AN: ***WARNING!*** This chapter could be slightly triggering to some readers.
How late was it? Or how early? How long had she been at this party? It wasn't the one she'd gone to originally. The scenery was different. But how had she gotten there? She couldn't remember. How was she feeling? She couldn't tell. It was like the whole world wasn't real. Or she wasn't. She couldn't be sure.
Sam stood and the everything slanted sideways. She fell and bumped into somebody. There was noise but she couldn't decipher it. It was like she was underwater.
What the hell had she been drinking?
She looked around for her cup, having lost it some time ago. She found one that seemed abandoned on the table, about as full as hers had been before. At least she thought so. It didn't really matter. She picked it up and took a few swallows. It tasted funny. But maybe that was just her. But she liked the feeling. The feeling of nothing. Like she was in some crazy dream.
She barely knew who she was. She probably couldn't even pronounce her own name. That simple syllable alone was too real to pass her lips right then.
That somebody who she'd hit into before now had his hands around her. On her hips, her stomach, her shoulders, her chest. She shoved him a little, not wanting any of it. Only wanting to go back to existing in a nonexistent state. But those hands—fingers, alive and without a face. Or one she couldn't find—they pressed and pulled. And she was dancing. If you could call it that. Grinding. Spinning. The whole world was spinning. She felt dizzy. She felt sick. But something soft and wet against her neck kept her where she was. She could barely feel it. What she did feel was nauseas. Ready to hurl. Jesus Christ, where was the bathroom?
Fighting her way off the dance floor, or whatever the hell it was, she found herself moving down a long hallway. It was like she was below deck of a boat in the middle of a raging storm. She rocked back and forth. Hands slapping out against the walls as she moved towards a door at the end of the hall. When her hand reached the door she had trouble turning the knock. She couldn't remember how to get her hands to work. Her fingers. Like claws.
The door was opened. The lights were already on. She felt her knees give out, and weakly registered a searing pain as they slammed into the linoleum floor. Her fingers curled around the cold and compassionless toilet bowl, and her head bowed down to her old deity.
She dry heaved. Once. Twice. Gagged. Then she lost it. She wasn't sure what it was, but she was glad it was out of her. She got up and fought her way to the sink, turning on the tap and hanging her head under it. She took a drink. She washed her face. But it didn't really help.
She stumbled out of the powder room. The pounding sounds of the party in full swing were beginning to give her a headache. Instead, she turned the other way and took the steps to the second level to see if any bedrooms were unoccupied. To her surprise, one of the doors was unlocked and, when opened, empty. She thanked some invisible force, closed the door behind her, and let her body flop and crumple onto the sheets like a discarded shirt at the end of a long day.
As consciousness faded, Sam thought she heard the door open. She turned her head and made a loud moan as the door creeped open. A silhouette of a boy she didn't know well—maybe the one she'd been "dancing" with earlier—was standing in the frame.
"Go away," Sam groaned. But he didn't.
She was fading out now. The last thing she saw before losing consciousness completely was the stranger step in the room and close the door behind him, turning the lock.
Then everything went black.
AN: ...Reviews?