chapter fifteen

tw: attempted SA

Harris

The room isn't spinning, but it certainly is fuzzy. There's a permanent lump in my throat, the one that's always there when I'm a little too drunk, but not "throw up" drunk. I kept getting invited to do shots with people, and I lost count after seven. I know I'm not doing too hot, but I also don't feel like I'm entirely in my body just now, so, sorry, I don't know what I'm doing.

I like drinking with friends more than drinking alone, but here I am. I'd even take my usual party buddy. I don't know if Liam knows about this party, or if he's at home sobering up like I'd hoped. Either way, I haven't seen him. Same with Saanvi and Seb.

"Hey," someone says, pressing a Red Solo cup into my palm, "water."

I don't want to drink water, and I know I shouldn't trust drinks from strangers, but who here would roofie me? I'm already fucked up anyways. And Seb is on the way. I'll be okay.

I chug the water. Most of it runs down the sides of my mouth, rushing straight down my neck and soaking my T-shirt. It's warm and musty and tastes a little too strongly of metal, but I don't even care. I set the cup down on the bookshelf next to me and stumble into the living room.

There's a crowd dancing in front of the Doorsey's fireplace. Some hip hop bullshit I hate listening to but never complain about. A girl I don't recognize slides up in front of me and bats up at me with wide, dark eyes. Her hair is long and stick-straight, reaching down past her waist, and her crop top showcases her ostentatious belly ring. Heh. Ostentatious. Good word. Seb word.

"You're cute," she shouts over what's probably Baby Keem.

"What?"

"You're cute!"

"Oh." I close my eyes because the room is closer to spinning now, but I find myself smiling. "Thanks."

"Do you know bachata?" she shouts.

"Do I what?" I stumble slightly. Someone next to me grabs my shoulders and pushes me back to standing. Everyone around us keeps on dancing. It's like I'm not even there.

She says it again, and I mumble, "I don't know," my eyes still closed.

She grabs my wrists and pulls my hands onto her waist. "Here, I'll show you."

I'm stumbling while she's trying to dance with me. It's too many steps forward, too many steps back. I can't keep my head on straight, and then the girl is turning around, bending over and dancing in front of me, and goddammit, doesn't she know I'm gay?

"I—I'm good," I try to tell her, but she doesn't seem to hear. She just keeps dancing, brushing up against me once and making me step back, and the room feels lopsided, and my head is light and heavy all at once. "I'm gonna.... I'm gonna go."

My hands flail out in front of me while I stumble to the kitchen island, where there's a shit ton of Trulies and a giant batch of jungle juice, among other kinds of alcohol, many of which I have already ingested.

"Hey, are you good?" someone asks. I glance up, and there's Evan, wearing exactly what he was earlier today at Paco's. "You're freaking sloshed, man."

"Evan," I say. "Hey." Bile rises up in my throat. I push it down.

"Have you had any water?" he asks.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I'm good. But, hey. Uh. Why, why did you cheat on Seb?"

The music keeps pounding. Everyone keeps dancing. But Even freezes. "What did you just ask me?"

"You cheated on Seb. With my friend. On your boyfriend."

Evan looks around. His face falls. "Rachel, hey, wait."

I don't get why he gets to look so upset when he's the one who made Seb feel like shit. "Rachel? Were you still fooling around with Seb and Liam when—"

I don't even have time to process Evan's LED-illuminated fist soaring towards my face, but I hear the sharp crack of my nose when it connects.

People say you see stars when you're punched in the face. All I see is painful black.

There are a few shouts of "Hey!" and "What the fuck, Evan?!" and I'm trying not to fall over. It's too hard. I'm stumbling backwards, back back back, right into a strong, hard chest. My hands are pressed against my nose. There's a steady flow of hot, gushing blood streaming from between my fists, right onto my favorite yellow shirt. My nose is on fucking fire.

"You okay?" someone says, their voice raspy, gruff. I feel a tiny smidge of relief. Liam. Liam will take care of me. "Let's get you to the bathroom."

"Okay," I mumble, leaning hard into him. I try not to move my hands away from my nose, but it's beginning to feel gross. There's blood already flaking on the back of my hands, and my palms are sticky where blood is drying, right where the skin of my palms creases. Everything smells like copper and alcohol and fuck, fuck, I feel like I'm going to vomit.

Thankfully, Liam's arm is tight around my shoulders, hugging me against his side. I can barely make my way through the crowd. Vertigo. That's a thing, right? Dizziness? Fuck, what does vertigo mean? Seb would know. I use big words and don't know what they mean. Seb uses them, and he just knows. He's so smart.

"Come on, let's go to the bedroom," Liam says.

My mind is racing. At least it's not the basement bathroom. "Why the bedroom?" I ask.

His arm around me tightens. "They have an en suite," he says.

"Ohhhh." Duh. Of course. It hurts, but I manage a small smile, just for myself. See? Liam would never hurt me. Liam doesn't hurt me. Liam really is a good friend.

"You're so drunk, Harrison" he says, and maybe it's the blood still gushing from my nose, but I don't think Liam's drunk at all. Usually, he'd be slurring a little bit, and he wouldn't be this nice, right? Yeah. Yeah, he's usually sassy and sarcastic and thinks it's funny to be mean and hurt my feelings. So maybe he's high? He was pretty out of it earlier. Yeah. Yeah, he's probably just high.

So I just laugh. "Yeah, yeah. I am prrrrrrrreeeeeeetty drunk." I lean my head against his chest, and he helps me climb the stairs.

I almost ask him why he doesn't just carry me, but oh well. Seb couldn't carry me. Probably. He's got those cute little chicken arms. Wait, chicken legs. Chickens don't have arms. I think. I shake my head to myself. I'm seriously fucked up, aren't I?

"What's so funny?" Liam asks.

"Chicken arms."

"Alright."

I'm worried I've got blood spilled all over the carpet, but I think my shirt caught most of it. That's good. My mom can get blood out of anything. She's a very talented laundry person. It's like Forrest Gump with ping pong. That's my mom with blood and laundry.

Liam sits me down on the edge of Elana Doorsey's parent's bathtub. "Here," he says, "don't fall back, or you'll hit your head."

"Smaaaart."

He rifles around the cabinet beneath the sink and pulls out a roll of paper towels, then rips off a handful and wets them under the sink. I slump against the wall and remind myself not to fall over. I'm so glad Liam is here to take care of me.

"Here, let's get you cleaned up," he says. Our eyes meet. His gaze is so piercing, whereas I can barely keep my eyes open. "Damn, Evan got you good, huh?"

He's surprisingly gentle while he wipes the blood off my face, choosing soft little dabs instead of hard, forceful smears like I figured he'd use. It's so light, it almost tickles.

"It's all crusty around your nostrils," he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. And it's sweet. I like Liam when he's sweet. I can't believe I wanted to avoid him tonight.

"Did it stop bleeding?" I ask.

"Mm."

"Cool."

His thumb brushes my forehead. I took the Band-Aid off, but the cut from yesterday is obviously fresh. "What happened here?" he asks, staring at the mark.

I look behind his shoulder to the sink. "Seb almost crashed his truck. It worked out though."

"Seb?" His fingers are soft against the cut, and I can only feel the tenderness of his cut. I look back to him, right as his nose wrinkles. I see double of him for a moment, but when I blink, the blurrier version of him disappears. "Sebastian Krause took you home last night?"

"Yeah."

Liam exhales through his nose and pushes his hair away from his forehead. He's super sweaty, I realize. Ew. But same. "He's so weird," Liam says.

"He's super nice," I insist, then burp. Damn. "I like him. He's cool. We're, we're friends now, actually."

"Be fuckin' for real."

"Uhh, huh, yeah, I'm for real."

Liam shakes his head. "You don't want to be with someone like that. He's practically scared of his own shadow, from what Evan told me. You like someone who's firm and adventurous, right? That's what you told me."

"Um, sometimes? But, I like Sebastian. He's sweet. He listens."

"Hmph." He grabs some fresh paper towels and wets them. "Do I not listen to you?"

Fuck, I'm hurting his feelings. I'm hurting his feelings when he's being nice too. I'm the worst. "You do listen to me," I promise. "Don't worry. I like you too."

"I'm not worried about that." He tilts my chin up. I suck in a breath when the suddenly freezing cold paper towels touch my neck. It wasn't this cold before. Liam's movements are rougher now too, scrubbing the blood away from my jugular.

"Liam," I choke out, "be gentle?"

He leans in and presses an equally frigid kiss right beneath my jaw. "Don't worry," he whispers. "Aren't I always?"

He drops the paper towels on the floor and grabs my hair with his hand, pulling my head back to have full access to my neck. My hands scrabble at his shoulders, trying to shove him away, but I don't have the strength.

"Liam, please, I don't want to."

Liam sighs and just tightens his grip. I gasp. Tears prick the corners of my eyes. "Come on," he whispers. "You'll fuck Sebastian Krause, but not me? I thought you were mine."

"We're not even together," I whisper, wishing I had long nails to dig into his shoulders. Anything to make him realize what he's doing. Not here, not in this house. Not again. Not again.

"Shh, stop talking." He licks the side of my throat, then sucks on it, biting down with his front teeth. I let out a cry of pain, swaying slightly. His other arm wraps around my lower back, keeping me sitting straight. "You're okay."

No. "Liam." Not again.

"Do you want to use the bed?" he asks. His eyes glint with something dark, something dangerous, something wrong. "Or the tub?"

"I don't wanna use anything," I tell him, a tear trickling down my cheek. My head is spinning. I'm going to throw up. Definitely. "I don't feel good. Take me home. Please."

"We could go to your place," Liam muses, standing and walking to the sink once more. He washes his hands, then watches his own reflection as he uses his wet palms to brush back his hair. His eyes flick over to me, cruel, cold. "But I don't know, it sounds kind of hot to use Mr. and Mrs. Doorsey's room, doesn't it?"

This is where I should be shouting for help. Or fighting him off. I'm shorter than Liam, but I'm stronger. I need to do something, but I just, I can't. This can't be happening. I can't cause a scene—I won't—over something that's not a big deal. I'm overreacting. I have to be. Aren't I always?

And then, there's this thought, this awful little thought: if I don't want this, wouldn't I be fighting harder?

"Come on," Liam says, crouching in front of the tub again. I don't want this. My hands slap weakly against his shoulders. "I've missed you."

"Liam, no," I whisper. "Stop."

My stomach bubbles up. Acid burns my throat. I'm totally going to throw up, oh my god.

"What the actual fuck?"

I don't register whose voice it is until I see an elbow connect with the side of Liam's skull. He all but flies to the side, landing on the floor in a heap.

Saanvi breathes heavily, massaging her elbow. "Holy shit," she says. "Holy shit. I–I—for the record, I do not condone violence. Holy, holy shit."

Liam groans, rubbing his head. "What the fuck?"

He starts to push himself up off the floor, and Saanvi—zero hesitation—kicks at the back of his elbow. She kicks hard. There's a loud crack and he screams, falling to the ground and clutching his elbow.

"Fuck you," she spits. "Fucking asshole. Fuck. You. Fuck. Fuck. Come on, Harrison."

My hand is on my head. I'm breathing heavily, trying to calm down while simultaneously attempting to psych myself up to stand. I'm actually going to throw up if I stand. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Saanvi shouts out the bathroom door, "SEBASTIAN KRAUSE, GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!" Behind her, Liam is still whimpering about his elbow. She turns to him, glaring. "Fuck. You. Fucking pig. I should call the cops on your fucking ass."

"Saanvi," I mutter, trying to stand.

"Fuck, fuck, here."

She slides an arm under mine and tries to hold me straight, placing her other hand on my chest in an attempt to push me upright. "Are you okay?" She gasps. "Did he hit you?"

"No, no." I shake my head, eyes closed tight. "Evan."

"Oh my god, it's assholes on parade tonight. Come on, let's get you back to your house."

I take one step and can't fight it anymore. I turn my head to the side and vomit onto Liam—watery, burning vomit that's a mix of just about every drink I had tonight. All over his head and shoulders. And it's not a quick little vomit either. It's like a waterfall of projectile vomit.

"Oh wow," Saanvi says. "Nice one."

I wipe my mouth, then burp. Fuck, my mouth tastes nasty. "Thanks."

A/N - so like ... heavier chapter????