Jaime leaned forward and gave another bottle over Passmore’s shoulder, lightened up his voice and made sure to add a bit of forceness in. “Enough depress thought. Tonight is not the night for the dead. Bottom-up.” Passmore caught Jaime’s gaze as they clicked their bottle. Passmore drained his second bottle in one go, while Jaime pretended to gag at the first tiny sip and quickly spat out the beer.

“I don’t know why would you bring six of them if you can’t handle a sip,” Passmore laughed.

“Because I’m an idiot,” Jaime mumbled. Now that he thought about it, he should have filled one bottle of water for himself instead.

Passmore feigned a gasp. “Did I just hear what I hear?” Jaime ignored him. He grimaced, hissing softly as he ran his tongue along the walls of his mouth. Passmore continued, “It’s not that bad. Really,” Passmore said, and Jaime was all but shoved his bottle at Passmore.

“Yeah? I dare you to drink the whole pack,” Jaime said. “Let’s see if you can still go ‘it’s not that bad’ to me.”

“Game on,” Passmore said, bravely downed all Jaime’s barely-touched beer to prove the point, and even somehow managed to swallow his distaste this time. He passed the bottle back to Jaime for inspection. “Okay, maybe it was questionably decent, but it was tolerable.” Passmore amended, words already slurring as a giddy jumble. Passmore seemed to take Jaime’s wordless O in a positive light, throwing his head slightly to the side so that his curls brushed against Jaime’s shoulder cap.

Jaime could barely contain his glee, readily passing another bottle to Passmore. Passmore tipped his chin and pecked on Jaime’s cheek—while taking the bottle in the same smooth motion—tittered like a little girl when Jaime startled from his butterfly touch. Jaime scowled, albeit finding some mirth underneath his annoyance nonetheless. At this point, didn’t matter whether Passmore had prepared for Jaime’s trap or simply that Passmore was a suicidal idiot. With that much alcohol inside his system as once, leaving him alone for five to ten minutes and he would be disoriented enough to think he had entered Jupiter. Coupled with his childish ecstasy and the horrible hangover that must be pounding his brain into a sheet my now, Passmore’s memories would be an useless mush of blackness.

“Don’t be so eager. You still have three more to go. Keep it up,”

“Will I get a prize afterward?” Passmore asked.

፨

Jaime righted Passmore against the newel post. Passmore grinned up at him dazedly, eyes slitted into happy crescents. Jaime flicked a finger at Passmore’s jaw. “Lemme get some water for you, yeah?”

“Maybe bring more beer. This time I’ll negotiate beforehand.” Passmore slurred, pouting. Jaime didn’t point out that between the fifth and the sixth beer, Passmore had pressed another sloppy, open-mouth kiss on Jaime, regardless of Jaime’s No. He unconsciously wiped the corner of his mouth clean of Passmore’s saliva, grimacing. He was used to be the one who initiated things, not on the receiving end, and Passmore’s constant out-of-blue actions kept jotting him off balance.

It was a common tactic for those who wanted to crowd themselves into someone’s life in a short amount of time: flourishing the target with love and attention, invading their personal space, baiting “gifts” under their nose. Considering Jaime himself was willing to lay underneath an old pervert, offering his body, then how hard could it be for Passmore to act like a lovestruck fool for a night, feeding him bits of intimacy and love.

But, unfortunately, Jaime wasn’t a love charity case.

“Don’t be stupid. You can barely think straight. Plus, others probably wipe the whole keg clean by now anyhow.” Jaime pat Passmore and briskly withdrew his hand. Passmore’s skin was flaming hot underneath his sweatshirt.

Passmore tilted his head up a bit and murmured. “I like you drunk better than you sober,”

“A romantic, aren’t you?”

Passmore’s smile remained ghastly on his face. His eyelids fluttered shut, lashes fringed his cheekbones. Darkness immediately rushed in and filled the crevassees and ridges of his face, concealing his true state. His breath was slow, too slow, compared to Jaime’s pulse.

Jaime didn’t know Passmore’s liquor capacity, but he did confirmed that Passmore had drunk all six beer bottles in less than fifteen minutes to prove a point. Even discounting the amount of beer Passmore might or might not have consume prior to this point, Jaime could positively, one-hundred-percent sure Passmore was a goner, too wasted to grasp any analytical skill. Seeing that Passmore still can muster some ridiculous but coherent sentences, Jaime pretty sure the kid at least wouldn’t murder More if push comes to shove.

Jaime retrieved the empty six-pack, casting another glance at Passmore before stalking to the stairs. He counted his steps, deliberately took his time, tuning in the echo of his footsteps against the stony wood. The chatting from the Attic has died down, mixing as one to the music. At some points, the R&B had been changed into cheery instrumental.

Jaime paused at narrow passage and pulled out his phone. The blue light was blinding, causing him to squint as he navigated to WhatsApp. Four girls staggered down on bare feet and opened coat jacket while high heels dangled from their wrists, cursing and muttering amongst themselves. One of them sneered at him when she saw him.

He fired off a message to More, tapping the side of his phone case for a moment, listening for the girls’ movements down the hall. The loud creak and a Shit, it’s ass-biting cold out here indicated their leaving.

What if More ditch at the last minute? A voice nagged at the back of his mind, threaded with fear and anxiety.

Jaime considered the question and tucked his phone back in his back pocket again, climbing the rest of the way upstairs.

A flash of Tippett Point came to his mind, all with its gray-washed lapping waves, rotting wood dock and rusty boat hulls sprawled on the metal-sand shore. Images of chapped, blistered hands tugging on coarsed rope and bewildered gagged faces followed in a clear order. And he thought it would be a great place to bury people alive.

፨

Jaime’s eyes automatically scanned the now-bleary illuminated Attic for More’s presence the moment he opened the unlocked door. The heavy liquor scent greeted him, mixing with faint smell of piss and smoke, soaked through every single surface, contaminated the air like a bad perfume case. He couldn’t even take a deep breath to think without gagging.

“Hiya,” Keir Herring gave him a timid chuckle. Herring was zipping up his coat, pulling down a woollen cap. “Ran out of beer, just so you know,” The flabby boy informed him.

Jaime shook his head. He dumped the empty six-pack near the door, amidst the shoes. When the legal officers broke in, these would just be another of many beer bottles littered around. “Thanks, but already have enough for the day.”

Behind Herring was hush timber-tinted comical, bickering—an extremely heated intelligent debate related to ice fishing and wine that anyone would have mistaken for squacks of ducks. Ezekiel Conrad and Nikolas Tillman, the debate duo. Tillman flashed him a two-finger salute as Herring, Conrad and Tillman himself slipped out of the Attic, presumably heading down to their respective dorm rooms.

The cold, hard wooden floor was carpeted by bodies of all colours, bending and entangled in odd angles, forming a deformed collage. He tiptoed to the kitchen, carefully placing his feet at narrow, small open spots, finally understood the actual context of the term picking his way across the room as he tried hard not to step on someone’s crotch or stomach, although he was tempted a few times.

At the middle of the room, he slid the phone out of his pocket again, glaring at the clear bar.

A quarter past midnight, five minutes since Jaime sent the message to More. Five more minutes, and he’d took the matter in his hands. Called the hotline, informed the Headmaster of the party, then set Passmore up so that it seemed like Passmore was raping him. And, hopefully, if possible, the legal officers could burst in when Passmore was still ball-deep in him. He felt a twinge of panic struck him at what people would think of him as a “rape victim”, but he batted the ridiculous emotion away.

He had long lose his pride and dignity for some vague sense of validation from an old pervert. Why else for him to keep? Even the elites would give up their bodies as easily as their substantials they owned in the pursuit for more of the uncertainty and promised gold pot at the end of the rainbow. He consciously stopped his teeth from gnawing the inside of his cheeks and squared his shoulders. Yet, a sick feeling started to knot at the bottom of his belly, a ball of wires and needles that slowly pierced through his confidence.

Jaime almost made it to the kitchen had he not bump into block of meat when he rounded the corner. A mocking huff above him, and Jaime didn’t even need to hear the voice to identify the person.

“Hi,” Jaime said curtly, stepping back, lips immediately locked on an instinct snarl.

Ahmed materialized out of the shadow, towering over Jaime. The strong scent of weed and sweat that seemed to always bubbled Ahmed immediately assaulted Jaime’s nostrils, amplified the disgusting general smell in the Attic. Ahmed’s bulky, broad shoulders took up the whole width of Jaime’s vision. A dim light lit behind Ahmed, emphasized the rugged outlines of his muscles.

Ahmed smirked, his hand came up to lean against the countertop—however the motion looked more unconscious than deliberate. “Hey.” Ahmed said, his voice scratchy and quavering shrilly like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Ahmed’s eyes were bloodshot, rimmed red as he tried to focus his gaze on Jaime, the thick, fresh linger of smoke in his breath gave him away. Ahmed just took a hit, and the effect was kicking in. By the time Jaime had recognized the sign, Ahmed was rambling on something else. “So how did it go, Kenneth? What did you say to poor Cass?”

“Move, Ahmed. I’m done with your shit today.”

“Shit, man, can you believe it? That stupid fucker was determined to get into your pants tonight. Like, actually chasing after you like a bitch in heat. God,” Ahmed said, snorting in-between like a maniac. “Take that you stomp on his face, yeah? Good for him. Probably curling up and sucking his own miserable dick.”

Jaime considered ignoring the kid and navigating around Ahmed’s spawning frame. He had rarely witnessed Ahmed in his haze, as he and Ahmed usually kept on the opposing sides of the party lines. Depends on the person, some people rode the high wave of pleasure with silence, while some reacted with a slap-happy giddiness. Others, though, would transformed into reckless Dauntless and skirted the edge of death. That being said, Jaime wasn’t intent to stick around to figure out which type was Ahmed. However, Ahmed physically being a solid blockade made it impossible to get around.

Jaime leveled Ahmed with a glare. “Why don’t you go find More or something?”

Ahmed’s victorious, shit-eating face fell off, morphing into a scowl, but Jaime didn’t miss the fleeting twist of jealousy and bitterness seeping into Ahmed’s disdain features. “Why should I? That bitch is probably off stuffing cocks down his throat.” It was pathetic, the way Ahmed’s voice chipped a little at his usual vulgarity as though he was uncomfortable—but whether it because Ahmed was uncomfortable with referring to his “crush” as a bitch or because Ahmed couldn’t fathom that his bitch would eating another guy’s cock was a whole different matter.

“Very informative,” Jaime mocked. “Now move the fuck out of my way.”

Ahmed, earning a good inch to Jaime, looked down on Jaime with a half-formed leer, amused at the sight of Jaime raising his knuckles. Nonetheless, Ahmed flattened his back against the wall, allowing some room for Jaime to squeeze through. Ahmed followed Jaime into the kitchen, his bulky presence tilted the dimension off-balance, the edges of the walls and cupboard bent and seemed to converge toward Ahmed. The kid’s heavy breathing also further frayed on Jaime’s taunt nerves.