ShameLess (7 page)

“Holy shitballs! This is freaking amazing! I didn’t expect it to be so crowded already. It’s still early. I’m just going to try to park along the grass. Yell if you see a spot. Okay?” Enthusiasm is overwhelming me through Jade’s animated, bubbly personality.

This place is only ten minutes away from campus, on the outskirts of town, but it is isolated and situated down an unusually long dirt, and gravel lane. It is located among thick wooded areas, with many large trees. Very country. The privacy it offers makes for a perfect party location. There are cars parked in the grass on the lawn, taking up space almost the entire length of the lane. Some parked uphill with their passenger side doors virtually eating the bark off the trees. Crazy!

I nod while mumbling, “Hmm-hmm,” unable to speak.

I fidget in my seat, picking at the unsoften cuticles around my nail beds, continuing to zone out. Honestly, I’m trying to fight against the impulse of physically getting sick. I reach in my jean pocket, tug out my lip-gloss, jerk down the overhead-lit mirror above the visor, and apply a little extra, not knowing what else to do to calm my nerves.

“Oh my god, Ren! You look fucking ah-mah-Z-ing! Calm down. You’re going to have the best night ever, I promise!”

“There!” I screech out, interrupting Jade while pointing to a tight spot I am certain she can squeeze her small car into. Not wanting to address the whole ‘best night ever’ statement or my nerves, and refusing to admit I’m more worried about how I feel than how I look; I push my lip-gloss back down inside my pocket. I don’t want her to know that this is me walking, not taking baby steps. This is me, not crawling - at all. In fact, I have gone to extraordinary lengths to create new habits lately, not because I didn’t like my old ones, but because I am struggling to
know
me again.

“Seriously, you are SO gorge!” Jade makes it a point to emphasize the last ‘g’ in the word. I just stare blankly at her. It has been such a long time since anyone has referred to me as ‘gorge’, or anything remotely similar. Hell, apart from being called a whore, slut, or murderer, it has been such a long, long time since a ‘friend’ has complimented me. Truthfully, it feels nice. Next to Jade, I don’t feel the least bit gorge. Nevertheless, inside, my heart smiles as I embrace the compliment.

“Stop staring at me like that, Ren. Gorge – you know, as in gorgeous! Oh never mind.” Jade waves her right hand, discharging my vacant stare. She lets out a childish silly laugh and turns the ignition off. She places her keys in her hand and hops out of the driver’s seat.

Jade leans down into the car as she remains holding onto the open car door, and exclaims, “C’mon, already. Let’s go inside!” She slams the door shut, presses the alarm button on her keyless remote to activate it, and then crams her keys into her jeans pocket.

She starts walking across the lawn toward the house, urging me to follow her. She pauses, “Oh shit! Let’s make sure we have each other’s cell numbers. You know, just in case, we get lost from one another.” A slight devilish twinkle sparks in her eye that immediately has me really doubting having caved earlier.

Jade pulls out her cell and starts scrolling through her contacts. “Yay! I already have yours saved,” she confirms.

I hadn’t thought about it. Lost? What the hell, Jade!
I’m still pondering the whole devil in her eyes look, so I’m just now considering the whole ‘lost’ comment. The two plus two of all of this is suddenly summing itself.
Fuck!
Somehow, I manage to take mine out, as well, and start scrolling. I come to Elle’s name. I freeze, not realizing I hadn’t yet deleted her number. The reality tears into me like a crack of splitting concrete under a blazing summer sun.

As if on cue, Jade stops after noticing that I’m no longer walking beside her. “Come on Ren! Hurry up! I can already feel the energy rolling out of doors!” In so many ways, she really is so much like Elle it scares me.
They would have been best friends.

“Be there in a sec,” I yell back. This is not entirely a lie because just as I froze upon seeing Elle’s name, my heel sunk into the grass. I had to pull it out. I didn’t even want to come, let alone wear these damn heels, regardless of knowing they look killer with this shirt. Jade insisted, saying all of the girls would be wearing them. Yes, I knew this to be true, too. It hasn’t been that long ago that I was actually a trendsetter, and well aware of the ins and outs of the latest fashions. This was when I actually gave a shit about my appearance aside from being comfy. Most days, anymore, I couldn’t care less if I even wore any make-up. Like these damn heels, Jade insisted I wear make-up, even going so far as to assert her suggestion of a smoky eye application. So, to appease her, I caved, again.

I catch up to Jade as she reaches the stairs leading up to the front doors, where only one is ajar. “Hey… sorry about that. Yep, I have your number saved.”

“Great! Let’s get this party started.” Jade links her elbow through mine.

Together, we step inside.

“This is so cool,” she remarks as her get-up-and-go clearly seems to have sped up upon stepping inside, especially being greeted by some
Rock Party Anthem
by LMFAO. Some strange guy walks past us while we are standing awkwardly inside the door. Jade unlinks her elbow from mine to snatch his beer from his hand and downs it faster than the guy even has time to blink. She merely smiles at him, bats her eyelashes, and thanks him before walking off. The guy didn’t even know what hit him. Heck, even if he did, he didn’t seem very concerned about it.

He just shrugs his shoulders while murmuring under his already drunken breath, “What the hell, dude?” Jade snaps back, in her flirty voice, mimicking the beat of the song, “Party rock is in the house tonight.” He shrugs, again, while fisting her and then stares at her ass while she saunters vivaciously past him.

I follow her, appearing like a lost puppy or a forgotten morning shadow crowned by shade. Uncomfortable is an understatement. I am not used to this, at all anymore. I promised myself I would no longer enjoy being social or be the center of attention, like before. So, this means I need to stay disciplined. I. Can. Do. This.

Humbly, I remain following Jade, weaving between lots of people. Some are already drunk; some are not. In each room that we stroll through, she doesn’t hesitate as she stops to ‘mix-n-mingle’ with people; guys and girls alike. Never once does she fail to introduce me, so I have to give her credit for that. My roommate is the social butterfly I used to be. A minor sting of envy reminds me of the life I sort of miss, but its phantom recaps all of the many reasons why I can’t.

As we move from room to room, fascination sets in. A college party is so unlike our small town parties in high school. There is no comparison, truthfully. Jade is right, this is totally off the hook. She is already starting to move her body, wiggling her hips as Robin Thicke sings the chorus of “
Blurred Lines
”. I am beginning to feel a jolt of energy stir my insides as the tune thrums through my veins, especially seeing everyone else having a great time dancing, or moving their bodies. Being beside Jade as she rocks to the beat only instigates this for me. I love dancing!

The haunting reminder of prom creeps up. It was the last time I danced. I have to resist the impulse to move along with the music, regardless of how awful the memory is for me. As a safe alternative, I choose to people watch. Entertaining enough, right? Yep, I think so too. The house is trashed. I am finding it difficult to absorb all that is going on around me. Shit! I guess it’s a sign of my mother’s OCD in me, oh god! I deny the realization, hoping and praying I am wrong and I’m just suffering from overactive nervous tension. Actually, I do notice there are quite a number of people and things to distract me. Aside from the traditional beer bong chugs, keg stands, and beer pong challenges, I see girls dancing on tables, a game of strip poker, and couples locking lips, arms, legs and…
Get a room already!

I turn my gaze away from the obvious soon-to-be one night hook-ups to observe that the open floor plan is spacious. It’s exposed enough that you can see into one room while standing in another. The same columns from the porch are throughout the lower level, which is where we are. In one room, to the right of the main foyer where we initially entered, sits a pool table front and center. This appears to be the living room. Guys are shooting pool with some girls who seem to be trying. Of course, they are just mostly winning at being annoying, not being able to handle their alcohol, versus actually being able to shoot any balls into the pockets. There are others standing around or leaning against some oversized club chairs positioned against the far wall. In the room to the left of the same foyer, there are some old 70’s-80’s video games, like, Centipede, Ms. Pac Man, and Galaxa, with a couple of pinball machines and a foosball table; which happens to be where people in this area are gathered. This room feels like home to me because my mom has Ms. Pac Man, other old pinball machines and video arcade games in our family’s rec room downstairs. I grew up quite familiar with the pop culture of the era she was raised in, from movies to music, and, yes, even video games.

Straight ahead, from where we are standing is an exposed and large kitchen, separated from the rest of the house by oversized pillars supporting a grand archway that forms into deep convex curved arches leading out to a rear terrace. It’s a frat house, so guys are not overly aware of the old architecture; let alone its design or appeal. I, however, immediately warm to thoughts of what this house would look like
if
not occupied by college guys, and was actually fixed up. It would be awesome!

I am acquainted with picking stuff like this out because my mom studied architectural design in college. She had to drop out after her junior year to have me at an early age, though. I’ve often considered this may be the very reason she tries so hard to be socially accepted, goes out of her way to volunteer, and yearns to have me do the same.
Oh well…
To this day, though, she never misses an opportunity to point out specific characteristics when we drive by a building that catches her eye. This house is certainly something she would have fun remodeling.

The kitchen is bare save for the empty, half-full, and stacked beer cans that form a pyramid. Liquor bottles sit atop the center island countertop. Trash is scattered about and dirty dishes are piled up in the sink.
Mom would have a field day in here, with the design style and cleaning.

Fully occupied by my newfound enjoyment of people watching, they style and disarray of this house, and also contemplating what my Mom would do with this kitchen, I didn’t realize Jade was no longer standing beside me. I don’t even know at what point she even walked off. Here, I am at a wild, ‘kick-ass’ party as referred to earlier by Jade, surrounded by a house full of people, but utterly alone thinking about my mom, cleaning, and architecture of all things!

Seconds ago, I was examining the kitchen that I’ve now taken a few steps into. Leaning now, I brace myself against the countertop. I am wondering why in the hell I let Jade talk me into coming here tonight. I am fully prepared to go in search of her when my phone vibrates inside my pocket. Hoping it’s her texting to let me know she is ready to leave, I yank it out, anxiously. Nope, not Jade! It is my Mom.

“All ok. Hope your first day was great & you’re getting settled. Baby steps. Btw call dad. LY”

Somehow, she always seems to
know
. I don’t want to alarm her. She is such a worry-wart with me now, so I opt for a swift, satisfying reply,

“Yep. I know Mom. I’ll text later & will call dad. Tired and going to bed. LY2”

I click send and hit the button on top of my iPhone to turn the backlight off. I gaze up and lock eyes with the most gorgeous guy I have ever seen. Holy shit! It’s HIM! Really! He is walking into the kitchen. An apparent drunken chick hangs on him, but he seems to be walking toward me.
Me!
Reactively, I lower my eyes not wanting to send him the wrong message. Despite doing so, I can closely feel my face beaming ten shades of pinks and reds. Oh my god, I’m blushing! Now, I am beyond self-conscious.

Omg! Don’t come over here. Don’t come OVER HERE!

I look up and find his eyes still fixated on mine. The edge of his black beanie covers part of his forehead. It drapes, swooping just across the top of his brow. He looks great. I mean, hats look good on him. Ha! I don’t even know what I mean exactly. I just know that my palms are getting sticky, clammy, and I am becoming a lot more nervous. I can feel how flushed my face is. I have never been this anxious before.

He yanks his arm away from the bombed bimbo, not giving any regard to her feelings. She reaches for him again. He turns to her, “I said I’d catch you later,” and then steps away from her. She huffs but staggers off.

I would stake a bet that she won’t remember any of this in the morning. I would also bet this arrogant side of him comes out more often than I care to wager any money in my bank account on. Instantly, my blush fades to annoyance.