Balconial Conversations

interlude \\ 68

the books i'm reading right now. highly recommended. the first is romance, second is an ashton fic, third I'd a dialogue loveish book, fourth and fifth are hilarious gay romances, sixth is a rant book.

i wrote a "plan" on paper and it's gonna be sweet. but i'm sad because i never want this to end.
***

We make out way up the carpeted stairs into the smelly, pulsing noise filled townhouse. Neither of us add our sneakers to the pile beneath the coatrack.

The singer screaming out the speakers sounds high, and the kitchen area is full of teenagers holding red cups. Why are try always red, like why not buy the clear ones or the blue ones?

"Hey, you made it!" Gabriel yells, throwing his arms around both of us. He smells like an entire football team after the Super Bowl that didn't shower then went out binge drinking. "Good traffic, yeah?"

"No traffic, since we walked..." I tell him, and he laughs like I was impersonating Jimmy Fallon.

"Oh, Kat, you crack me up. Hullo Alex, have you seen Christine?" He looks perplexed, and Alex pats his shoulder.

"I thought she wasn't coming, bro."

"Oh... yeah. She's probably..." he mumbles something and wanders into the living room where four girls and grinding against each other while pretending to dance on the couch. His shirt is backwards, and I don't want to imagine why.

"Want a drink?"

"Um, sure." Do I want a drink? I've never actually been drunk... and I don't aspire to. Still...

"I'll be back in a sec." He squeezes my shoulder and squeezes between the crowds around the chip bowl. I don't see Cambriel anywhere, but maybe he's upstairs. I understand why he would go up there, the music is so loud it feels as though it's assaulting my heart, making is beat faster and harder against my ribs to the bass.

"Hey, here's a beer. I didn't know you drink." I take the bottle, somewhat classier than the cups, and sniff it suspiciously. It smells like moulding white bread.

"Oh, yeah." I shrug noncommittally and search the crowd again, casually.

He says something else, barbell flashing, and he nods to the "dance floor" aka living room where drunk people attempt to impregnate people with clothes on. I shake my head vehemently, but gesture for him to go on. He leaves, joining a group of girls who act like they love him, and I turn away to the hallway.

I want to find Cam. It's all I can think about. He's probably hiding in his room watching movies... I'd like to do that. Why I came here in the first place, I have no idea. It's so smelly and crowded I feel like I can't breathe.

I walk carefully down the hallway, watchful of any possible bodies I might find on the floor; it's clear with the exception of a line outside the second floor bathroom.

I stop in front of Cam's door and listen. I can hear vague voices, but it's dark. Maybe he's on the phone; maybe I should stick with Alex. My... date.

I knock, and listen to the sound of stirring then sock-feet on hardwood. He opens the door and regards me in surprise. Wordlessly, he steps aside to let me in.