3.
People around Elizabeth jostled and shifted as someone pushed through the archway into the press of bodies that packed the living room. Elizabeth turned and craned her neck for a look at the latest arrival, a glimmer of hope sparking in her chest and spurring her heart into a canter, but that glimmer soon dulled and her heart slumped back to a plod when she saw the newcomer was a boy with a shock of bleached-blond hair. Not Henry.
Of course, she knew Henry wouldn't show: the party was at a frat house on the James Madison campus, at least thirty miles out from UVA. Some of Charlie's old high school friends had invited him—people Henry had never met and would never associate with. Odds were Henry knew nothing about the party. Yet still she looked to the entrance each time someone arrived, hoping beyond reason it would be him. It wasn't just a desire to see a familiar face and have someone to talk to (Charlie hadn't said so much as a word to her since they'd arrived, just held onto her waist and paraded her about like a football trophy, pretty and mute); it felt like Henry had distanced himself recently, and although it was easier to deny her feelings for him when he wasn't there, she missed him. She wanted to be around him. Even if it pained her.
Charlie's grip on her waist tightened, fingers digging into the jut of her hip bone, jolting her attention away from the blond boy who'd just appeared and back to himself.
He said something, but she couldn't hear him over the blare of music.
"What?" she said, but she couldn't hear herself.
The noise, the heat, the stuffy air, the smell of beer and sweat and the sweet stench of someone smoking pot somewhere made her head swim.
Charlie said something again, then propelled her through the throng, pushing her, guiding her.
They edged towards the archway that led to the entrance hall, bodies bumping up against them like waves buffeting the bow of a boat. She hoped they were headed for the door, that this meant they were finally leaving, but before they could reach the door and the startlingly cold air her lungs thirsted for, Charlie changed their course and steered her up the stairs.
Perhaps he was taking her somewhere quiet so they could talk…
But even as the thought passed through her mind, she could hear how naive it sounded. If he wanted to go somewhere quiet, he would lead her outside, not upstairs, not to a darkened bedroom.
oOoOo
Elizabeth stood on the sidewalk. The light from the street lamps bled through the mist and doused the road in an amber haze. It felt like that haze had infiltrated her mind too, clouding her thoughts and wrapping itself around her nerves, their ends—a foggy sheath numbing her to the music that boomed from the house behind her. Numbing her to the frosted air. Numbing her to herself.
She vaguely registered the roar of tyres over the asphalt, a car approaching and pulling to a stop. A pop as a car door opened, the worry in Henry's expression, his voice.
"Get in."
She eased the passenger door open just wide enough that she could slide into the car and onto the seat, then she pulled the door shut again with a dull thud and fastened her seatbelt.
She stared into the distance, into the sea of amber mist that stretched ahead of them.
"Are you okay?" Henry said.
She didn't speak. Just stared.
"Where are your shoes?"
oOoOo
Everything felt distant—removed—like she wasn't experiencing what was happening moment to moment, full of the richness of real-time sensory detail, but instead was hearing it back as a story, a summary of events, condensed and bland and forgettable.
Henry drove them to his apartment. He let her in first, then hurried to clear a half empty bottle of beer and his notebook from the coffee table in front of the couch—he must have been writing when she'd called. He gave her a glass of water, which she drank obediently, sip by sip; all the while, he watched her, no doubt biting back the question, What happened?
She showered and then dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a USMC Boot Camp tee. He offered her his bed, and when her whole body stiffened, he suggested the couch instead and set to gathering blankets and a pillow.
She slept in fits. Each time a sliver of memory pricked her consciousness and jolted her from sleep, Henry was there, rising from the armchair opposite, hushing her, offering her another sip of water, reminding her in a soothing tone, I'm here, You're at my apartment, It's okay, You're safe.
She'd missed him.
She'd wanted to be around him.
She'd hoped for him to turn up at the party and for them to close the distance that had emerged between them.
She'd gotten what she wanted. And though—wrapped in a fog as she was—she couldn't feel it yet, she knew it would pain her no end.