Roommates Read online

  I'm not dumb. I might not go to these things, but I'm aware of the dangers of leaving your drink unattended and date rape and shit. Plus, I don't plan on drinking anything except maybe a can of Coke, if I can find one.

  The music isn't nearly as deafening in the kitchen. It's still audible, but it's more bearable, almost pleasant, something I recognize. I drum my fingers on the counter as Emma makes her and Cadence a drink, and then presses a can of Coke into my hand. "You sure you don't want something stronger?"

  I look around at the unfamiliar faces. At the group of guys arguing or talking in the corner (it's hard to tell which), and the couple tearing at each other's clothes against the opposite counter, and the single girl sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, looking close to vomiting.

  "Yeah, I'm positive," I say.

  Half an hour later, when Cadence ditches us off to dance with a friend from one of her classes, and Emma goes off to smoke a joint with one of her friends ("It's organic. Totally healthy.") I yet again find myself in the corner, alone, sipping my drink. I could try talking to people, I know, but most of them look like they're already on their fifth or sixth drink, and being sober around drunk people is never fun. So I sink down to the floor, legs pulled up to my chest, and play with my phone.

  "Even when she parties she's boring," I hear. I look up to find Blake not far from me, talking to his friend Lucas. "Hey Shaw, you wanna have some fun?"

  I smile tightly at him. "Who says I'm not already having fun?"

  Lucas offers me a hand up anyway. Where Cadence is an asshole to Blake out of sympathy for me, Lucas has been nothing but nice to me since wet met. Even when he hangs out in the room and me and Blake bicker, the most Lucas does is chuckle at both of our insults. Other than that, he's fairly friendly, and I have no idea how Blake got a best friend that nice when he's such a dick.

  So I take the hand and let Lucas drag me up, and then I'm being pulled into another room with a few people and a single long, rectangular table.

  "Need another for beer pong," Blake says loudly. "Who's up?"

  "I'll play," offers a random girl. Instantly, Blake's arm goes around her waist, pulling her in, and I avert my eyes in annoyance.

  "You'll be on my team," Lucas says to me. "Don't worry, I'm fucking awesome at beer pong."

  "Wait." I take a step backwards. "I never agreed to play."

  "It's probably because she doesn't know how," Blake says with a smirk.

  I glare at him. "I know how," I spit. It's not like it's fucking rocket science. Right? It's just—throwing a ball into a cup and then drinking or something.

  "Do they teach courses in beer pong at the library?" Blake wonders. The girl in his arm giggles.

  "Don't be a prick," Lucas scolds. He gives me a reassuring smile. "I promise it'll be fun. Or you could always go back to sitting on the floor."

  I chew the inside of my lip and watch Blake untangle his arm from around the girl. He grabs a pack of red plastic cups, and then he starts filling them from the honest to fucking God keg of beer in the corner. I thought those were just a myth. I didn't know people actually had kegs at parties like this.

  One by one, Blake places the cups on the table until there's ten on each side, organized in perfect pyramids. When he finishes, he looks up at me with a challenge in his dark eyes.

  "Okay," I say. "I'll play."

  "That's the spirit!" Lucas claps me on the back. He steers me towards the table, producing two small plastic balls from seemingly nowhere. "We play pretty simple. Basically you throw the ball, no bouncing or it's disqualified, into one of the cups on the opposing team's side. If it gets in, one of them has to drink. You get to chose which. Once we've both gone, they go and we drink. Game keeps going until one of the teams has no cups left, or someone passes out."

  Because that doesn't sound ominous. "Alright," I say, mouth dry.

  "You guys can go first," Blake offers. "Since it's Aubrey's first time, and all."

  I don't even deny it. No point. I watch as Lucas stands at the edge of the table, a look of deep concentration on his face. His tongue sticks out, and he very carefully tosses the ball. It arcs over the table, landing neatly in the center cup. Someone on the other side of the room whoops, and Lucas says, "Your turn."

  I take the other ball from him and swap him spots. It can't be that hard. People do this while wasted, and I'm perfectly sober. I suck in a breath, lift my hand, and toss the ball. It bounces off a cup and Blake reaches out to catch it before it can hit the ground, laughing as he does.

  "Nice one," he says. "Great aim, Aubrey."

  "Tina, you can have that one," Lucas says, nodding at the cups.

  The girl takes the drink, pulls the ball out, and chugs it in one long, guzzling sip. Someone cheers again.

  When Blake goes, he gets it perfectly in the cup at the right corner. The girl gets hers too, and tells Lucas to drink it, while Blake orders me to take mine.

  I wrinkle my nose as I pick up the drink and pull out the ball. How fucking sanitary even is this? But Lucas is watching me expectantly, and Blake looks like he's waiting for me to chicken out, so I bring the cup to my lips and do my best to swallow the contents down in one go. They burn, it tastes like ass, and I can feel it dripping down the sides of my face. But I do it, and then I wipe at my mouth with the back of my hand.

  This time, my ball lands in a cup, and I smirk while Blake drinks it. Lucas wasn't lying, either, when he said he was good. He is, never missing a cup, but I do, and Blake's even better than Lucas. By the time me and Lucas lose, I'm a little tipsy, but Lucas looks completely unfazed. Blake's partner looks out of it.

  "Another game?" Lucas suggests.

  "Two on one," Blake says. "Tina should probably stick to water."

  The girl pouts. "What? I wanna play."

  "Alex," Blake calls. A second later, another girl is at his side, and Tina plasters herself to her while Blake says, "Don't let her drink anything else, okay? She's out of it. And make sure she gets home all right. If you need cab money, let me know."

  Alex nods and pulls Tina away, and I blink in surprise. That was almost...decent of Blake. Only Blake's not decent. He's a vile asshole. I shake my head and push that from my mind.

  Somehow Blake wins again. I figure it because I'm feeling the effects of the alcohol by my third drink of the game, and I don't sink a single ball. But I keep trying. The more I drink, the harder I try, until nearly all our cups are gone and I'm giggling, hand pressed to my mouth to hide it.

  Blake sinks the final ball, I drink it before I can be told to, and Lucas laughs at my eagerness before I say, "Let's play another game. I'll be better this time," I promise.

  "Don't think you'd make it through another game," Lucas teases. He slings an arm over my shoulder. "Next time, and we'll kick Blake's ass."

  I pout a bit. The room sways and sways, like I'm on unsteady ground. I can't remember the last time I drank this much, if ever. I can't remember a lot of things, though. Like where Cadence and Emma went. Or what I'm even doing with Lucas's arm around my shoulder, but it's warm and Lucas is nice so I sigh into it. "I'm drunk, I think."

  "Nice observation. Blake always told me you were smart," he jokes.

  My brow furrows at that. "He did? Cause that sounds nice, and Blake's not nice. Not nice at all. He snores."

  Lucas throws his head back in a laugh, and I have to join him because it sounds like fun. I only remember that Blake's there when he says, "We should find her friends. I didn't think she'd be such a lightweight."

  "I'm not a lightweight," I say, indignant.

  "Yeah, you are."

  I flip him off and laugh at the look I get for that. I let myself be tugged through the room, past blurred face after blurred face. It's a little disorienting, and I don't like it. I clutch at Lucas's hand in mine, even if I can't remember when that happened. I don't remember Lucas grabbing my hand or me grabbing his.

  When we get to the li
ving room, I decide I don't like being drunk. I can't think straight, I can't walk straight, and the only thing keeping me from falling every few steps is Lucas. I want Cadence, I think. I want Emma, too, and her dimply smile and soft words. The music is too loud, and the people shouting over it are too loud, and it's way, way too hot. So hot. I go to tug up my shirt, but a hand wraps around my wrist, stopping me.

  "Keep your clothes on," Blake mutters. "Jesus Christ."

  That's probably a good idea.

  We find Cadence and Emma in the kitchen, Emma holding up a wasted Cadence that looks possibly worse than I feel.

  I make a beeline for them, pulling my hand out of Lucas's. I press mine and Emma's foreheads together and laugh, but I can't remember why. Something was funny, I swear it was. Maybe it's the look of shocked concern that flits over Emma's green eyes.

  "I played beer pong," I say proudly. "I sucked."

  "She really did," Lucas confirms.

  Carefully, Emma puts a hand under my chin and tilts it up. Her fingers are smooth, and I close my eyes because it feels nice. "Aubrey," she says. "Look at me."

  "Can't," I admit, "my eyelids are sleeping." I struggle to open them, frustrated, and when I do Emma looks upset. "I think I'd like to go home now. I don't feel good."

  Cadence laughs at me, seeming to come to without warning. "Aw, our little Aubrey is wasted. That's adorable. We've corrupted her, Em."

  "You didn't do shit," I slur. I'm suddenly aware of it, the fact that my words are stringing together, not as coherent as I thought they'd be. "All you did was ditch me."

  "We didn't ditch you," Cadence says quickly. "We—"

  "She was on the floor when I found her," Blake cuts in. "So you kind of did."

  I whirl, falling back against Emma's chest. Her arms go around my waist, keeping me up. "Why are you still here?" I wonder. "Why is he still here, Emma?"

  Blake doesn't look offended. He just rolls his eyes and says, "I'll take her home, if you all want to stay."

  "No way," Cadence protests. "Not letting you take my—my drunk best friend anywhere, Blake Alexander. I'll take her home. Come on, Aubrey."

  I loop my arm with Cadence's, and the two of us head through the kitchen. Cadence easily pushes past people with a hand extended in front of her and a haughty tilt to her chin, and the next thing I know, cool air is washing over me. I breathe deeply and let out a loud cheer of relief.

  "We should skip," Cadence says, so serious, like this is the greatest idea in the world.

  I burp. I don't mean to, it just happens. "What?"

  "Skip, like—" She starts doing it, and I follow her movements. "We're off to see the Wizard!" Cadence sings, "The wonderful...I don't know, I'm drunk."

  "I'm drunk, too," I admit. "I think. Everything's spinny."

  Cadence nods as we pass a streetlight, and then another. "I'm probably not equipped to take you home."

  "I'm probably going to throw up."

  Someone grabs my arm a little tightly, and I make a sound of pain before Blake says, "Slow down. And stop shouting, do you want the cops to stop us?"

  Emma appears on Cadence's right, and Lucas steps in behind us. Me and Cadence stay quiet after that, but we're still stumbling and holding onto each other. At one point we nearly fall, Cadence tipping sideways, pulling me with her, until someone straightens us. I have no idea who it is, but I mumble a thank you anyway.

  The rest of the walk after that is kind of foggy. The next thing I know, Blake's pushing me down on my bed and ordering me to sleep. And I'm too tired to fight him on it.

  4

  I wake up with a pounding headache. If that were the extent of it, I could deal. But my mouth tastes foul too, and my stomach is churning and twisting and making this gross guttural sound. There's this horrible thumping too, that seems to jolt me every few seconds. I groan and roll over, only to find Blake in the middle of the room, doing fucking jumping jacks.

  "You're satanic," I moan. "Cut it out."

  Blake keeps jumping. "Why, is it bothering you?"

  "Is it going to bother you when I wrap my hands around your throat?" I counter. I reach for my extra pillow, but it's fallen on the floor. It takes so much effort to grab it that I want to cry, but I manage to get it over my head. And Blake keeps jumping. "Blake. Stop. I'm dying."

  "Do you remember," Blake says conversationally, like he's not still working out. He's hardly even breathless, "that time I passed out on the floor and you woke me up to Call Me Maybe? Or that time when I'd done all those tequila shots, and you wouldn't stop clicking your damn fucking pen?"

  Vaguely, yes. That's not the full list of things I'd done to irritate Blake when he had a hangover. That's not fair, though. I don't ever drink; Blake's always partying. Shouldn't I get this one free pass?

  "Please."

  "Still got another fifteen minutes of my workout," he says. "You're just going to have to deal with it."

  Blindly, I search on the desk beside me. My hand curls around a pencil, and I throw it in the general direction of his grunting. "I hate you. Really. I honestly, truly fucking hate you."

  "Mutual," he says. "Glad we had this talk."

  The rest of the morning is spent like that. I try to sleep and not leak brain matter onto my pillows through the cracks in my skull, and Blake makes as much noise as possible. Eventually I give up and stomp out of the room with my shower bag. The warm water doesn't do nearly as much as I need it to, but at least I don't smell like beer and sweat anymore.

  My room is empty when I get back. I consider trying to fall asleep, but I figure I wouldn't manage it anyway. Instead I drop my stuff off, pull on a sweater over my t-shirt and sweats, and head to the common room. Emma and Cadence are already there, curled up on the couch in front of the TV, watching cooking shows.

  "Why are you watching this?" I complain. On screen, the woman adds what looks like a pound of butter to some sort of sauce. Ugh. "I don't even want to think about food."

  "That's 'cause you're hungover, babe," Cadence says weakly. She's got her head in Emma's lap, and Emma's petting her blonde hair slowly. It looks nice; I'm a little jealous. I want someone to pet my hair when I'm hungover. "You need to eat something, though. You'll feel better if you do."

  My stomach growls, but bile rises in my throat when I think about actually eating anything. "I'm good. And I'm not going down to the dining hall."

  Emma stands up, ignoring Cadence's sound of protest. "I'll make you a bagel," she says. "You'll feel better. Trust me."

  I wave her off. Maybe a bagel would be okay. My stomach doesn't exactly flip at the sound of it, and I'm not about to throw up (I think; I very well might, but I should be okay). As soon as Emma's gone, Cadence changes spots, turning so her head is now in my lap, but she's got another thing coming if she thinks I'm going to coddle her the way Emma does.

  "You feel pretty shitty, huh?" Cadence asks.

  I shrug. I do, but it's more bearable now. I wish I'd gotten another hour of sleep, though. Or that I'd put my foot down a little harder last night. I've still got to finish with my paper, and now I have to do it while feeling exhausted and vaguely nauseas. "Yeah."

  "How did that even happen?" she wonders. "You were sipping Coke, last time I checked."

  I shift under her, mind whirring. It's a little foggy, but I can still remember. "Beer bong," I say quietly. "Lucas and Blake asked me to play."

  "How'd you manage that without the two of you leaping across the table at each other?"

  I flick her on the arm and make a face. "I don't know. I was bored. Seemed like a challenge, and I couldn't not agree to it." And maybe it had been fun. Just a little. Not worth how I feel today, though.

  Emma returns with a bagel for each of us, and I eat mine in, like, four huge bites. I'm starving suddenly, and I end up stealing half of Cadence's bagel, too, when she goes green after the first bite.

  I spend the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon like that, curled
up on the couch, watching cooking show after cooking show because Emma's obsessed, and everyone else who comes into the room seems fairly content to watch Rachel Ray.

  I'm feeling almost one hundred percent by the time I go back to my room to finish my paper. Which goes straight down the drain the second I step into the room.

  "You've got to be fucking kidding me," I say, eyes wide.

  It's—shit, I can't even describe it, and I've been taking a creative writing class for months, so that's kind of a hard feat. But there's...fuck, what even is that? Shaving cream? covering my pillow, and Blake's pillow. There's silly string creating a web between the beds, the walls, the dressers, the desk. Hanging over our window is a jersey. Underneath the black spray paint, I can faintly make out Alexander as well as Blake's number, but they've crossed it out and written 'cock sucker' (two words, written sloppily by someone who apparently has no idea how to use spray paint) in its place.

  All in all, our room is fucking trashed. And Blake is so, so dead.

  Only I have no idea how to find him. I don't have Blake's phone number, and I have no idea where the guy hangs out. Which means there's nothing I can do about this, for the time being, except strip both of our beds and bring the laundry down to the laundry room. (I refuse to clean anything else up. This is Blake's problem, he can fucking deal with it.)

  That, and simmer in my anger.

  By the time Blake finally comes into the room, laughing at something someone in the hall said to him, I'm enraged. His laughter dies in his throat and he freezes, gaping around the room. "What happened?" he asks.

  I stand up, stepping past silly string and more shaving cream on the ground. "What happened? I think you should answer that, since it's not my fucking jersey hanging on the window!"

  Slowly, Blake picks his way across the room, past all the shit lying around. He tugs the jersey down and frowns at it before checking the tag. "How did they get this?" he demands. "This was in my locker!"

  "That's what you're upset about?" I ask. "Really? All of our shit is covered in—in shit!"

  "Why are you acting like this is my fault?"