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When Sara first walked into the room with Simon at her side, two things stood out to her the most; the blaring music which threatened to shatter her eardrums, and the pungent smell of alcohol that thickened the air.
Everyone around her firmly wrapped their hands around bright red cups, which were brimming with bubbly booze. And those same people wore wide grins on their faces, as they swayed and sniggered loudly with their friends.
They were all having fun, and having fun with their friends. Sara yearned for both those things - fun and friends. That’s why she was here, right?
Without a second thought, she reached her hand out for one of the plastic cups and held it between her lips. It tingles like electricity against her tongue, and that sensation alone is enough for her to empty the whole cup down into her mouth and leave her thirsty for more.
Beside her, Simon sends her a doubtful glance.
"What?" she says irritatedly, her grip tightening defensively around the cup.
Simon doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t need to. The flicker of scornfulness in his eye is enough to make her scoff.
Her brother's disapproval of her drinking wasn’t going to stop her from doing what she wanted. She had something to prove — to the people around her, that she could fit in with them and drink just as much as they could — and to herself, that she could let loose for once in her life, and let the thrill course through her veins.
And luckily, this party was the perfect place to prove that.
Barely an hour later, and the floor is swaying underneath her feet as she walks through the hallway. She’s giggling like an excited child, and she isn’t exactly sure why.
The only thoughts floating in her head are that she’s happy, that she’s having fun, and that nothing else matters more right now. Not even the harsh pounding in her head or the static ringing in her ears.
The foul noise of puking breaks her hazy thoughts. Her eyes widen, and despite the blur in her vision, she can make out the figure of Felice, who’s clutching her stomach and screwing her eyes shut.
Sara ignores the nausea churning in her own stomach, and stumbles forward to hold Felice’s dark hair behind her ears.
"Do you need help?" she asks with a wavering voice.
Felice’s veil of hair falls right back into her face as she lurches forward again. "No, no," she says, wiping her mouth. "But you can’t tell anyone."
"But why would I?" Sara says, with another woozy giggle slipping past her lips. "It’s just gross."
Felice vomits again, and another smile creates dimples in Sara’s cheeks.
"You’re pretty special," Felice abruptly says, peering at Sara as if she were the most interesting thing in the world.
"I have autism. Have you heard of it?" Sara drawls. The words just keep rolling off her tongue, but she doesn’t see any reason to stop it. "I also have ADHD, but, uh, that’s not as unusual. Many people think it’s annoying— "
"My hair," Felice interrupts, threading her fingers through her hair. "It’s curly?" she asks, hope seeping through her voice.
"Uh, yes?" Sara says, blinking dumbly at her.
"Do you have any idea how long it takes to flatten it?" Felice continues.
"So then don’t do it," Sara says, stepping toward Felice. She unclips the golden pin from her hair and readjusts it with shaky fingers.
"But I have to."
"No, you don’t. You look good anyway," Sara insists. "There!" she says, stepping back to admire her work. "You’re pretty!" She cups Felice’s cheeks.
Felice’s lips curl into an uncertain smile. Sara feels as if she’s accomplished something by fixing her hair and making her smile. But there’s still more to prove, she reminds herself, so she drags Felice up from her seat and hauls her through the hallway.
"Come," she says. "Fresh air is good." She heaves Felice through the window and into the cool breeze of the night.
Snorting with amusement, they grip onto each other’s hands as they stumble over their own feet through the skeletal trees that crowd around them.
"Why’re we out here again?" Felice asks, her voice giddy with excitement.
"‘Cause," Sara begins, "I just couldn’t stand the smell of your vomit any longer. Sorry, but it’s gross."
Felice bursts into a loud laugh, and Sara believes it is the most sincere and real thing she has ever heard from the girl. If she were sober, her laugh would be tame and phony, forced and timid.
But now that she was buzzing with intoxicants, her facade had been washed away with the alcohol. Sara liked this side of her. She liked the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed, how her gaze brightened when she’s enthralled by something.
"Sara? Hello?" Felice says with a toothless grin, waving a hand in front of her eyes. "Earth to Sara?"
"Huh?" she says, blinking away the last of her daydream. Or a nightdream.
"What’re you thinking about?" Felice asks, slumping back against the trunk of a tree. Moonlight shone onto her inky hair, coating it with a beautiful gloss.
"Uh," Sara begins, awkwardly scratching the back of her neck. "Nothing," she lies. Something flutters in her stomach, and she isn’t sure if it’s nerves or the alcohol.
"Oh, bullshit," Felice says, with another throaty fit of laughter. She nudges Sara’s arm. "Don’t get all shy now. What is it?"
"You’re gonna think it’s weird, though" Sara says, crossing her arms.
"Come on," Felice says. "Nothing can be more weird than walking in on me, throwing my guts up. Tell me already!"
Sara pinches her brows together. How was she supposed to say that she thought Felice was really pretty? Sara didn’t know a lot about people, but she knew that one doesn’t just randomly say that to another, even if they have booze flowing through their system.
But wasn’t the point of this party for her to let loose and live a little? That’s right — and it’s not like the two girls would remember this by morning, anyway.
With a shaky inhale, Sara locks her gaze on Felice’s endearing eyes.
"I just think you’re really pretty," she admits with a hopeless shrug.
Thankfully, the drunken buzz takes over from here, because the next thing she knows, she’s leaning closer to Felice and cupping her cheek in her palm.
Felice shudders against her touch, but her eyes don’t drift from hers. There’s embers of intrigue sparking in them; another alluring feature about her.
She flicks her attention to Felice’s soft pink lips that hover mere inches away from hers. Every minor feature about her was exquisite, hand-sculpted by God himself.
With the taste of alcohol on her tongue, and a fire blazing in her heart, she delicately moulds their lips together. Felice’s lips melt into hers like warm chocolate, and surprisingly; she doesn’t recoil away.
Instead, her hand begins to stroke through her matted tresses. The crisp of the air and the fragrance of Felice’s citrus perfume was like inhaling an addictive drug, one that Sara couldn’t get enough of.
She sighs into the kiss and throws her arms around Felice’s waist, pressing her back into a tree. Felice doesn’t seem to mind, because she cups Sara’s face with both hands and pulls her deeper into the kiss, swirling her tongue around her mouth and letting their ragged breaths merge together.
This is the thrill that Sara was searching for the whole night - possibly even for her entire life. This is the kind of sincere girl that Sara has been longing for all this time.
And now that she had her, she didn’t want to ever let her go.