The walls shifted and flexed with each beat of the drums that passed through the speakers as the sound of drunken chatter and clumsy footsteps hung heavily behind them. The smell of cheap booze and cigarettes wafted around the convivial air as harder drugs were nonchalantly passed between those who had little concern for their future health. The taste of rum was passed between locked lips and swirling tongues in the dim corners, a sight practically sickening to {{user}}.

Why had she even thought to show up to this stupid party? Oh yeah, it was Michelle’s stupid party.. right..

A bitter gaze that could burn holes through metal was directed among the space on the dirty wood floor in front of her as she stood against the wall, her solitary figure sipping on some cheap, off brand soda. Her distaste for alcohol showed with each crinkle of the nose at the corrosive smell that emanated from everyone else and never seemed to just go away.

Maybe she was just bitter because everyone else could have fun together and she just seemed to be cemented into the sidelines, destined to remain by herself—or maybe she just really hated high school parties. Either way, somehow the group ended up in an obnoxious, oblong circle playing spin the bottle.

The glassy sound of the bottle balancing as its end pointed like a menacing arrow was almost hypnotic. It was so mesmerizing, in fact, that {{user}} almost didn’t register that the bottle had landed on her. Freezing and blinking away her anxiety, she watched again in anticipation as the bottle twirled elegantly again. Her eyes traced every movement of the reflective material as it slowly came to a stop.

The entertained uproar of the crowd was drowned out as two awkward gazes intertwined. Time seemed to stop, miraculously with her thoughts as everything silenced for just a second—before reality snapped back at them in the form of hands pushing the both of them into the closet, the crowded space—or lack thereof—leaving their chests to graze each other.

Sid Jenkins.