He woke up in the darkness noticing a tightness in his chest. Luckily it was not the insidious presence that beset him in every sleep paralysis, but Moxie confusing him with his basket. He reached for the cell phone and looked at the time. The party had only just begun.
His father's snoring echoed throughout the house, encouraging him in his decision to leave.
He took out the first thing he saw in the closet: a pair of shabby jeans and a Gengar shirt, only to end up returning the latter to his coat rack. He replaced it with a gray polo shirt and then took the clothes to the bathroom, where he cleaned and dressed without delay.
After fifteen minutes he was already chaining the bike at Capitol Hill. The place where the party was held was a huge colonial-style house. If the building itself intimidated enough to rethink the turn, what was inside was enough to convince him to leave as soon as possible. The party accommodated several dozen students from different schools, all dressed in formalwear. Apparently, in the event published on Facebook it was specified that everyone went well dressed. He cursed himself for not having bothered to read it.
Several pairs of eyes fixed on Andrew and he heard his name mentioned above the music. He had a firm opinion about the crowds: they were preferable to small groups as they made it easier to go unnoticed, but under certain circumstances, when he was momentarily dispossessed of his natural talent to merge with the environment, Andrew ran the risk of losing control. Like his father when he got drunk, at that time it was difficult to distinguish the features and singularity of others. It was like being trapped in an evil shoal that blinded and suffocated him.
For that reason, it was hard for him to identify Steve Montgomery when he stood in front of him. Andrew had always liked him. He had a special expertise to break the ice and a contagious charisma that made him feel comfortable, although he used to invade his physical space more than desired. The quarterback of the school's football team and current candidate for the presidency of the student body was the living example that fame did not necessarily spoil everyone. Suddenly they talked like close friends; Well, it was a one-sided conversation, because Andrew was mostly listening, but it was nice to know that he recognized him among the endless group that formed his circle of acquaintances.
They talked about their common experiences. The birthdays in which Mrs. Montgomery organized Yinkanas, the marathons of Disney and horror films, and the eldest daughter of the Montgomery, Amanda. Andrew showed great interest towards her to Steve's surprise. She was only five years older than them but she was believed to be an adult with the right and duty to make fun of her brother's and friends' children's games. Like almost everyone, Andrew had been scolded by her, but he never took it badly. She wasn't like Jimmy Waterstone, who laughed at his second-hand clothes and books. There was something consciously self-parodic in her way of arguing that had made him smile like a fool on more than one occasion.
"She's finishing college and is likely to do internships at Bothell High."
"Here? Cool"
Pillow Wars. Payment channels. Buttered sandwiches to the edges. Even then, at the dawn of his childhood, he had understood that Steve's house was a world that did not belong to him.
One of the members of the school rugby team took the quarterback by the sword and dragged it playfully. Steve apologized with a smile. Laughing, the two beefy athletes moved away from Andrew. The swell of students, who had retreated during their conversation with Steve, returned and raged with the rubbing of sweaty bodies and the stench of alcoholic breaths. Maybe he was still in time to retrace his steps without screwing up. He had decided: he would look for Monica to thank her and leave.
Suddenly the aforementioned made her way through the crowd to greet him. She was wearing a miss tape and a cotton candy-shaped wig. She dazzled him with a smile of perfect teeth and put a plastic cup the size of a pot in his hands. Andrew tried to tell her that he was grateful, but that he was abstemious. Monica raised her voice a lot to make herself heard above Lady Gaga's song that was playing to the delight of a group of homosexuals who chanted her on the dance floor.
"I'm glad you came! Are you having fun?"
That question was followed by an awkward interrogation on the subject par excellence, which he faced with all the strength he could muster. While talking, the girl put her hand to her chest with affectation. Andrew tried to change the subject, but Monica turned the conversation over and over to the same subject while repeating all the common places that used to be told to someone dealing with the loss. She was very drunk. But Andrew sensed that she was a good person. Alcohol only floated her affective side, just as it also exposed the monster that was his father.
He wanted to leave. His energy reserves were low, but he didn't find a way to cut it.
Without being fully aware, Andrew also started drinking. At first it was a mere practicality, to avoid splashing the ground in the presence of Monica. Then he sipped a little when he heard that nothing lasts forever, and a little more when Monica assured him that time heals any wounds. A big sip every time she talked about love that never leaves us. And so on until the glass had emptied without realizing it.
The crowd was transforming before their unfocused sight; the chaotic shoal turned into a harmless mass, and Andrew moved between them without fear of colliding, like a fish in synchronized and polarized swimming that takes advantage of favorable currents. Then he realized that Monica was driving him to her room, and of the obvious intentions of something like that. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and confessed something he considered of mutual interest:
"I´m a virgin"
Monica turned and ruffled Andrew´s hair like he was an anxious puppy.
"I don´t know why. You are very cute"
"I'm just really picky"
Monica must have found her chastity worthy of pity, because her eyes dampened and she took him to his room as if he were leading a confused patient to his hospital room. Andrew's stomach stirred disturbingly and he regretted not eating anything. Usually, the boys of his condition experienced nerves as well as expectation, but in his case it was simply a bundle of nerves.
"Be calm," Monica said, sitting Andrew delicately on her bed. "You won´t have to do anything."
The manicured hands of the young woman touched the upper part of his thighs in anticipation of what would happen. Refusing would have been a humiliation for her. And being Monica a charming and sexy girl, it was convenient that his own humiliation be subject to the wishes of her hostess. He pursed his lips and closed his eyes, trusting that nature would end up working its miracle. The mistake was to assume that a freak like him was governed by the same desires as others. Thus, the humiliation he eventually experienced far exceeded any other he considered when the gastric juices in his stomach went to Monica's hair.
"I'm sorry," he said in a higher octave.
Monica pulled away just as Andrew vomited for the second time, staining the plush carpet. Tears sprouted from the effort and were diluted in the pool of vomit, which was joined by a few more tears of frustration and disgust caused by his own body, fundamentally failed.
Looking away from the floor, he discovered that he was alone in the room, but not for long; downstairs, in the dining room, an ominous silence had spread.
He used the tactic that he was often forced to do when he felt cornered: jump out the window. The height was larger than that of his room, but the grass was also considerably softer and cushioned his fall. Moving in the the shadows, he was finally able to reach the bicycle, unleash it and pedal back home.