>Parties

>Why is it that parties are a staple of entertainment for high school (and college) students alike? What is so alluring about 50-70 hormonal teenagers stuffed into a house, drowning in noise and drink?

>Because they're fun, damnit. And you need to experience this. And Sam does too

>It'll be good for you 

>And that's what you tell yourself as you pull up to Bradyon Smith's house, which is in one of the ritziest neighborhoods you've ever seen

>Cars that cost more than your mortgage choke the gutters for three solid blocks, making your rust bucket stick out like a festering wound on a super model's porcelain skin

>You cut the engine and stare into the dash, trying to find the courage to move 

>You lost it somewhere between your gas tank's 'E' and red needle inching dangerously close to the pits

>Mike pops the door and spouts a sharp and immediate whistle

>Jenna and Sam instinctively look over at him, expectant

>Despite your anxiety, you can't help but grin a little

>They're so cute

>"These houses make me sick," Alex groans as he unfurls his wiry body and stands tall in the cold night air

>"Everything you see here?" He gestures towards the rows of gated homes, their windows polished and shining with domestication, their exterior paint as fresh as their lawns are green. “All the fruits of oppression. This is what you get when you atomize, sodomize, and demoralize the gentle laborer." He spits onto the pristine sidewalks for effect

“Don't you live in a neighborhood like this?" You offer, stepping out of your rustbucket

>You know he's got a three-car garage, a house twice the size of yours, and a modest trust fund

>He just dresses poorly and bikes everywhere for loosely understood ideological convictions

>Alex tips his fedora at you like you were the body pillow he finally convinced his mom to pay for

>“I've only infiltrated their ranks. How does a virus kill its host?" He pauses, eyes flashing between your collective faces

>Impatient, he turns to Sam

>"Sam? How does a virus kill someone?"

>"F-From the inside…?"

>"Precisely!" Alex explodes. “As they say in the Art of War, 'know thy enemy.'" 

>He seems to have gotten to know his enemy's deep pockets well enough

>You clear your throat

“Save it for the revolution, comrade. We s-still have a party to go to."

>Your voice stumbles a bit, betraying your nerves, as if the tension now spreading across your body could manifest itself in clipped syllables

>You feel a delicate, fuzzy hand sneak its way into yours

>When you look down, Sam is starting deadhead, but you can still see the blush pressed into her downy fur

>Her hand starts trembling, and a reasonable guess would tell you she's far more nervous about this than you are

>Her experiences with alcohol and drunk people until this point have not been… positive

>You give her hand a reassuring squeeze, as if to say 'I'm here for you'

>But what you want to say is 'We don't have to go. I'm not sure I want to anymore.'

>The chance you had to back out goes pacing off down the street when Mike and Jenna, walking awfully close to one another, start making their way towards Braydon's house

>Alex jogs off after them, one hand plastered to the top of his skull to keep his fedora in place

>He throws a quick glance over his shoulder —  back at you — before siding up with Mike

>… Shit

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AAFt9bMoKhs&list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J&index=11&t=0s

>Dressed in your priest vestments and standing off next to the keg itself, you feel your face burning, and not just from the alcohol

>This beer tastes like social anxiety

>Teenagers — entirely human in composition — mix and mingle with such grace their sheer normalcy practically tips the last swallow of beer in your mouth when you see a girl in a skimpy 'nerd' outfit jam her tongue down Braydon's throat

>You look down at Sam, who hasn't taken a single sip of her beer

>She stares down at her feet, awkward and alone 

>"Hey," you nudge her. "You gonna drink any of that?"

>"Y-Y-Yeah," she says

"Alright. But don't let this color your opinion of beer — or parties. Both are shit."

>You debate detaching from the wall and wandering back into the crowd

>Is there a redemption arc in your future?

>…Evidently, there is one in Alex's future

>He sticks above the crowd like a well-dressed beanpole

>His hands fly and curve and cut through the air while a rapt (and drunk) audience looks on

>They hold their collective breaths while Alex clears his throat

>He looks like a proud hawk standing atop as his kill

>"All I'm trying to say is that we're complacent in the slow rape of the environment. I'm just as guilty as you are, people." 

>He crushes a red plastic cup in his iron(curtain) grip, spewing shards of plastic and cheap beer about the crowd

>And yet, nobody revolts against him

>In fact, someone hands him their own beer like a feeble adherent in the presence of the enlightened cult leader

>He takes a mighty gulp and hands it back

>"Thank you, comrade. These hands-" he holds up his sodden mittens to the crowd for effect. “These are the hands that will tie noose around my bosses's neck. But not yet. Not until all of you are free from your own bondage. You there!"

>He throws an accusatory finger towards someone in the crowd

>"You there, dressed like a hotdog! Where do you work?"

>"At a coffee shop," the hotdog replies

>"Bah, your stimulant juice only fuels the proletariat. I promise, comrade, we will dismantle your prison brick by miserable brick."

>Someone shouts back at Alex, but the pounding music obscures both the retort and Alex's reply

>You can tell by the smug look on Alex's face it's about to get heated 

>This was a bad idea

>"D-D-Does Alex h-h-hate his job?" Sam asks

“Yes. And as a bonus, he hates everyone else's job for them."

>"I-I only w-w-work so I c-can come home late. I don-don't think I li-like my job very much. St-Stella is-"

“Insane?"

>Sam nods, sloshing beer. She takes a weak sip and makes a sour face in response

>You swap your empty cup for her half-full one

“Like I said, parties and beer — they're both shit. Well, most beer isn't so bad. I take back what I said earlier. But the stuff they're serving here? It tastes like piss." 

>Sam giggles

>"H-How do-do you kn-know what t-t-t-that ta-tastes like?"

“When did you get so cheeky?" You say, and you genuinely are trying to be lighthearted this time around

>Sam's response comes almost automatically

>"S-Sorry I d-didn't mean t-t-that."

>Christ

>You're far too inebriated to explain the nuances of your prior statement

>There's so much there, your addled mind muses

>You are SUCH a BRILLIANT communicator, especially when you're drinking

>You tug at the collar of your robes, degassing some hot air trapped in the folds

>The sheer amount of bodies in this lavish house turns the marble-white walls into a kiln

>You're roasting in your costume, and you're sure Sam, with the shag of her fur and thick hoodie, is melting even more than you are

>Plus anxiety often turns up the heat in a person

“Fuck this," you say, peeling off the wall. “It's hotter than Auschwitz's kitchen in here." 

>Sam sighs deeply, all the tension draining from her face

>"Y-Y-Yeah it is," she says

“Can't even believe it's October. All the normie-"

>You catch yourself before you complete the phrase

>Christ, you're starting to sound like Vanessa

>You cough

“I mean, all the people crammed in this room are making it hot as shit. C'mon, let's go somewhere else."

>You take take another swallow of beer, your head spinning already from the drink

>This lavish house, with its top-of-the-line electronics and marble white walls is starting to make you sick

“Folllowww meeeee," you say in a sing-song voice, pushing through a throng of people dressed offensively like cats

>They give Sam uneasy stares as she follows in your wake

>By this point the stares don't bother you

>You'll flaunt Sam all you want, and everyone who thinks you shouldn't be seen with her can suck your entire dick

>Wherever Mike and Jenna went is none of your concern

>You're ascending the stairs to try and carve out a little bit of space between yourself and everyone else

>Sam labors behind you

>You can see the sweat glistening on her furry brow, and you pause halfway up the spiraling staircase

>If you didn't know better, this house could be used to shoot porn in

>It just has that vibe, you know?

>Maybe you've seen it somewhere

>Sam joins you at your side, and instead of carrying on further, you grasp for her hands

>She's tiny, but she reaches up to meet your efforts

>You don't even care who sees anymore

>You just want to help her, see her grow and change

>And it feels good to have her tiny, delicate frame up against you, and you're starting to get an idea of as to why

>At the top of the stairs you finally get what you came for. A bit of silence

>The thrumming bass from the music downstairs is like a distant memory, echoing off cave walls and dissipating into senseless noise

>You take a look around, sucking in hot air

>God you're still out of shape, and Sam is no better

>She rolls her sleeves up to her elbows and throws her hood back

“I feel you on that one, sister." You roll the sleeves on your priest robes as best as you can

>She looks uncomfortable being called 'sister'

>You squint hard in the half-light that cloaks the upstairs portion of the house

>It's just an endless sea of doors, presumably leading to bedrooms or bathrooms

>Wait

>Don't people come up here to hook up during parties?

>Oh god

>You almost consider going back downstairs, when, at the end of the hall, you see an open door

>Okay

>Good

>This is good

>The door sways and wavers a bit, as if pulled by some kind of invisible force

>To you, that means there's an open window

>And more importantly: a breeze

>You and Sam labor down the hallway, struggling under the weight of your costumes and the clothes you're wearing beneath them

>Christ

>Just getting to the room is like running a full marathon

>When you stumble through the door and into the moonlit darkness of the bedroom, the cold air that kisses your sweaty face makes it all worth it

>You raise your head off the floor as Sam stands in the entryway, the moonlight outlining her baggy figure in an other-worldly glow

>Two wispy white curtains flank a wide-open window

>They stir like captured ghosts as another gust cuts into the room

>The room is bone-white and clean, with a single king-size bed in the center and a nightstand to the right of it

>Must be a guest room

>Wait

>You look back towards the window

>It leads outside (duh) but it doesn't terminate into a sheer drop

>Instead, the roof extends far outwards beneath the frame

>Which means you can…

“Hey, come with me. I want to try something."