls was good—plus, it was almost the end of the school year. Plenty of kids were here just to have one last pre-graduation huzzah.

That energy—a desperation almost—combined with the liquor, and the still unseen DJ's frantic beat—its chaos called to me. I had nothing in common with most of the people in here, but I didn't feel like I needed to.

I just had to let go.

"Here!" Logan announced, finding us again in the throng, somehow managing to hold three drinks in his hands, our two, punch and water, and his own, which looked like beer. We each took ours, and he shouted, "Bottom's up!" at us, over the fray.

Ella and I watched him in semi-stunned horror, as he did just that, chugging his entire cup.

"Your liver, my dude," Ella said, while I took an involuntary step back, and into someone else.

The only place there was any space left in the entire cabin was the makeshift dance floor the guys had created in the living room, by moving every other piece of furniture that was left against a wall—and there were girls on the fireplace's stone hearth, using the extra six inches of height and their heels to give their fellow dancers a show.

I wanted that for me.

Not to get eyeballed or groped—unlikely, seeing as Trent was here, somewhere—but just to let loose and be free. And I didn't need alcohol for that .

"Can you hold this for me?" I asked Ella, handing my cup over. She nodded, taking a sip of her water.

"Three songs. Then I'll take a break with you, all right? And if you ditch me, I know where I'll find you," I said, pointing upstairs to the room.

She nodded strongly, with a grin. "Go have a good time!" she shouted, and I waved as I moved back into the crowd. I felt it swallow me whole, and I started to dance.

I had some self-esteem problems. I was one of those parentally neglected kids, who wound up uncertain if it was better to be seen or ignored. I'd wanted to be popular in high school, but I'd also been aware that it was like a livewire that I wouldn't be able to hold onto—which was why I distrusted this thing with Trent now—but maybe my distrust was me knowing something was wrong all along?

Like my being with him was an abstract monster in an indie horror flick—something slow moving, but also something inexorable, that I was utterly unable to stop.

In a crowd, though—the right kind of crowd—I felt safe.

On the dance floor, if we were all moving, I could be part of something bigger, without wondering if it was embarrassing. I could feel like what it seemed it was like to go to church, from the outside, or maybe a Taylor Swift show—just as long as the vibe was right.

I didn't have to be myself anymore, I could just be the thing the music made of me, as I let it run through my body.

"Hey, you," I heard growled behind me. I was grabbed by one strong arm, and I squealed, knowing Trent was there.

"My boyfriend might see!" I warned the boyfriend in question and heard him laugh, as I spun to face him .

"Having fun?" he asked, as I looped my arms around his neck, and we ground up on each other to the beat, him with one arm still around me and a claiming hand upon my ass.

"Actually? Yes," I answered truthfully, while craning around his shoulder to glance at Ella. She was chatting with Logan—a thing I could not believe. Then she caught me looking and gave me a cheerful "What the fuck?" expression of disbelief, as Trent moved us both, blocking my view of her completely.

"How are you?" I leaned up on my tiptoes to ask him. "Are the RRP gods happy?" I was well aware there were seniors in charge of things—for all I knew Trent was having to bartend for one of their girls.

"So far so good," he said with a smile. "When I left the beer pong tables in the back, everyone was being well behaved. And it's still raining—makes it harder to catch things on fire."

I laughed. "I cannot believe you even have to factor that into your equation."

"Me either," he said, shaking his head ruefully, before moving to catch my mouth with his own. He didn't taste like beer or pussy, but he didn't need to; his attention was intoxicating. "Want to drink?" he said, offering me the cup he held, when I came up for air.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" I asked, taking it from him. "You know a drunk Mina just wants to wrestle."

"One of the guys found a Twister game at a garage sale—I'm counting on you to win it."

I laughed, took a big sip of the pink concoction, and then winced. "Saint fuck, how much alcohol is in that?"

"Enough for you to take Nolan on," Trent swore with a tease, naming the biggest friend in his crew. "I'm going to bet a ton of money on you winning later. "

"Wrestling isn't Twister."

"It is when it happens inside of an inflatable pool full of Jell-O."

My eyes widened. "You wouldn't...would you?" Trent laughed, and I made a show of looking around in mock panic. "Where's Ella? I'm going home!"

He squeezed me harder to keep me there, and I squealed with laughter.

"You know I don't want the other guys to see you," he purred against my ear.

"Just hear me, huh?" I said, purring back, remembering earlier in the night.

I didn't know it then, but that was our last perfect moment together. Before the story of my life started tearing into two, like prior to that it'd been written on a stretched out scroll, now sliced down the middle, one half-moving on, living the life I could've had if I'd never known—and the other half the timeline I was stuck on, frayed and curling off into the darkness, wondering just how the fuck I was going to manage living with myself for the rest of my time.

At that moment though, a thrill ran through me, feeling possessed by him— fuck it, maybe I was a truck after all —and then I pushed him away. "You know, if you and Nolan wanted to wrestle in Jell-O, I can promise you there'd be an audience for that."

Trent laughed, palmed my ass again, and then let me go. "Finish that, and I'll find you later," he said, leaving my new drink with me.

I took it to the edge of the living room, and when I didn't see Ella there, I went with my first guess and headed back upstairs.

"Ella?" I asked, knocking on the door. She didn't answer me—but I tried the handle, it was locked, from the inside. I held my cup with my teeth and unlooped the key so that I could use it—the party was so loud, maybe she hadn't heard me? And maybe she was reasonably pissed, because I was pretty sure I'd been grinding on Trent for longer than three songs.

When I got the door open, she was inside, but on the floor, sprawled out like a drawing around a crime victim, one arm up, one knee up, like she'd been swimming to the bed.

"Oh fuck, Ella!" I shouted, dropping the cup I'd brought up with me, its pink contents spilling on the ancient hardwood floor. "Get up!" I said, shaking her, then went into full pre-med mode, peeling her eyelids up to make sure her pupils weren't blown, and feeling for her pulse.

She'd gotten in here alone. She'd locked the door. Her clothes were all on.

What the fuck?

And then I felt a wave of wooziness.

Like someone was starting to pull a dream over me. I fought it, clinging to my brain cells, even as I felt them beginning to shut off, one by one.

Then I spotted her cup on the nightstand by the bed—and felt my heels sticking to the drink I'd been given, now all over the floor.

I fell to my knees, in horror, and because the ability to control myself was quickly departing my body.

I might've had a "dump truck" now—but I hadn't always had one. In fact, in high school, I'd spent six months being bulimic, thinking that if I just got skinny enough, life would be easier on me. So with my last remaining remnants of consciousness, I stuck a finger down my throat and barfed up my pink drink, where it spattered on Ella's white sweatshirt as I started to sink to the ground. I watched her breathe beside me until I was there and not there both at once, my ability to think and act swirling away like water down a drain.

The last thing I remembered was Logan coming in, and squatting down to look at both of us, making a disgusted face at the scent of my stomach acid. "God, your girl's a lightweight," he said, and I heard Trent answer.

"Don't call her my girl."