Friday, December 7, 2012

Frat House at Fourteen: Part Two


The bass-heavy music pounds the floors and vibrates off my chest. I know if I want to shout out my excitement to Millie I’ll have to yell straight into her ear. The smell of smoke and sex fills the room. It is completely full. There’s barely enough room to walk through to what looks like a kitchen on the other side of this… what is this? A living room? Yeah, I’m gonna go with living room. Millie and I walk side by side now, squeezing past the dancing girls grinding on their boyfriends. We follow Tate, Willie, and Luke. I look to my right and see the wall lined with guys. Most lean on the wall checking out the girls that dance. Most of them stare at one girl that wears a low-cut red top, her long curls bouncing around as she moves to the pounding of the music.
We get to the other side of the packed room and reach a dining area that flows into the kitchen. There are couches in the dining area, and our chauffeurs make their way into the kitchen, probably to get beer. I can’t picture them drinking anything but beer.
I stop, “Let’s just stay here for a second.”
“Okay,” she replies, “I can’t believe we’re here right now.”
“I know! You should definitely kiss my toes right now for getting us the hook up on this party.”
“I definitely owe you one,” she tucks her hair behind her ear.
The guys come back with red cups filled with mystery liquid. They plop down on the couches in the dining area and sip their drinks. They don’t look like they’ll be going anywhere.
“Are you guys just gonna sit there?” I ask them.
They look at each other for a few seconds before Luke says, “Yeah.”
Millie and I shrug our shoulders and say, “Okay, then.”
There is no way we are just going to sit down tonight. 
I grab her arm and we stand at the edge of the living room. Chaos all around.
I smile, “I’m goin’ in.”

12:40 am.
               We dance. The music vibrates off the walls and we can feel it humming in our chests. My ears start ringing so I grab Millie’s arm and signal her to follow me out of the wide living room. I trip over an invisible object and giggle as we make our way to the kitchen.
               “I want some yummy stuff,” I blurt out to Millie.
               She laughs at me, “Yummy stuff? You mean alcohol?”
               I nod my head. Sounding out the word, trying to watch my mouth, I say, “Alcohol.”
               We walk into the rectangular kitchen and I say, “Hey! Where’s the alcohol at?”
               I look around at the appliances that line the walls and the counter space covered with bottles of all kinds and various blenders. Men lined the kitchen, all with red cups in their hands. One particularly bulky guy with a gray V-neck on that was tight around his monstrous biceps walked over to me.
               “How old are you?”
               I knew this would happen. I have always looked older than I actually am, so I decide to wing it.
               “Seventeen,” I say.
 “You’re seventeen? I’m only gonna tell you this once. You better leave. No one under eighteen is allowed here, and I’m not gettin’ busted if the cops come and I’ve got a minor on my hands,” he continues, “So, leave. I mean it.”
His harsh grunt of a tone and his paternal sternness scares me enough to want to get the heck out of this smoky frat house. I should have left. I should have taken my purse, my best friend, and my potential model-status chauffeurs with me. I should have known that this intense, monstrous looking man wasn’t just going to disappear. But...
I stay. Millie and I pretend to leave, pushing our way up to the front door. We notice a staircase leading down across from it.
             “Hey, I’m gonna see if there’s somewhere to put my purse and jacket so I don’t have to hold ‘em all night. I’ll be back.”
She nods.
 I go down to the basement with half of an intention of hiding from that petrifying, bulky man-host and half of an intention of finding a place to put my purse and my jacket. The stairs are so steep, that I find myself holding on to the railing, focusing on every step. It looks like a dungeon down here. Gray cement walls and a small hallway that kicks off into several rooms. A man with striking bright orange hair and a large build steps out from the farthest room and stops me in my tracks.  
He stumbles, standing still, and muffles out, “How old are you?”
Barely understanding his drunken voice, I recall the incident from upstairs. Another guy is going to going to kick me out of this party? Really?
 I learned my lesson from earlier, so I cleverly reply, “Me? I’m eighteen.”
I pat myself on the back for being so smart until he looks me in the eyes and stammers,
“Perfect.”
He grabs me by the arm and attempts to lead me into the dark, hazy room in front of us. Panic rushes up from my chest and clouds every square inch of my face until I can feel the heat escaping my pores. Adrenaline rushes into my bloodstream and escapes through my arm when I jerk it out of his strong grip and run with every possible ounce of force that my drunken, fourteen-and-a-half-year-old body can muster up. I run up the stairs as fast as I can, barely stumbling over the steep steps. When I finally reach the top, I feel like I’ve seen the light at the end of the tunnel, but a burly man bumps into me.
“I thought I told you to leave. Get out.”
I let my eyes drag up past his wide chest and into his harsh, black eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I manage to slur out. He doesn’t seem to accept my apology.
“Here, let me escort you to the door.”
 I pass him as he follows close behind, walking me the short distance to the front of the house. I start to panic at this point. I don’t have a phone-- my parents made it a rule that you have to be sixteen before you get one. I don’t have a car, obviously. My best friend is still inside doing who knows what, and the guys that I came with are my ride home. I don’t know where they are. I feel the urge to cry, but I stop myself and when I finally reach the porch, I look behind me. The burly guy is gone. I take my chances and slyly weasel my way back in. I dodge flinging arms of people that hump each other like a big pack of mating horses until I see Millie.
I grab her by the arm, “Have you seen the guys anywhere?”
She stares into my eyes with a horrifying blank expression.
“What guys?” She loses her balance and nearly topples over. I decide to ditch the idea of trying to talk to her and start looking around the house trying to avoid the host, Mr. Burly, and the rapist, Mr. Cheez-It Hair. He is sitting on the couch in the corner staring at his red solo cup. I found my ride home! I feel a quick rush of relief followed by the final grip of an arm. He swings me around and grips my arm even tighter.
“I told you to leave this house. I told you twice. Get out,” He yells as hard as he can.
It is loud enough for a small group of people around to hear. I scream at my ride, and he sees what is happening. He gathers up his buddies and nonchalantly follows Mr. Burly, my friend, and me outside of the murky frat house. The rest of the night became a black hole in my mind.
However, I do recall Millie throwing up all over Luke’s truck.

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