He isn’t here.
He isn’t here, and I’m sick about it. I don’t want to yell anymore; I don’t want to show him how strong I am, or how little he means to me. Lies—those would all be lies. I just want to see his face one more time, to know he’s okay. That’s why I came. But now it doesn’t matter.
I walk back by Gabe in the kitchen, and he hands me a red cup and squeezes my shoulder, looking into my eyes. I take it, find a sliver of sofa in the back corner of their main room, and slide down—stuffed in my coat and clinging to my cup of beer in front of me between my two cold hands.
The party almost suffocates me, the crowd has grown so thick, and, at least three times, one of Gabe’s friends has come to try to talk to me. He’s cute, and maybe another day—a day long from this one—I would consider smiling at him, maybe even flirting. But he’s not Cody, and that’s the only thing that keeps replaying in my mind as he talks to me. I watch his mouth move, waiting for it to smile, waiting for it to look like Cody’s. When he does smile, it isn’t even close.
There’s a couple next to me, and they’re making out. It’s funny, because I bet in their minds this moment is full of heat and passion. But from the outside, it’s comical. I can’t help but smirk at the slurping sounds and moans the girl is making, and she keeps trying to slide her leg up on top of the guy’s lap, grinding on his knee—I’m sure thinking her moves are sexy as hell. It’s like poor-man’s p**n , and it’s almost gross, except that it’s so damned funny.
My beer is empty, and if I’m going to stay any longer I’m going to need a refill. I can’t drive at this point, so I stand from my safe corner and make my way back to Gabe in the kitchen. He’s still mixing drinks for people, still laughing and playing host. The air is thick with smoke, and it chokes me a little at first.
“Hey, lovely,” Gabe says, and I just shake my empty cup in the air and reach over a few people sitting at the counter to hand it to him. “You want a refill? Or something new?”
“Something…kinda weak?” I say, knowing that at some point I’m going to have to drive home.
“Okay, let me work something up for ya,” he winks, and then turns to the fridge to pour a few juices in my cup. I glance at my spot on the sofa and am relieved it’s still open. I start tapping my fingers nervously on the counter as Gabe mixes my drink. I see him put only a tiny splash of vodka in the mix, and I smile at him.
“I’ll take care of you. You can count on it,” he smiles back, but his eyes aren’t looking at me—they’re looking over me. And my heart kicks up, the pounding so rapid, I think it might just fail at any moment.
I swear I can smell him. This house is filled to the point of fire code violation, and the air is dripping with cigars, cigarettes, and pot. But all I smell is him. I turn slowly, and my eyes meet his neck. As tall as I am, he’s always taller. I peer up slowly, wishing somehow I could pull my hat lower over my entire face and skirt away. His face is tired, and his beard is thick, at least two weeks worth of growth. He’s wearing a black sweatshirt and a black hat, dressed just as plainly as I am. This party was an afterthought for him, too.
Words are pointless, so I don’t even bother trying to form them. Cody and I are just staring at one another, the rest of the world quickly fading away. We’re exact mirrors, our expressions blank, lifeless—exhausted.
“Hey, man. You came after all,” Gabe says over my shoulder, and Cody pulls his eyes from me to talk with his friend.
“Yeah, I ended up getting done a little early. Thought I’d come…” he says, looking back at me again. Swallowing. “Just in case.”
“That’s awesome, man. It’s not a party if you’re not here,” Gabe says, handing Cody a drink. In that split second , I take my moment to slip away, back to my corner. My right eye is twitching from stress, and my body suddenly feels hot and flushed. I strip my arms from my coat and unwind the scarf that now feels like it’s strangling me. I take a giant gulp from my cup, downing the entire drink in four more sips. Thank god Gabe made it weak, because I’d be done if he hadn’t.
I’m having a panic attack. I know it, and recognize what’s coming next. My lungs won’t get full, and every time I try to take a deep breath, it gets worse. I’m not breathing. I’m not breathing!
The music is muffled around me. I know it’s loud, but I can’t make out any of the words, only the whooshing sound over my eardrums. I push my head between my knees, and force myself to count slowly while I inhale through my nose, holding the air in my lungs for a few seconds before letting it slip away. I do it again, and again, until I can finally hear voices.