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 ^{(it's beta!)}

I don’t like parties. I don’t like loud music or large amounts of cheap alcohol or egos. I hate egos. But I liked Andy, that was why I went. He asked me to go, so I said yeah. Dumb fucking idea. I knew it was, I didn’t know why he wanted to go except for his friends. And I didn’t want to put a damper on it, so I tried really hard to be optimistic and resolved to not trail him through the whole thing.

I can’t be bothered to tell the whole damn thing, it wasn’t that great, you’ve been to a party or not, the sleazy atmosphere was thick enough to cut. I drank more than I wanted to, not really because it was smart but because the girls I found myself with thought that I might enjoy myself more if I did. They were all hooked up already but jealous of me anyways because I was dating Andy and they had all always wanted to do him, give him a bj at least, but what the fuck? They treated me like shit, which is to say, like a soon-to-be-deposed queen. Girls have egos like glass. Fragile but jagged when broken.

I don’t even remember whose house it was. It probably doesn’t matter. So I’ll spill. Why talk about a party without a plot?

There was one of those dumb fucks there. The kind whose so completely smashed that he can’t stand up straight, and seems to think that it’s impressive to go around breaking shit. Chairs and stuff. Lumbering around like some kind of a monkey, his clan laughing and throwing stuff at him. The girls (and now a few guys) sharing the couch, too small for all of us, but I think they didn’t mind, but anyways, they had just passed the bong around and didn’t seem to mind that I had done the pass.

So everyone else was stoned, it was too fucking hot and it smelled funny and I was sticky and some skinny bitch’s elbow was in my hip, this circus monkey was performing in front of me, smashing a lamp. He thought that he was an angry drunk. He thought that that made him cool.

I was physically miserable, wanting to go and find Andy, but not wanting to get up and go through the motions of finding him. Inside, in my chest, in my throat, though, I felt strangely excited. It was complete chaos, not my kind of chaos, not really, but I felt strangely anonymous in this roomful of poor pathetic bastards. I got that cold fire in me. I couldn’t explain it. I stood up slowly, the skinny bitch sliding into my seat, giggling. I fished into my back pockets, no one was looking at me, I’m not that good looking. I finally pulled out my fresh pair of white latex-free rubber gloves. I find it ironic that I, a weak-looking female of eighteen, go through them nearly as quickly as my male peers go through condoms.

I forced them onto my already-slimy hands, and skirted the coffee table. The lighting was poor and my hair was in my face, the icy burning and the bubble in my throat making me want to sing, it was a show, it was entertainment the clan and the stoners and people just passing through the living room in or out, who cares? Big drunken guys drop easy. He was a few steps away from puking. I have boney little fists, I get made fun of for them till I swing. I shot my right into his stomach, and before he could double over completely I grabbed his hair with my left (greasy shit, thank God for the gloves) and smashed his nose into my knee. Down, congratulations, thank you, thank you, laughter and applause. I knelt, rolling him onto his side before he could drown in his own vomit. I checked his pulse and held my wrist in front of his face a few seconds. He was still alive, not that it mattered. I left him draining his guts in front of the TV stand, out of the way of anybody coming and going. The carpet was going to really reek in the morning, but it smelled like shit already anyways. I stripped my gloves and dropped them in the kitchen garbage. I was still shaking a little bit. I wanted to kick something proper, but I was out of conviction, anyways.

I grabbed a rum and coke and went outside. It wasn’t that cold outside, but compared to inside, it was great. I took a deep breath and cleared my head. Bugs were throwing themselves against the fluorescents and Andy and his best friend were drinking beers and throwing darts. He saw me and threw his arm around my shoulders, and I smiled up at him, throwing in all the shine, and he kissed my lips.

“How you liking the party?” Anonymity, I thought. Date rape, whatever.

“It’s great.”