I feel so fucking stupid right now...

I spent the rest of the week impatiently counting the hours until Friday night. Chris and I kept hanging out every day, either at the coffee shop or at his place. It became a kind of quiet rhythm, something that grounded me even when everything else felt like it was spinning.

When Friday finally rolled around, a friend offered to give me a ride to the party. Chris had told me one of his new friends was giving him a lift, so we agreed to meet there around eight. I told myself it wasn’t a big deal. That it didn’t mean anything. We were just gonna hang out.

As soon as we arrived, my friend stuck around for about two minutes before vanishing with his girlfriend. I didn’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to babysit myself either. But yesterday was supposed to be different.

I shot Chris a quick text letting him know I was there, then made a beeline for the keg. I poured myself a single beer while I waited, sipping slowly as the minutes crawled by. Eight-twenty. Maybe he was just running late. Maybe

I clung to that thought as I stood around sipping the now nearly-empty cup. On any other night, I’d probably already be doing shots, flirting with some guy I didn’t care about, or picking a fight just to feel something. But not tonight. Not when I was supposed to see him.

Ten more minutes passed. Still nothing. I stepped outside for a smoke, resisting the urge to call him. No reply. Not even a read receipt. The sick, sinking feeling started to creep in, tight and cold in my gut.

He wasn’t coming.

I stared at my phone like it might change its mind. Like he might still walk through the door.

But the truth was already gnawing at me. He ghosted me.

I couldn’t believe it. He could’ve at least told me. Instead of leaving me hanging like this, like I didn’t even matter.

God, it hurts more than it should. And I hate to admit how much it does.

What the hell was I really expecting, anyway?

Why would someone like him want to hang out with someone like me, right?

I wasn’t even planning to go to that stupid party. I only showed up because of him.

Across the yard, a group of girls burst into laughter, shrill and oblivious. It grated against every raw nerve I had left.

Fuck it.

I stormed back inside and parked myself beside the keg, pouring cup after cup. I didn’t want to feel anything. Not the disappointment. Not the rejection. Not even the embarrassment. I just wanted to drink until I could forget he existed. Forget everything.

Then this girl walked over to me and started making conversation. I was pissed, but I welcomed the distraction. Until she started to lean in a bit too much. Touching my arm too much. And it makes me feel a bit sick, writing this, but I did think that maybe I could give in and just make out with her. Who knows, maybe I’d enjoy it. Turn straight or bi or whatever. Boys are such a headache anyway.

Luckily, that ridiculous thought passed almost as quickly as it came. Nothing against her. She was actually pretty cool. But yeah, it wouldn’t have worked out. At all.

So I ditched her and did a couple of shots

And then I heard Ryan’s voice, sharp and slurred.

“Look, Jamie, for a fucking faggot, this guy sure drinks like a man.”

Not tonight, I thought.

Ryan was still bitter that I hadn’t let him play the hero that day with Benson. I scanned the room. No Benson in sight. Good. Without his muscle, Ryan was just another preppy idiot with more booze than brains.

Honestly, I was almost impressed he had the balls to open his mouth without backup.

Before I knew it, I was striding toward him. I grabbed him by the collar, yanked him close, and kissed him. Just a quick one. Rough. Sharp. Cruel.

“There you go, you piece of shit,” I muttered. “Now you’re a faggot too. Happy?”

I smirked.

Ryan stood frozen, a cocktail of terror, disgust, and confusion flooding his face. Maybe even something else he didn’t want to admit. He looked around, panicked, desperate to make sure no one saw.

Someone grabbed my arm.

For a second, my heart stuttered. If it were Benson, I would be dead.

But it was Jamie.

“What the hell, Bennett?” he snapped.

I was too amused to resist him. Honestly, he could’ve dragged me to hell, and I probably would’ve gone willingly.

“Outside. Now.”

He pulled me through the crowd and into the backyard, shoving me onto a cold stone bench. He lit a joint and took a long drag before he said anything.

“What the actual fuck, dude? Are you dumb?”

I chuckled. “Maybe I am.”

He rolled his eyes but sat down beside me, blowing smoke into the night.

“If Benson had seen that, you’d be in a hospital right now,” he muttered. “I get you’re pissed off over something, or someone, but you can’t just go around starting shit. Chill out, dude.”

“Yeah, yeah... I know,” I said, grinning. “But he deserved it.”

Jamie finally cracked a smile. “Yeah, he kinda did. I almost felt sorry for him.”

“For him? You should feel sorry for me. I’m the one who had to kiss that piece of shit. I almost threw up.”

He burst out laughing. “True. Well, lucky him, then.”

I ignored that little comment. Not gonna happen, Jamie, I thought.

The night felt heavier than it should’ve. Maybe it was the air. Or maybe it was just me, spinning.

Jamie offered me the joint. “Want some?”

I don’t even like weed. But I’m stupid and impulsive and hurting.

“Only if you shotgun me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You like playing with fire, don’t you, Pretty Boy?”

I do. And I do enjoy teasing him once in a while. I know he gets a bit frustrated sometimes, and I like it. I'm not a saint. I like the way he makes me feel. Wanted.

He took a long drag, leaned in, and exhaled into my mouth. His lips nearly brushed mine.

We did it again.

And again.

And then somehow, I was the one taking a drag and blowing it into his mouth.

“I’m gonna grab a drink. Don’t get up,” Jamie said as he stood up.

It made me laugh. Truth be told, I probably couldn’t get up even if I wanted to. In any sense of the word, to be honest. Maybe that’s TMI, but hey, it’s what I was thinking, so I’m writing it down.

As soon as he disappeared into the crowd, the weed hit me like a truck. I doubled over, curling in on myself, trying to ride it out. Trying to figure out if I was about to throw up, pass out, or shit myself.

I breathed. Deep, steady breaths. Over and over.

Eventually, the nausea started to fade. I clearly wasn’t used to this. And the alcohol didn’t help it either.

Jamie came back, holding a half-empty bottle of vodka like it was a trophy. We passed it back and forth, talking, laughing, saying nothing and everything. Time got blurry.

The words.

                     The world.

                                           The night.

                                                                Until it all went black.