"Come on, Clarke!" Octavia whined.
"I'm sorry, guys, I'm just not really feeling it tonight," Clarke responded, failing to muster up an appropriate amount of guilt. It wasn't her fault that she didn't want to go get drunk with two girls she'd only met three days ago. Just because they were roommates didn't mean they had to be friends.
"Clarke, you've got to come," Raven said with her arms crossed and her face pulled into an expression that said she would not take now for an answer.
"Yeah! The frats are finally off dry week so the parties can really get started! And you have no excuse; classes don't even start until Monday," Octavia reasoned.
Clarke nodded to the textbook in her lap, "Well, I want to start out ahead."
Raven grabbed the book from her. "We go to the number one party school in the country. You can't actually think we're going to let you sit in the room all by yourself on the first Friday night of the year."
Clarke groaned. She wasn't getting out of it. "What do people even wear to frat parties?"
Octavia squealed and ran to her closet. Soon, she was throwing out every crop top and pair of high-waisted shorts she owned.
Clarke nodded at the tiny clothing, "Won't we be kind of cold?"
Raven smirked, "Honey, that's what the alcohol's for."
Clarke sighed. Well, if she was going to do this, she was going to do it right. She slid on a tiny crop top, then shimmied into a pair of Octavia's shorts and could see in the mirror that a sliver of her ass refused to be covered by the denim. "Are you guys sure this is okay?"
"You will not be the most scantily-clad girl there," Octavia reassured her.
Raven and Octavia were dressed very similarly, everyone wearing their converse because it's hard enough to walk while you're drunk and apparently no one would be wearing heels. Apparently the movies lie, thought Clarke.
They each had a room key tied to a hairband on their wrists in case they got separated or someone wanted to go home with some guy. Raven explained on the ten minute walk through campus toward the frats what the logistics of everything were.
"Okay, so we're going to Sig Ep, which is one of the top houses. After Phi Sig and Beta got kicked out last year, there aren't that many top houses, but the fact that Sig Ep is still around says something about them. They're supposed to be like incredibly hot, but it's not the easiest thing to get into their social circle. Send the rest of us a text if you're shacking it so we won't leave you in a bad situation. Stay safe."
"Ready, break!" Octavia joked, which elicited a small chuckle from each of the other girls.
They had reached the house, a shaking beast with giant Greek letters, and Clarke was beginning to feel a little nervous. She followed Octavia and Raven into the house and immediately into a giant fog of heat. They held hands as Octavia led them through the writhing mess of people toward the makeshift bar where a guy was hectically pouring shots.
Octavia grabbed three shots and chasers and passed them out. They clinked the paper Dixie cups that probably held enough cheap Albertson's vodka for three shots and quickly drank them, chasing it with store brand orange soda.
Clarke winced at the burning taste in her throat and had just gotten over it when a guy with long brown hair came up to her with a wine bag. He gestured it toward her, offering her the spicket. Wine had to be better than vodka, right? Clarke made a move to drink from the bag, only moderately grossed out by the thought of how many other mouths had drunk from the same spicket, when the boy stopped her.
He leaned toward her ear so she could hear him over the music and yelled, "You have to scream something dirty and slap the bag before you drink!"
A group of guys had now circled around them, excited to watch a freshman's first wine bag experience. The gaze empowered her and she yelled, "My laundry!" as she slapped the bag and began to guzzle. The boys began counting and Clarke thought she remembered hearing something about not mixing your alcohol but figured she'd have to make her own mistakes. Once the boys reached seven, they just kept counting, "Seven… seven… seven…" until she finally quit.
There were cheers as she wiped the excess wine off her neck, and Clarke smiled, proud at her sort-of accomplishment. She wasn't sure how much she drank, but saw Raven taking a handle pull a few feet away and figured she was probably fine. She'd also seen Octavia take nearly ten shots and was starting to worry that none of them were going to be very sober for the walk home.
Just as she was going to go talk to the girls to make sure they were doing okay, she noticed a tall, dark figure standing on the other side of the room. The fact that she could even see him at all was a miracle in this smoking mess of a room, but she could also tell he was staring at her. There was a tiny girl in a bikini top and shorts who was clamoring for his attention, and while he gave her some words of conversation, his eyes never left Clarke.
Clarke was a little too intimidated to approach him and noticed that a ton of people were dancing the next room over, so she went to grab her roommates to dance. They followed her willingly, giggling like they were the happiest people alive.
They danced better (at least they thought so) because of the alcohol and the more they danced the drunker they felt. Soon, Octavia was grinding with a hulking guy with a lot of tattoos and Raven had disappeared, a text from her saying not to wait up.
Clarke was now dancing by herself, but still in a state of such drunken happiness that she didn't really mind. But then she saw the brooding dude from earlier staring at her again. Empowered by the alcohol flowing through her veins, Clarke stomped over to him and said, "Do you want to dance with me or just stand there staring all night?"
He got a little flustered, so she just grabbed his hand and dragged him out to the floor.
"I'm not much of a dancer," he said into her ear.
"Then you're not drunk enough!" she yelled back at him before giggling and bringing his hands to rest on her lower back. He pulled her flush against him and she started swaying her hips.
Clarke didn't know this guy's name, but by God he was pretty. His dark hair curled in different directions and the smattering of freckles across his cheekbones gave the illusion of innocence in the darkness. But the way his tight arms made their way into his broad shoulders and the way his hips ground against her gave the very opposite impression. Clarke vaguely felt her cheeks heat up as his dark eyes stared into hers and needed to break the eye contact before she exploded.
Clarke brought herself up on her toes to talk in his ear. "See? It's totally easy."
In the process of lowering herself back down, she lost her balance a little and stumbled. Her dance partner steadied her and asked, "How much have you had to drink?"
Clarke just shrugged at him and giggled, "I dunno."
"Let's get you some air," he said as he took her by the hand and led her into the backyard.
Once they were outside, he turned to face her and held both of her hands in his. "Okay. Breathe a bit. The lack of oxygen in those rooms tends to exacerbate the effects of alcohol."
"I would assume that's kind of the point," Clarke chuckled, but did as he said.
After a few moments, he asked, "Feeling a little steadier?"
She nodded, "Yeah, thanks. You don't really expect this much concern when you go to frat parties."
"Well, you got me and concern's kind of part of the package," he smiled.
She returned the smile and said, "Well, I appreciate it. What's your name again?"
"Bellamy. And you are..?" he moved to shake the hand he was already holding.
Clarke was about to relay her name when she stumbled again and was really starting to feel how drunk she was. Everything was a little blurry and spinning. Bellamy was holding her and that was the last thing she remembered.
She woke up in a strange bed that smelled distinctly of boy. Not in a bad way; just enough for her to know it wasn't her bed. Actually, it was a nice bed: big with dark sheets and super comfortable. Clarke bolted up, much to the disdain of her throbbing head, and looked around.
It was a surprisingly big room for a college student and it was a lot neater than one would expect a frat boy's room to be. Bellamy was asleep in a big chair in the corner, saving Clarke the "did we or didn't we" question and providing the opportunity to exit.
She grabbed her shoes and began to tiptoe out of the room when a voice stopped her.
"Where do you think you're going, Princess?"
Clarke whipped around and faced Bellamy, who was still seated in his chair.
"I was just, ya know, heading out…"
"It's seven. I really doubt you want to stride of pride your way across campus this early," he said, smirking.
"I don't really have a better option."
"C'mon. I'll drive you," he said, standing.
"Really?" she asked, smiling.
"Yeah. Your hangover's gonna suck. It's best to get you to your own bed before you feel like you're going to die. I'm actually surprised you're not feeling it already."
"Maybe I just won't have one?" Clarke asked, hopeful.
Bellamy just laughed, "You generally don't pass out in someone's arms then not have a hangover the next day."
Clarke grimaced as they made their way out of the frat house, past the passed out people and the puddles of puke. "Your room is kind of like a sanctuary in this mess, huh?"
"Presidential privileges," Bellamy shrugged.
Clarke nodded. "So, do you do this often? Sleep in your chair so drunk girls can sleep in your bed?"
Bellamy laughed and the sound made Clarke feel lighter. "No, it's pretty rare for a girl to sleep in my bed alone."
"Oh, so I'm special?" Clarke teased.
At that moment, they walked out the door and Clarke was blinded by the sunlight. "Oh, shit, that is bright," she squinted.
Bellamy handed her the pair of sunglasses hanging from his shirt and she slid them on before he helped her into his truck.
"So, to the dorms?" he asked.
"Is it that obvious that I'm a freshman?" Clarke asked.
"Princess, you thought you wouldn't have a hangover. And you don't know who I am, so there was no doubt you were a freshman," Bellamy smirked.
"Oh, 'cause you're just so cool that everyone knows who you are?"
Bellamy just continued to smirk, frustrating Clarke to no end.
"And what's with calling me Princess?"
"You passed out before you could tell me your name and I had to carry you to my room. Princess seemed fitting."
"Well, my name's Clarke, so you can stop calling me princess," she huffed.
"Eh, I think I'll keep calling you princess."
Clarke crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.
He pulled up in front of her dorm.
"Thanks for the ride. Oh, and here's you sunglasses," she moved to take them off, but he stopped here.
"No, it's cool. The sun is out there, too."
Clarke shrugged, "Okay, thanks. Goodbye, Mr. President," then shut the door behind her.
"See you around, Princess!" he shouted to her through the open window, his smirk making his eyes gleam.
Clarke rolled her eyes as she walked into her building. She was met with Octavia's loud cheering and clapping when she entered her room and the noise made her groan.
"You stayed out all night! I'm so proud!" Octavia squealed.
"The noise is not good for this hangover. Oh shoot, did I remember to text you saying I wasn't coming back?"
"Yeah, whoever you were with texted me. Apparently I'm in your phone as Roomie #1? Really, Clarke?" Octavia sighed.
"I'll change it, I promise," she murmured as she crawled into her bed, ready to spend the rest of her Saturday sleeping.
And there's the first chapter :) I hope you guys liked it! Octavia's drinking is based off one of my sorority sisters who has to drink 15 shots before she can feel anything (!) so please don't follow in her footsteps. I'll update this soonish if people want more, but it's midterms right now so I'll be a little busier than usual. Come hang out with me on tumblr at .com !