His face contorted and chest burning, Sebastian opened his mouth to show Hunter the shot had gone down. Hunter poured another round for the two, unbuttoning the first two rows of his shirt as his body temperature rose. Their cheeks were flushed and their bodies were busy, a reflection of the tequila and coke dancing in their veins.
"I'm not really feeling it yet,' Hunter began, cautiously, though he had been the one to pour all of the shots.
"That's why we're drinking,' Sebastian replied, matter-of-factly.
"I'm saying,' Hunter pushed the bottle away from him hesitantly. "We're going to miss half of the party trying to out-drink each other."
Sebastian took the shot, looked down and shook his head. "You used to be a lot more fun."
He looked up, sighed, took the sitting shot glass from off of Hunter's hands and downed it just as he had done the rest. Sebastian gave a smug shrug and walked away from the kitchen's island, bare-footed in a pair of cuffed khaki pants and a loosely-buttoned tourist shirt. He didn't wear baseball caps often, as he was pretentiously obsessed with his hair, but wore a backwards Dodgers cap to keep the long strands from dangling into his eyes. The house was low-lit and everything of value had been tucked away in locked rooms or under counters.
Hunter's younger sister, Abigail, scurried around the first floor of the house, her reddish brown locks flying behind her as she raced against an unseen predator. Sebastian caught a glimpse of her, stopping in his tracks before turning around, half-drunkenly and noting her presence.
"I know you live here, so I don't mean to impede,' he began, walking into the living room where the girl was hiding behind a couch. She peaked out from the side of one of the couches and cut the boy off before he could finish.
"You're about to have a party,' she guessed accurately.
Sebastian cocked his mouth open and nodded, hoping the girl would do all the figuring on her own.
"I can go to my room,' she began, standing, remnants of glitter falling from her dress. She shuffled past her cousin quickly, before stopping abruptly in the hallway before going up the stairs. "Sebastian?"
He poked his head around the corner and raised his eyebrows.
"Can you make dinner?"
He raised his eyebrows in shock. "Do you know what happens at parties, Abigail?"
The girl shrugged and started up the stairs. "No… that stuff is for adults,' she lamented. Before trekking into her room and shutting her door, she yelled out: "A bowl of cereal doesn't count!"
Not long after, Sebastian began to see car lights making their way into the driveway. He unlocked the front door and went to find Hunter. The latter was in one of the spare bedrooms, behind a desk, rolling a joint. Sebastian leaned at the door frame, watching Hunter's fingers work meticulously.
"Party's here,' he said eventually, as Hunter began to lick the paper.
"Is the door open?"
Sebastian nodded.
Reclining in the chair, Hunter looked over the boy, casting a small judgment before shaking his head and standing. He bumped his shoulder as he passed through the narrow doorway, saying behind himself: "Don't break your nose again tonight, yeah?"
The first floor of the house was full after an hour or two, but Sebastian was much too drunk to be concerned with who was there and what they were doing. He wasn't a sloppy drunk or even one that looked particularly inebriated, if anything, he was more talkative and nicer. Still, he could be purposely cutting and use the opportunity as a guise to air his grievances among friends. More often than anything else, he ended up with a group of guy friends, playing games and then with a group of girls, doing other things. If he was drinking for a particular reason, he could be moody and dismissive, but the black eye had been the fault of too much confidence, a high jump into the pool and a bottom that was much more shallow than expected.
He sat on the bar counter around a group of friends. A disposable cup was in his right hand and an unlit cigarette was in the left; he let the people around him speak, raising his eyebrows when it was appropriate, laughing when he saw fit and smiling when the other options weren't applicable. The small glimmer in his eyes reflected his drunken state, but nearly everyone in the house was high or plastered, so it didn't matter.
He felt a tap on the back of his shoulder and turned around. Behind the counter and sink stood a petite blonde with a champagne glass. He considered asking her to return it to where she'd found it, but it wasn't on the list of things he found priority in at the time. If he was sober, definitely.
"Hey, Quinn,' he began, having to speak loudly over the music and the sound of voices.
She waved, her pink nails flourishing in the air but said nothing.
"Where are your friends?"
Quinn looked over her shoulder, pointed at something indistinguishable but stayed quiet. Squinting, he recognized that she, like everyone else, was under the influence. Quinn, however, was working extremely hard to make sure no one else knew it.
"You're not talking tonight?"
She smiled and shrugged. "I was waiting until there was something to say."
Nodding, Sebastian took a sip of his drink and winked at the girl before turning back around. He knew this slited her, but he didn't care. In fact, he found himself instigating Quinn nearly every time they spoke.
Music played loudly throughout the house, and Sebastian watched wearily as people began to spread into the home. There were couples on the staircase and people outside on the patio— a few even in the pool. Sebastian hadn't seen Hunter since the beginning of the party and probably wouldn't find him again until the next day. They were close, but didn't particularly hang around the same groups of people. The party was a mix of crowds, but primarily popular, wealthy kids who could drive or had friends who did. The unsaid rule was that everyone had to have their own alcohol when they showed up. Occasionally, this resulted in beer kegs and other times, Sebastian would find himself lounging lazily around the pool drinking directly from a wine glass. No one was twenty-one (or even close), so it became a game of what one could find and ascertain.
A brunette nudged his knee prompting Sebastian to engage in the conversation again. He caught a glimpse of Quinn out of the corner of his eye, gave her a wink and spoke about whatever nonsense they had been engaging in prior.
After a few more drinks and a game of foosball, Sebastian found himself struggling more to get a clear picture of the room. He settled to stop drinking. He had been, formerly, a notorious black-out drunk. There were too many instances of him not recalling his actions, but other people doing the favor.
I'm not a control freak, he would tell himself. All the same, there was something nearly horrifying about not remembering his actions.
He rubbed his eye.
Again, she was beside him.
"Hey,' she began, not in an introductory way but nearly confrontational. "What's up with you?"
Sebastian shook his head before laughing. "Nothing,' he began. "What's wrong with you?"
Quinn frowned, a hand on her hip. "You're airing me. We're friends."
He winced. "Are we, Quinn?"
She gasped, perhaps in shock, but he knew she couldn't be surprised. They were sparring partners at best.
"Yes. That hurts my feelings."
He sighed. "Quinn, you don't have feelings. You're one of the most ice cold people I know, everything about you is an insult, and that's coming from me. I don't really care for you, but you should know: none of that matters. You'll be hot until you're not, but, by that time, you'll already be three kids into an unhappy marriage, so you'll be fine."
He patted the girl on her back and gave her a thumbs up before walking away. He caught a glimpse of a clock in the kitchen and stopped. Suddenly, he remembered that Hunter's sister was upstairs. There was a chance she was asleep, but there also was a chance she would come bounding down the stairs at any minute.
Someone passed him but doubled back after noting the shock on his face.
"What's up?' the redhead asked.
Sebastian put his hands on his cheeks, faux-shock radiating off his warm and flushed face. "Dude,' he began, laughing. "There is a child upstairs that I forgot to feed."
Staring meekly for a moment, the classmate burst into a fit of laughter alongside Sebastian. As if momentarily forgetting why the conversation had begun, Sebastian was drawn back into the party before hints of sobriety reminded him of his priorities. Quickly, he found the staircase, shoved past a few classmates, tripped on the last step but made it to Abigail's bedroom.
He knocked twice before entering. "Abby?"
She was sitting with her legs crossed in the center of her bed, trying to cast shadows onto the dimly lit wall. "I thought you were someone else."
"Why don't you lock the door?"
"I didn't want you to think I wasn't hungry when you came to bring me food."
He sighed. "You're still hungry?"
Abigail fell back onto her bed in an exasperated fashion. "I'm starving."
He returned minutes later with a bowl of ravioli from a can and a glass of apple juice. He wasn't sure what the girl had expected or what kids usually ate. He wasn't going to waste the time of throwing chicken nuggets and fries into the oven.
He handed over the fork and bowl, reminding the girl it was hot and sat the glass of apple juice on her bed stand.
Abigail ate eagerly while Sebastian pushed his heavy head into his hands on the edge of her bed.
"Do you need a hug,' she asked between a bite of food.
"I'm not sure that would make me feel much better, but you can give it a shot."
He heard the sound of her bowl being placed on the wood, shortly after, soft and small arms wrapped around his torso, her head cradled under his arm. He could feel her warm hands, hot from the bowl, as she hugged tight but not roughly. Raising his arm, he wrapped a hand around her in response.
"Look at that? You cured me."
She gave a playful giggle. "It would be funny if I tickled you right now, huh?"
"Abigail, I have no reservations on hurling all over your cute, little carpet."
"Gross,' she began immediately, pulling away and taking a sip of apple juice. "Where's Hunter?"
Sebastian shrugged, pining for the glass of apple juice. Abigail took a large gulp of the drink, filling her mouth until her cheeks bulged and handed the glass over to Sebastian.
He didn't feel sick, but he was well drunk and fading. He tried to remember the details of the conversations he had that night, but could only place a few faces and general topics. He remembered Quinn and imagined she was somewhere crying by that time.
That was, terribly, satisfying to him. He liked to flirt with the idea that he was becoming a better person or looking at things differently, and in a way: he was. He had talked to Savannah on the phone once or twice after he'd left her apartment for the weekend, and he'd spent most of his free time practicing tennis (not that that was his choice). He hadn't spent much time with Mercedes in person, but they talked on the phone regularly. While he liked her, greatly, he couldn't shake the feeling that the relationship felt charitable. Despite all of her fight, he found himself usually doing something for her— which was fine, not necessarily on brand, no one had ever considered him a 'giver', but he was feeling rather… philanthropic. To add onto the complex was the obvious wealth gap, his popularity opposed to hers and his privilege.
He figured he didn't have to change his way of thinking, not entirely, as long as his actions were different or better. It was a slow process, so he didn't criticize himself, but the disdain he felt for Quinn was awful. In a way, she reminded him of himself. An extremely tough shell, almost impossible to crack, but there was no way everything was as perfect as it seemed with her. He wanted to see her at her most vulnerable, completely stripped of all of her pretense— plainly, just like who they all were: exceptionally confused, emotionally inept and growing more and more disillusioned.
What he really couldn't stand was the idea that maybe she was perfect, maybe she'd had the perfect combination of what it took to have a good life. Maybe not everyone was confused, unsettled and disgruntled deep down. Maybe they were all as shallow as they seemed, and he was the weird one.
He kept his wall as high as her's, and they never missed a time to row.
Sebastian took a sip from the glass and sat it by his feet. Abigail had returned to eating, but sat, humming a song and looking around vividly. He wondered how she sustained herself, a wild imagination, he figured. Sebastian had, personally, never seen Hunter play with the girl, and the two were Sarah and Geordie's only children. Their father was an established ex-diplomat that was still very connected in European affairs, thus often away, and Sarah was much like Tierney, however, not as intelligent and thereby not as unnerving to generally know. Abigail was eight and extremely slight, a bit quirky but kind. If he was any better, in general, he would spend more time with her. He liked her more than anyone else, he convinced himself. She was small, rosy-cheeked and innocent.
"Were you not having fun?"
He looked over at her, quickly allowing a smile to play across his face. A stuffed giraffe sat beside her. "Abigail, you think I'd rather be downstairs with all of those people I see every day instead of hanging out up here with you?"
She raised her eyebrows playfully. "You're being sarcastic,' she spat.
"Abby, don't use words with me that you can't spell."
"I can spell it,' she said indignantly.
Sebastian smirked. "No way."
Before she could respond, Sebastian heard knocking at the door and a small voice beckoning him. Furrowing his eyebrows, he listened closer to determine if he was actually hearing his name being called.
"Jesus Christ,' he groaned, dropping to his knees and crawling to sit hidden beside one end of Abigail's bed. She peaked over the bed-end at him with curious eyes.
"What,' she asked, excitedly.
He shook his head, beginning to laugh into his knees, pulled tightly to his chest. When he lifted his head, he took his baseball cap off and pushed his hair back. "This girl won't leave me alone, Abby."
Abigail shrugged, things were easy for her. She went back to the bowl. "Tell her to go away."
At that moment, the door opened, and Sebastian, who hadn't done a good job at hiding, tucked his head between his knees again and hoped she would get the hint.
"Is this Hunter's little sister?"
No one in the room replied.
"Why aren't you downstairs with everybody else?"
Sebastian lifted his head and rubbed his eyes. "I'm drunk, Quinn. I'm not trying to have another mishap like last time. I'm just cooling off."
She looked small and sweet in the dimly lit room. She wore pink.
"Can you talk to me in the hallway for a second,' she asked.
Sighing, Sebastian wiped his hands on his pants and stood. He assumed he would be back within minutes and didn't address Abigail, but closed her door behind him. He would lock it when he came back in.
"Whatever you've been scheming to say for the past hour, you should really just save it,' he said, tucked into a shadowed, white corner.
"Sebastian. It's me. No one else is here, drop it,' Quinn began.
He raised his hands in a faux-surrender.
"Look,' she pushed her hair behind her ears. "We're friends. We've always been friends, why are you taking everything so seriously now?"
Sebastian shook his head. "I don't know what part we're both missing, so let's course correct. We,' he motioned between the two. "Are not friends. We have the same friends, we go to the same school, maybe we even like the same music, but that's it, Quinn. You're not a good person. You're one of the wickedest people I know, and it's like you get off on that—,"
She cut him off, "Oh, like you're that much different?"
"You think I get off on calling poor people 'poor' to their face, on calling fat people 'fat' to their face? You think I go out of my way to make sure everybody around me feels like they will never be as good as me?"
"The difference between you and me, Sebastian, is that you don't have to go out of your way,' she pointed a finger, accusing him. "You show up, and everyone feels it."
He looked at her, a loud, muted roar of music spilling beneath them. He couldn't make out all of her features in the dark hallway, but he felt her rage. "You want an apology?"
"I don't think you're capable of it."
He continued his dead expression. "We're at a party… There's at least twenty other guys downstairs who are going to give you what you want. It ain't me."
Quinn nodded and bit her lip. She tilted her head backwards and started to grin playfully. "So, you think you really hate me now?"
He nodded.
She grabbed his hand, but he didn't pull away. She came closer. "Let me make it up to you."
"I don't think so."
"Why,' Quinn whispered, closing the space between her and the boy completely. "You never tell me 'no'."
"It's been awhile since I told you 'yes',' Sebastian trailed.
She gulped, "I thought that Finn and I had something."
"Yeah,' he teased. "And where's Finn now? State? Fucking something tighter and not as whiny?"
"Why don't you just come out and say you like the rush of hate fucking?— if you want it like that, just ask."
Sebastian took a step back, his back entirely on the wall. "The pastor's fucking daughter."
She smiled but said nothing.
"Quinn, you're hot."
"I know."
"That changes nothing."
She came close again, wrapping her hands around his waist and moving to kiss his neck. "Are you sure,' she whispered.
"I'm positive,' Sebastian started, looking down at her. She had hungry eyes, she was eager to please, and they had done this dance plenty of times before. However, his disdain for her had risen to never-before-seen heights in the more recent months. He hadn't engaged her in genuine conversation once that school year, much less touched her. She was beautiful and knew it. The physical attraction meant nothing but much less when he couldn't stand to be around the girl in any setting other than a bedroom.
All the same, she was trying. Hard.
"I'm going to hurt your feelings, baby,' he whispered, just as she came close enough to kiss him on the lips. He kissed her back, and she gave a moan which was typical of her.
"You're not that good,' she replied.
Sebastian pulled his head back and gave the girl a pouted smirk.
"At hurting my feelings,' she corrected quickly. "You're good at other things."
"Yeah, yeah,' Sebastian responded sarcastically. He ran his fingers through her hair, tilting her head back sternly, but she smiled.
He acknowledged, bitterly, that he and Quinn were a lot alike.
"We locked his parents' room."
Still smiling, but dawning surreal seriousness, she started: "You didn't think we were gonna hook up at a party, Sebastian,' she pointed a finger at her chest for emphasis. "I'm not getting fucked in Hunter's parents' bedroom— let's go to your place."
Sebastian raised his eyebrows, shock playing everywhere on his expression. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"You're not that drunk,' she protested, kissing him quickly on the lips. "Sebastian, I can tell. You're fine."
He shook his head in frustration, wondering if his car was blocked in by all the teenagers at the party. He thought for a few seconds about how he'd have to sneak Quinn in the house and out the next morning, then bring her back to Hunter's to get her car, if she had driven. Doubly, he was still drunk— maybe not drunk enough to make obvious mistakes, but drunk enough that he felt more comfortable sleeping at Hunter's house… But then, he thought about how he hadn't gotten laid since the summer— nearly three months ago. He recognized that while girls liked him, a lot, most of them weren't beaming to roll around the sheets— at least not initially. He wasn't particularly interested in dating anyone in his social sphere, but would, eventually, more than likely, get roped into it by the promise of an established and consistent sexual relationship and the social stigma of what being a perpetual bachelor implied. He had literally never dated anyone.
The entire idea of relationships made him uncomfortable. Namely, the possession of another person: feeling like he owed himself to someone or needed to be emotionally responsible.
Secondly, he had never thought of himself as being someone that could or would be monogamous. If anything, monogamy would be the by-product of his louche laziness. He didn't really want to have to perform the dating ritual and self esteem performance of finding a partner every time he wanted a need met.
Thirdly, but most importantly, most people were boring to him. Or dull. Or stupid. Or simply had nothing worth liking— nothing worth admiring— nothing worth loving.
He knew, eventually, he would settle down. Probably with a petite, beautiful blonde. Maybe even with Quinn, but until he was rich enough to satisfy his appetites with leisure trips and hot, European models, and she had benefited from hypergamy enough to drown her sorrows in a prescription bottle or perhaps within her own trifles, he wasn't settling down.
No fucking way.
His keys were in his pocket. Sebastian pulled them out slowly, eyeing the girl. "I swear to God, Quinn,' he began with a sigh.
