By the time we'd reached his house it was already 12:30. He took his sweet time getting us there. The boy pulled up into a nice house, with no other cars in the driveway. We stepped out of his car and wakes up to the door and knocked. I thought it was odd, shouldn't he have a key to get in?

Moments later, the door opened to reveal a boy our age. His wavy blonde hair fell down the the nape of his neck and he wore a black Rammstein shirt. His fair cheeks were tinted pink, so I'd assumed he'd cracked into the drinks before his friend had returned.

"About time you got back Reb, I was getting impatient," the boy at the door said. He paused to glance over at me."Who's this?"

"I'm Scarlett,"I said,"And I guess I'll be hanging with you guys today." The Reb kid walked into his house, and motioned for me to follow. I stepped through the entryway and closed the door softly behind me.

"He's Dylan by the way."

I nodded and followed the boys upstairs. "Reb's" room was fairly plain, but I was only interested in the bottles of alcohol sitting on his covers. I immediately took off running towards them, grabbing a bottle a liquor and taking a big gulp. The boys exchanged shocked glances with each other.

"What?" I muttered after I had finished chugging the burning liquid,"I like my alcohol."

Dylan chuckled and walked over next to me, grabbing the bottle of vodka next to my leg and uncapping it. "What movie are watching?" he asked his friend still at the doorway.

"Well I'm sorta in the mood for The Craft," I suggested. "Heh, fucking goth," Reb said. I placed my hand on my heart, faking offense. "How dare you! I'm am not goth," I placed a finger on my chin,"I am as normal as is gets. Super straight edge."

The room was silent for a moment before it erupted with laughter coming from all of us. Reb, who found out a little later that his name is Eric, put in the movie. We boozed and laughed, not really paying attention to the film playing on Eric's boxy T.V. screen.

Three bottles of Jack later and I was hammered. Eric was passed out in his bathroom, and Dylan seemed completely normal. The only indication that he'd even had a drop was the slight blush on his face. Damn, he could drink.

"Hey, hey you," I slurred to Dylan. He faced me with a cocked eyebrow."You..are...you're a giant," I cooed. In my drunken state, I thought that was the funniest thing ever and rolled off the bed laughing.

I stayed there for a moment, awkwardly lying on the soft carpet of Eric's bedroom. Eventually, I gained the resolve to stand up. Even in my drunken stupor , I knew I'd have to get up at some point. I was bored and needed some for of entertainment. "Hey, hey Dylan!"

"Yeah?" He responded, slightly annoyed by my drunken antics. "I'm bored," I drawled out. "Um, do you maybe want to listen to some music?" Dylan asked softly.

I nodded erratically, happy with his proposition. He stood up and went over to a stereo sitting on Eric's wooden desk, pulling out a CD and placing it in. Antichrist Superstar by Marilyn Manson began pumping throughout the room.

"I love this song!" I exclaimed, not slurring as much anymore. I swayed my hips a little bit and danced to the tune. I could feel Dylan's eyes on me, so I grabbed his wrists and pulled him in.

"Dance with me Dyldo!" I shouted over the song. He adamantly shook his head, still being drug along. I rolled my heavily painted eyes and moved his arms up and down, trying to get him into it.

Eventually, he started moving on his own, rocking back and forth on his heels in an attempt to get into the music with me. I wildly danced around, screaming the lyrics occasionally.

It was safe to say that I was having a goddamn ball.

By the next verse he was dancing as crazily as I was. That was a sight to see. From someone else's perspective, it must have looked like an elephant parading next to a rat. At some point I got too tired and lied on the bed. "You, my friend," I panted, out of breath,"need to dance more."

Dylan sat next to me. "You," he said, mimicking my tone,"need to get some sleep. You like you're about to pass out." I turned on the sheets and relaxed.

He was right. I felt as if I had just ingested a few hundred milligrams of sleeping medication. In other words, I felt like shit. The mattress shifted beneath me and the covers were lifted over my limp form.

"Sleep well Scarlett," I heard someone say in the room. I was too drunk and too sleepy to tell who, but I followed their instructions and passed out seconds later.