Jamie was drunk. Again.
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The loud music pulsed almost painfully in his ears as he danced up against some guy he wouldn't remember in the morning. He felt elated, his body covered in a light sheen of sweat. Everything was ever so slightly hazy, almost dream-like. The man swaying against him ground his ass into Jamie's crotch, igniting a twinge of pleasure. Nothing felt better to Jamie than this.
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The man suddenly turned in Jamie's arms, and his hands that had been clutching the guy's upper thighs were now on his ass. The dark-haired man pressed a sloppy, open mouthed kiss on Jamie's neck.
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"D'you wanna come back to my place?" the man slurred, sounding far more intoxicated than Jamie was. His hands were roaming Jamie's body now, and when he tried to slide them down the back of Jamie's pants, Jamie seized his wrists and squeezed until the other man cried out in pain and yanked them back.
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"I told you," Jamie said sharply. "I don't sleep with drunk guys. And I don't sleep with anybody while I'm drunk."
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"Fuckin' asshole," the other man muttered, rubbing his sore wrists.
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"Yeah, I'm the asshole," Jamie snorted. "Scram."
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With a glare and a huff, the guy stalked off. Jamie sighed and ran a hand through his unruly golden curls. Clearly, he was not drunk enough.
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He made his way to the kitchen, where the drinks were. It was much quieter here, with far fewer drunk partiers. Only a Black girl with two curly buns high on her head sat at the table, cheek resting on her palm as she scrolled endlessly through her phone with a bored expression.
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Jamie had intended to pour himself another drink and head back out into the fray, but something about the girl beckoned him to stay. He found himself asking,
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"You want me to pour you a drink?"
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The girl started, looking up at him with a pounding heart. "What?"
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"Uh, do you wanna drink?" the guy at the island counter repeated, looking awkward.
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"Oh, um, no thanks." She grunted and shook her head. "I don't, uh, drink. And anyway, I wouldn't let a random stranger at a party pour me a drink after hearing too many stories on the news about date rape…" she trailed off, realizing she was rambling.
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"I get it." The fair-haired boy brought his plastic cup over to where she was, sitting on the side of the table to her right.
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She stared at him. He's really cute, she thought, watching his slender hands twist the cup he was holding back and forth. When his eyes flicked up to meet hers, she hurriedly turned her gaze away, cheeks warming. She cringed her eyes closed and folded her left arm up against itself, tensing it and holding the position for a few seconds.
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"So. Why're you at a party if you don't drink or dance?" the boy inquired, propping his chin against his fist. When she looked over at him again, he offered her a sweet smile.
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She returned the smile tentatively, then blinked hard. "My parents… They're always pushing me to be social. To get out of the house, because of my…depression. It makes me want to stay home." Oh God, who was she telling him all this? It was her fatal flaw, oversharing. Suddenly, she made a hiccupping sound.
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"So…" Jamie started, struggling to formulate a response, "you came to a party. To socialize, right?" The girl nodded. "And you decided that the best way to go about this was to hole up in the kitchen, away from the party?" She smiled embarrassedly.
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"It's really more to (hic) get my mom out of my hair. I hate parties." She laughed, and it did funny things to Jamie's heart. He shifted uncomfortably.
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"Then why not do something else? Go skating? Bowling? Join a local club?"
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"I just figured, I've only been to one party, and that was in high school, y'know?" She grunted. "This is my second year in college. So, I thought I would see if I would like it. And I don't." She shrugged.
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"Hmm." Jamie leaned back in the creaky chair. He absently raised the cup to his lips, welcoming the burn of the alcohol as it slipped down his throat
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"So what are you—" the girl started to say before she suddenly tucked her chin down against her chest and scrunching her face up. Jamie frowned, concerned.
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"Hey, you good—" he began, reaching out a hand, before cringing back as she let out a blood-curdling scream.
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What the fuck is happening? he thought, alarmed.
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As soon as she stopped screaming, the girl leapt to her feet, grabbing up her messenger bag.
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"I have to go," she said, sounding panicked. Before Jamie could react, she was darting out the front door.
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"Wha—wait!" Jamie scrambled after her, his drink forgotten on the table.
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The girl was already several yards up the road by the time he reached the end of the driveway. He sprinted after her, feet pounding the asphalt. He felt a little unsteady from the alcohol he had consumed, but it was manageable.
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"Hey, stop—" Jamie said sharply as he caught up to the dark-skinned girl. He caught her arm, pulling her to a halt. She immediately twisted out of his feet grip, but thankfully stopped walking.
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"What happened?" Jamie panted out as he bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
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"Nothing," the girl mumbled uncertainly. "Why did you follow me out here, anyway?"
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Jamie gave her an incredulous look. "You fucking screamed and ran out the door! What else was I supposed to do?"
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"Well, you needn't have concerned yourself with me," she responded stiffly. Sensing her discomfort, Jamie backed off the subject.
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"What's your name, then?" he asked, relief filling him as she visibly relaxed.
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She turned a smile on him, squaring her shoulders.
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"Miel," she answered confidently. "Miel Banks."
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Jamie smiled at her, the first one that night that crinkled the corners of his eyes. Miel felt like he had taken the sun from the sky and beamed it upon just her.
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When Miel came back to herself, she looked away and tugged self-consciously on the sleeve of her olive green sweater. After just a moment, she raised her eyes back to his. Having gone from one dimly lit environment to another, she couldn't tell what color his eyes were, just that they were pale.
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"What about you?" Miel scrunched her face for a moment. "What, uh. Is your name?"
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"Jamie McNamara."
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"Pleased to meet you. Do you...need to be walked home? (Grunt). I know you've been drinking."
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"You don't have to," Jamie mumbled. "But you can if you want "
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"It would make me feel better." Miel offered him a soft smile that made his heart twinge again.
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"Alright," Jamie said with a growing sense of unease. "I don't live far."
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They walked the few blocks in silence, and Miel made to walk past the huge house when Jamie called,
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"Here."
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Miel turned to gape at the house.
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"You live here?" she said in disbelief. Jamie gave her an uncomfortable smile.
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"Uh...yeah. For now." Jamie felt like he couldn't wait to be out of Miel's presence, but then he paused. Why did she make him feel this way? He shouldn't, but…
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Suddenly seeming to relax in a way that bewildered Miel, Jamie flashed her a charming smile that felt a little forced.
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"Why don't you come in? My parents won't be home tonight."
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Miel hesitated. What would her parents think about her going into this random, drunk white guy's house? But then…maybe she didn't really care what happened to her.
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"Alright. Sure."
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The inside of the house was just as grand. It wasn't a mansion, but it was trying hard to be one. The foyer had stone floors with a carpeted seating area in the center that Miel doubted was ever used, and vaulted ceilings made every small sound echo. Jamie grabbed her hand with a "Come on" and pulled her further into the house.
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Towards the back of the house, past a luxurious recreation room and a home theater, was a small cluster of doors.
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"My parents insist on us having our rooms close together, even though we hardly interact. I guess they like the look of a close family when they give people the grand tour." Miel was shocked by the venom in his voice. "I shouldn't have told you that," Jamie sighed, opening his door and ushering Miel in. He flipped the lock out of habit, then unlocked it again when he noticed Miel tensing out of the corner of his eye.
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Idiot, he berated himself.
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"Make yourself comfortable," he offered hospitably, gesturing to a small seating area in front of a gas fireplace. As she settled onto the black leather loveseat, he flicked on the fire to chase away the chill in the room.
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He hesitated, then opened the cabinet in his bedside table and pulled out one of the bottles of alcohol he kept in there. He sat down in the chair at the opposite end of the couch where Miel was sitting and propped his socked feet up on the coffee table. He took a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle, then caught Miel's frown.
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"Are you sure you should be…I mean, how much have you had to drink tonight?" she asked. The concern in her voice made Jamie want to bury his face in his arms and never stop crying. He hated it.
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"That's none of your damn business," he replied harshly. "I left you alone about your screaming, didn't I?" Miel looked like she wanted to argue, but finally pressed her lips into a thin line and looked away.
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"Why did you bring me in here?" she asked as he took another sip from the bottle. "If you're…I'm not…"
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Jamie laughed and he realized what she was getting at. "I didn't bring you back here to fuck you, Miel," he assured her, trying to make his voice a little gentler. "I don't do that. And I'm gay."
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"Oh. Okay."
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They lapsed into an awkward silence where Miel squeezed her fingers together in her lap and tried to pretend not to notice Jamie scrutinizing gaze. She could feel it pressing against her like a weight, lighting her skin on fire. She knew this boy was gay, but her body didn't seem to.
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Jamie took one last drink, then leaned forward and set the bottle down on the table. He stood up, his breathing ragged as he simply hovered there for a moment, sounding as if he were about to cry. Miel could feel the air moving as he stepped toward her, before sitting down beside her on the loveseat.
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"Who are you, Miel Banks?" The boy's breath ghosted over her ear in a murmur. Miel swallowed.
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"I…" she whispered. She turned to face Jamie, and he was shocked to see the thinly veiled fear in her warm brown eyes.
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Good, Jamie thought bitterly, filled with self-loathing. If she's scared, she'll stay away. If she's scared…I won't have to feel these things…
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"Why do you make my heart feel this way?" Jamie breathed. What? No! Why was he saying this to her?
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"What?" Suddenly Jamie became aware of how close their faces were. Had he been leaning in that much? Miel hadn't moved an inch…
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Against his own desires, Jamei found himself swaying closer, like a cobra to a charmer. So close. He could lean forward just an inch more and their lips would be brushing.
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"Jamie…" Miel looked completely torn, longing and conflict flickering in her honeyed eyes.
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Abruptly, she pulled away and stood. She pulled her arms to her chest and tensed, her face cringing.
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"I have to go." Jamie watched, frozen, as she slipped into her coat, collected her bag, and disappeared from sight around him. He didn't turn to watch her leave, the soft, final click of the door latching shut behind her the only indication that she had gone.
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Jamie leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands.
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Fuck.
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