Into the Night

by Marin Montgomery

  “I don’t want him to see me sick.” She’s appalled at my suggestion.

  “Why? He digs you.”

  “Would you want Nicholas or any random guy seeing you throw up?” She shoves me away from her, annoyed.

  Point taken. I can’t even handle my father seeing me puke, let alone a stranger.

  “Let’s get you some aspirin and a wet cloth and see how you feel.” Mother used to give us a warm washcloth to soothe our temples when we were sick. I soak a couple of paper towels under the faucet and gently pat my sister’s face.

  Her eyes look bleary and dilated under the harsh lighting.

  Fishing in my purse for a bottle of medicine, I hand her a couple pills and watch as my cell phone screen flashes. It’s our father.

  “Oh shit.” I say.

  “What?”

  “Daddy’s calling.”

  “Don’t answer,” she shrieks. “He’ll know we’re drunk.”

  “But I promised him I would answer when he called.”

  “If you answer the phone, we’ll be busted and he’ll fly us home immediately and we’ll never go anywhere again,” she pleads. “Let it go to voicemail. Call him tomorrow, tell him the ringer was off or we were sleeping.”

  It’s past 11 P.M. Almost believable.

  “Can you hang for a bit more?”

  She takes a deep breath, gripping the sink. “Hand me my lip gloss.”

  “That’s my baby brat,” I say, yanking out her pink sparkly tube. She swipes some across her lips, dabbing at it with a finger.

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She gives me a weak smile.

  I wish I could say I cared at this point about how she felt, that I noticed her eyes becoming more dilated, but I didn’t, because I was too self-involved with Nicholas.

  We walk back out to the bar, arm in arm, our steps awkward and forced.

  “You guys okay?” Will asks, his eyebrows raised at our drunken stumbling.

  “Yep.” I help Bristol slide onto the stool next to Will, taking my place next to Nicholas on the opposite side.

  “Good, because we got the next round.” Nicholas pushes a blue drink over to me, and Will’s thrusting the other at Bristol.

  “These the girls?” The bartender, a man in his late twenties or early thirties, asks. He’s wearing a gold wedding ring and a simple gold chain with a cross around his neck, nestled in the copious amount of chest hair he has.

  I freeze for a moment, deer in the headlights.

  Oh shit, are we in trouble?

  Nicholas notices my hesitation. “David just wants to check your ID.”

  “What about our wrist bands?” I’m confused.

  “I just have to double check.” David glances at the loud cackling coming from a table behind us.

  “Oh, sure.” I try to act subtle. I grab my wallet out of my purse, pushing it in his hand, careful to act smooth.

  Bristol does the same, albeit with a greenish-looking face.

  He glances at the ID, a moment too long, then back up at me, then down. We lock eyes for a moment that stretches on forever.

  Finally, he hands it back. “Here you go, Haley.”

  My hands shake as I slide it back in my purse.

  “By the way, where’d you get your middle name, Elisabetta?” He starts pouring whiskey in a glass for another customer. “I haven’t seen that name in forever. It’s my grandma’s and very old-fashioned.” He’s not unkind when he says it, more curious.

  A test.

  To see if I know who I say I am.

  People that use other people’s IDs probably forget to memorize the middle name.

  “My mother hated the traditional spelling of Elizabeth. It was assumed I’d have that as my middle name, you know, since it’s my father’s mom’s first name. She decided to switch it up a bit and keep everyone happy.” The lie slips out easily.

  “Makes sense.” He sticks a lime in another cup. “Let me know if that drink isn’t up to par.” He motions to the fruity drink with maraschino cherries and an orange slice sitting in front of Will.

  “Sure.” I nod. He walks around the side of the bar, greeting another patron.

  “What is it?” I eye the slightly foggy blue concoction.

  “It’s your favorite color.” Nicholas says. “Isn’t that enough?”

  “Oh, this is one of those blue Curacao drinks, isn’t it?”

  “Better.” Will smiles. “It’s a Hawaiian specialty drink called Blue Balls.”

  “And what does that mean?” I give Nicholas a slight grin.

  “It means that you’re giving me blue balls,” he murmurs in my ear.

  I laugh, the sound more like a high-pitched hyena.

  “It’s a mixture of pineapple, orange juice, guava, and yes, Blue Curacao, rum, and vodka.” He ticks the ingredients off on his hand. He could’ve been giving me a recipe for disaster at this point, I was so far gone.

  My hand rubs his arm, moving up and down his skinny biceps. “Wow, you’ve got amazing arms,” I compliment him.

  “Thanks.” He gives me a peck on the cheek. “You aren’t half bad yourself.”

  “Oh really?” I bite my lip. “What’s your favorite part?”

  “Besides your personality?” He brushes a hand over my fingertips. “You have a killer smile. And those legs.” He whistles in appreciation. “Damn, girl.”

  I stare at him, wanting him to push his lips on mine and kiss me, craving his tongue in my mouth.

  Our gazes are locked until I see his eyes dart to Will.

  He nods at him and gives a wink.

  “What was that for?”

  “Nothing, babe.” He gives my hand a tug. “Aren’t you going to drink up?”

  Bristol mumbles something from a few stools over, her speech slurred. I can’t make out what she’s saying. Nicholas stares intently at me, gauging my reaction as I take a large swallow. The liquid doesn’t taste good. It burns, not what I expect for a Hawaiian specialty.

  “It’s delicious, huh?” He grins at me, the one crooked tooth snagging his lower lip. Once an endearing quality, now it reminds me of a rabid wolf.

  I don’t say anything, the bitterness a surprise.

  “Keep drinking.” He elbows me a little too hard in the ribs.

  “You want a sip?” I ask, pushing it towards him.

  “Nope, it’s all you, babe.” He shoves it back towards me.

  Holding my head back, I swig the whole damn drink down my throat, gagging. The drink tastes off, something muddled about it that has nothing to do with the fruit.

  Bristol is sampling hers, her face rancid.

  “Drink taste weird to you?” I yell across to Bristol. She can’t hear me over the din and the loud music blaring.

  Mase comes on and the lyrics to “Been Around the World” bellow from the speakers. Puff Daddy and the Notorious B.I.G start rapping, the DJ spinning the track, going directly into “Getting Jiggy Wit it” by Will Smith.

  “Oh my gosh, I love this song.” Bristol stumbles off her bar stool. “Come on Will, let’s dance.” She pulls him out to the dance floor, a fall a sure thing had he not been holding her tight around the waist.

  “You wanna get down?” Nicholas raises his eyebrows.

  It’s my moment to be bold, to ask for a kiss or just go in for one.

  I move my face closer to his, closing my eyes like I read in magazines is the way to go.

  Instead of feeling his wet lips, he pulls back, surprised.

  “I’m sorry,” I offer. It’s a relief I’m tipsy because I’d be running out of here, sprinting, if I were sober and rejected in public. I see a girl at the bar staring at me from across the room with a strange look in her eyes. She must feel sorry for me.

  Nicholas asks for a glass of water from another bartender, ignoring my apology. “Nothing to be sorry about.” He shrugs.

  “Did I do something wrong?” I ask.

  “No, but you’r
e tipsy and so am I.”

  “So we can’t kiss?” I pout.

  “No, baby, we can kiss, we can do a lot of things. But not here. This isn’t the time nor place,” he makes eye contact with the girl, narrowing his eyes, “I know people here.”

  I go silent.

  “Do you know her?” A feeling of jealously rises to the surface. Maybe this isn’t a good idea.

  He stands, ignoring my question, shooting her a dirty look.

  I feel flushed and out of sorts. My eyes drift to the dance floor where Bristol holds on to Will for dear life.

  “You wanna get out of here?” Nicholas rubs a hand on my nape, his touch sending spine-shivering tingles down my back.

  Gulping the water down, I grab his hand for help off the stool.

  I nod, unable to form words. I’m starting to feel woozy, like I could lay down and sleep for a million years.

  “Yeah, let me go tell them.” I say. “Where we going?”

  “We can go to the hotel.” He pushes me down as I try to stand. “No, no, you stay put. I’ll go tell them. You’re trashed.”

  I don’t argue, mainly because I’m dizzy and I’m scared the floor will disappear under my feet. He stands up, all five feet eight inches, striding over to the dance floor to whisper in Will’s ear.

  Both give me a once-over.

  Bristol squints, waving furiously at me, the pink extension in her hair whipping around as Will spins her on the floor.

  In this moment, she looks content.

  And as Nicholas leads my wobbling ass out of the bar, I see the clock on the wall of the bar.

  1:17 A.M.

  He holds my hand in his, leading me down the wooden ramp, dragging me across the sand. He’s swaggering as he grips the iron rail. “Ouch,” I groan as I trip on my wedges and fall face first in the sand. I wanted added height but didn’t think of traipsing through the sand drunk.

  He cackles, amused by my spill.

  I don’t say a word, brushing sand off my cheek.

  “You okay, babe?” He kneels beside me, a lock of blond hair falling over his eye. I hold a hand to my forehead, the earlier headache feeling like a massive torpedo has invaded my brain, bombing it every couple of seconds.

  I want to say no, but I feel paralyzed, my limbs made of rubber.

  “Why don’t you take those off?” He points to my sandals. “It’ll be quicker and your feet will stop hurting.” Helping me unbuckle them, he scoops them up under his arm.

  “Are you sure the brat’s okay?” I slur.

  “Who?”

  “My sis.” I giggle, unmoving.

  “Totally. They know where the hotel is and it’s super close. They’ll come back when they’re done shaking their asses.” He brushes my shoulder, “but in the meantime...”

  This starts to seem like a terrible idea, but I can’t form a coherent sentence.

  He pulls me up, gripping my fingers tight in his. I want to tell him he’s hurting me, his grip surprisingly strong, but I feel like I’m standing outside of myself.

  An out-of-body experience. As if I’m watching movie clips where I’m the main attraction.

  Paranoia sets in. I stare glassy-eyed at the span of beach.

  It all looks the same.

  “Are you okay?”

  I shake my head no.

  Or at least it feels like I do.

  “Such a lightweight.” He chuckles, tickling my side.

  “I guess.” I sway, the sky tilts, the stars become dots as I blink, confused.

  These are the last words I utter before I lose consciousness.

  9

  Bristol

  After I can’t balance any longer, teetering on my sister’s four-inch stilettos, I realize why my mom forbids me from wearing these. Not only are they uncomfortable, like walking on stilts, but add in alcohol, and it’s a full-on hazard.

  My mom doesn’t know I drink or that I’ve smoked cigarettes, coughing up a lung as I inhaled the putrid air. But if she knew, she’d be relieved I'm not a fan.

  I’ve tried marijuana a couple times, but I hate feeling sleepy when I’m trying to party.

  I feel like a fraud, the straight As and the pedestal that I’ve been propped up on since a young age when my mom paraded me around town, using words like ‘angelic’ and ‘pure’. Blair has it rough, her outward rebellion has dug lines in the sand that keep getting deeper with our parents.

  A sinkhole.

  Piercing her nose in tenth grade.

  Check.

  They made her take it out, grounding her for a month.

  Making out with Jason Diller in a church pew on Ash Wednesday.

  Check.

  Extra chores for two weeks.

  Getting a tattoo inked on her lower back in the shape of a butterfly on her eighteenth birthday.

  Check.

  When I asked her why a butterfly, she said she needed wings and courage to get the fuck out of our small town.

  They haven’t found out about that yet, and I’m not telling for that one.

  She’s taught me a lot with the two-year head start she has on me – exactly what not to do.

  How not to act.

  If you at least pretend like you’re decent and wholesome, Mom leaves you alone.

  The dance floor I’m exiting is dark and hazy, and smoke from the DJ’s fog machine settles over us.

  I can’t believe my luck.

  A tall, dark-haired, twenty-two-year old is leading me to the cordoned-off area where older people are gyrating and moving their hips seductively to the rap music that’s mixed in with oldies.

  Everyone is ‘older’ to me, since I’m seventeen.

  And tonight I’m pretending to be another girl, a woman, a twenty-two-year-old woman.

  Will’s eyes catch mine as he pulls me close to him, a relief since I practically topple into his shoulder.

  How embarrassing would it be if I fell…

  My limbs feel like rubber and I’m flushed. My cheeks are scorching as I wipe a hand across my damp forehead.

  This started out feeling like one of the best nights of my life. Vacation, alcohol, a hot guy that acts like I'm the only girl in the room. And Blair, usually a total bitch, is being normal and nice.

  “You wanna get out of here?” Will whispers in my ear.

  I giggle, his breath tickling my lobe.

  Squeezing his hand in response, I give him my answer.

  I’m at a loss for words.

  The drinks are refilled as soon as I finish one. The last glass, some blue syrupy liquid that tastes funny, knocks me out. I want to spit it back in the cup, but I don’t want to look like a total amateur.

  My friends and I have stolen cheap vodka and beer from their parents. Not mine, of course. They have a strict no-drinking policy. It’s hard to imagine them as anything but middle-age frumps. I’ve only tried alcohol a few times, and maybe this is some special Hawaiian vodka that has a different flavor. It’s definitely not the cheap beer my boyfriend and the football team guzzle at a keg stand.

  I follow Blair’s lead since she swallows it down without complaint. She’ll kill me if I draw negative attention to us or the fact we have someone else’s IDs. I tilt my head back, gulping it, wrinkling my nose as Will smiles approvingly at me.

  His seal of approval is what I want right now.

  The room starts to slant.

  People now look like blurred versions of themselves, like a drawing where someone’s swept an eraser over the face but the image doesn’t quite disappear. There’s still a trace, but smudged.

  I keep blinking, trying to adjust my eyes to the flashing lights and my ears to the noise level. My feet are killing me, my head pounds to the beat, and even though I threw up earlier, I feel groggy and tired.

  Maybe I’m getting the flu.

  That would be just my luck.

  Sick in Hawaii. Ugh.

  Will mumbles something in my ear, but I can’t make out the words.

  Instead, I smile,
a tight line that never reaches the corners of my lips. My face feels frozen in place.

  I stagger as I feel like people at the bar are judging me, staring from their stools. Our earlier bartender, David, glares at me. Some dark-haired skank shoots me daggers.

  Or maybe it’s my imagination.

  Will’s leading me out of the smoke and into the fresh air, thank goodness, since I’m losing my sense of equilibrium.

  I tug on his hand to make him pause as soon as we hit the fresh salty air outside. “Where're we going?” I manage to screech, a foreign sound. My voice sounds high-pitched and shrill.

  “My place.” He brushes a strand of blonde hair off my face. I straightened it, but the humidity is making it damp and wavy.

  “Um…do you mind if we stop by my room first?”

  “Your sis and Nicholas are there.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I don’t want to tell him I want to see Blair, that the familiarity of her is what I need when I’m ill.

  He’ll think I’m weird.

  Or maybe he thinks I’m going to ditch him by the way his

  face twists into a frown.

  Weird how someone can look so attractive until you see them upset. One change of their features and they turn ugly.

  Hurriedly, I say, “I just want to grab my suit. I thought we could hot tub first before taking it to your place.” I rub his arm, trying to placate his ego.

  “Better.” He sticks his tongue down my mouth. P.J. kisses soft and sweet, Will’s advances are heated and sloppy. “Let’s just skinny dip in the ocean.” He nudges me, hard enough I almost lose my balance on the damn stilettos.

  I’m freaking out inside, my heart thumping. I silently scream in my head, “Just get me back to the hotel room.”

  My stomach lurches as if I'm sea sick on a boat. I grab onto the iron railing that leads to the beach, one foot in front of the other.

  My eyes want to close in protest. I’ve gone from wanting to go home with him to wanting the plush king-size bed at the hotel, my sister’s dark hair on the pillow next to me.

  He pulls his cell phone out to check his messages, humming as he concentrates on the bright screen. I can’t hold my own weight up and I stagger, falling into a heavy pole that holds an awning.