He didn't seem as strange as I initially assumed. Despite his attire being punk coupled with this sense of tragedy, his behavior is pretty…ordinary, as far as psychologists and overall society is concerned. It really surprised me when he suddenly brought up subjects worth being apart of for the sake of conversing. From current events to fads and even lightly brushed on a recent story in congress. His use of correct grammar tagged with dashes of advanced vocabulary words, one only learns from a dictionary really showed that he's more engaged intellectually than most people I come across.

The more I speak to him; the prodding ache of foolishness grew larger inside me. How can I be so judgmental? Here I thought this guy was a complete wrist cutting, cynical-weirdo, could care less about anything or anyone and therefore not worth getting to know. Yet here I am, years later, completely enjoying his company and what he has to say. It dawned on me as to why I haven't taken any classes with him. However, I then remembered he's a year above me.

He suddenly got stood up. "You want to go get a drink?" He offered. His voice was raspy although the music blurred most of it out.

I sort of made a small vow not to drink tonight, but that promise was thrown out as quickly as it came in. I found myself giving a quick nod and following him through the crowds of people into the kitchen. It was just as occupied with bodies tainted with a stench of stale perfume, although, their natural scents still crept out their pores. The smell wasn't pleasant nor was it unpleasant; it's just what it's meant to be. A candid feature they so desperately try to hide with sham scents our bodies are incapable of producing.

Skyler took a quick sip of his drink before he handed me one, most likely consisting of a jack and coke. "Can you hold your liquor?" He asks above the beat of the bass.

Honestly, I don't know if I can hold it. I've never exactly drank enough liquor to where I've gotten officially drunk. Tipsy is somewhere I've been but nothing ever exceeding that.

"Yeah…" I lie, the last thing I want to sound like is a fucking goody two shoes that has never experienced a hammered night out.

I take a sip of poison and I had to force myself to gulp it down. The burning sensation was ruthless against my throat and my eyes suddenly felt stingy. I guess Skyler noticed my reaction and he lightly chuckled.

"I make my drinks pretty strong, especially being around all these wanna-be douche bags." He scoffed.

I thought too soon, I suppose he still carries that cynicism he and his friends are known for. I pretend to ignore his comment and continue to drink not exactly knowing what to say to something like that. After a few minutes of standing around we walk back to the living room only to noticed our previous spot was taken up by a couple of Goth chicks with excessively teased black hair, ghostly pale skin and lacy jet black dresses that also had plum and red accented colors. The dresses appeared to be warped edition of Victorian attire. The look was something I would never be attracted to but in a way I can understand the alluring pull one may find in them, a glamorous haunted desire of sorts.

Skyler and I silently decide to stand instead. We don't talk but its not at all uncomfortable, I enjoy taking in his vibe and I assume he is taking in mine. I notice his near hypnotic eyes fell on to me for a moment and by the time he realized I noticed, he would discreetly turn away and his orbs would instead dart around the living room observing the congested bodies and back to the kitchen.

I've always believed a simple look speaks a lot louder than words and if I didn't' know any better I can almost swear he was slightly embarrassed that I caught him staring. He continues to observe, avoiding my way completely.

Or perhaps he truly is looking for someone in particular. The alcohol gradually takes effect on me much sooner than I would have liked. I soon consciously make myself take in less and not sip as often as I was a few moments ago.

"You don't like anyone here or something?" I ask suddenly on account of the alcohol now coursing through my veins. Curiosity laced my tone from his earlier comment more then I intended. I would assume most of the people here were some sort of friend considering they all dressed alike and presumably had the same interests as him.

He lightly rolled eyes trying to find the right words to the question. "Yeah and no…" He says with a shrug. "No, not really, its just a lot of the people here don't really understand why we dress the way we do and why our outlooks differ from others." He explained finally looking back at me. "They consider it a fucking fashion statement, that's hardly the point."

I suddenly feel like I'm apart of those wanna-bes'. Considering Stan made me dress the way he did just so I can blend in and I truly never understood they're way of thinking. If anything, I honestly found it whinny and pathetic.

The blaring music continued to pound our ears and the strobe light flashed against us in colorful rays. I noticed with each thump that pierced my eardrums the drunker I became. Suddenly, a boldness I rarely experience shined its way through. "What is it then?" I ask, a bit of the frustration I had towards Stan back in the fourth grade during his phase of exactly this trickled through. I look directly to his eyes demanding for an answer and I nearly gasped on how insanely haunting they were…they made knees nearly give out.

I can tell the alcohol has now affected him as well. He leaned in closer, determined. Our noses nearly touched and I didn't at all flinch or worry about who may be watching, I honestly got a sort of rush from his closeness and my cheeks abruptly flushed a bit. "Back when I was six, I witnessed my father commit suicide." He said rather flatly. "He hung himself and I watched him take his very last breath before me. I didn't do anything, I couldn't, I didn't even understand the concept of death but it had a lasting impression on my life as you can tell. My mom since suffered a case of chronic depression and everything from that point all of a sudden became hopeless and I carried that hopelessness all my life. Darkness and this fascination with death is the only real thing I feel I have left with both my parents..." He paused for a moment never leaving my gaze of shock. "I've contemplated doing what he did to myself plenty of times but would always chicken out. I only ever scratched at the surface just to leave the evidence on my wrists of the many failed attempts. "

I was a loss for words, I had no idea, never would have guess. "I- uh- I didn't-

"It's fine, don't sweat it." He waved a dismissive hand then downing the rest of his drink.

I continue to stand dumbfounded. I down my entire drink as well. After a speech like that I wasn't sure if I needed the alcohol or not. I look over to Skyler and he gives me an assuring smirk. His hypnotic blues were glazed over a clear indication of the alcohol. I was still at a loss for words not knowing what to say now.

"Hey, Kyle! Over here!" I hear a familiar voice shout much to my relief. I turn around and noticed Stan across the living room raising his red cup in a sloppy toast. He had an arm loosely wrapped around the waist of no other than Henrietta. She seemed to ignore Stan's bellow instead talking to a girl with hot pink locks who's on the opposite side Stan. They both started laughing and the girl spilled some of her drink as she hunched over in giggles.

"I'll be in her parents room, dude!" He shouts above the music, dashing a rascally grin. "I think your gonna have to drive back tonight." He finished, not giving me a chance to respond that I didn't' think I could. He left towards the said area with both girls in tow. I've known Stan long enough now to know when he drinks he becomes rather…promiscuous.

I lightly roll my eyes and turn my attention back to Skyler. I'm pretty sure he notices the knowing glance plastered on my face. "Looks like you're going to be here for a while." He says, a bit of mischief laced in his tone, (courtesy of the alcohol) confirming that he too knew what Stan may be up to tonight. "Want another drink?" He continued leaning in towards me locking his eyes with my own. I'm pretty sure he already knew my answer.

My cheeks flushed and I just stared back entranced too drunk to care if he noticed. He suddenly wraps a hand around my wrist, pulls me close and leads me back to the kitchen.