Filthy Desires And Beautiful Secrets

Aubrey

Junior Year, Baywatch Themed Frat Party

I don’t remember deciding to get drunk.

I remember standing in the bathroom of the frat house, staring at myself in the mirror and thinking I looked ridiculous in that red one piece—skin still damp from the pool, wavy hair a mess, a plastic whistle hanging between my breasts like a joke that was funny when I decided to put it on, but now I can’t understand why. There’s sunscreen smeared across my shoulder in a lazy handprint. Not mine. I didn’t put on sunscreen for a party at night. I don’t bother cleaning it off. I’m sure either the same or some other idiot will slap it back on.

The bass from downstairs rattles through the walls, thump-thump-thump, like a second pulse.

I sip at the drink in my Solo cup. One beer. That’s my limit.

I hate the taste, but it’s the only drink they have that has a name. Everything else looks unidentified drink, meaning who knows what’s mixed in it.

I carry the cup downstairs, condensation slick against my palm. The living room is all bodies and noise—lifeguard shorts, fake badges, someone yelling about tequila shots as part of some dare. The air smells like chlorine and alcohol and sweat so sharp that it burns my nose.

Then I spot Chelsea.

My best friend looks amazing, obviously. She always does. Gold bikini top, white shorts riding high on her hips, skin glowing tan all over like an Egyptian goddess.

Eyes automatically stop on her.

I wonder why she’s friends with me. She’s perky and glitzy. I’m neurotic and low-key. She loves being surrounded by people, and I actively avoid it. I think that’s why often, when our group makes plans for a movie or bowling and I’m not there when they make the plan, she never thinks to check with me. Even for plans in the future, she sometimes just...forgets to give me a heads-up. I get it. I probably cramp her style. But when it’s just the two of us, she’s...nice. Kind of fun.

I sigh. Why am I here again?

She laughs delicately at something someone says. Then everyone around her is laughing.

Except the guy right next to her.

A frantic drumming starts in my chest. Doesn’t stop.

Isaac Hunt. Chelsea’s boyfriend. Sweet, smart, athletic, gorgeous, funny, stinking rich Isaac Hunt. Has dark amber eyes like caramelized sugar. Crosses everything on Chelsea’s checklist for a boyfriend. He transferred to our university a couple of months ago when I was out of town visiting my folks. And when I came back, Chelsea had gone from single to in a serious relationship in a snap.

My chest tightens with that all too familiar nervous, frantic jitter. Like I’ve stepped on a stair that isn’t there.

Like I’m looking at someone who’s not mine to look at.

Senselessly pining for a guy that I have zero chance in hell with.

Chelsea reaches for him, fingers sliding up his arm, nails dragging just enough to mark her territory for all the girls around Isaac to see. And there are a lot of them. They shoot daggers at her, but don’t move, not the least bit concerned that he’s not available. His jaw tightens. At Chelsea, at all the other girls. For a guy who’s become the golden boy in the short time he’s been here, he seems surprisingly out of place at parties. Distinctly uncomfortable with the attention.

As if he doesn’t like people. All people.

Chelsea leans into him. He stiffens, and stays that way, like he’s holding his breath.

Until his gaze lands on me.

It lingers. Softens and brightens instantaneously. His posture eases as he gives me a warm smile and starts to extract himself from Chelsea’s grip.

Chelsea doesn’t let go. Especially when she follows his gaze and tracks me. She gives me an airy wave, and switches her attention back to Isaac.

That’s her usual thing. She rarely spends any time with me at parties. I don’t blame her. I don’t know what to do with myself at these events either.

But it used to be a lot easier to not care until...Isaac.

The guy who doesn’t seem to mind that I prefer leggings over denim or skirts or shorts, or that I’m awkward around most people, or that I’d rather curl up with a book than go to parties like these.

This is part of the reason I pine for this dude like an imbecile. The way he looks genuinely happy and eager to see me, all the time. What the hell is that about? Do I remind him of his mom or something? A boy I dated in high school had once told me that. That I was cute and squishy like his mom. But whatever it is, it doesn’t explain why he looks at me like that, but not at Chelsea. His brows pull together and his mouth purses when his eyes are on her. Like right now, as he tries to get away from the group. Presumably to come to me.

Chelsea’s hold on him just gets tighter. She looks pissed now. And he’s...talking to her. Trying to appease her, I guess.

My heart gives a painful, lonely lurch.

It makes me guzzle my drink in one go.

Then someone shouts my name. A lime is pressed into my hand. The Solo cup is taken from me, and a shot glass replaces it.

I miss the time when no one knew me. But being Chelsea’s friend comes with being in the spotlight.

“No, I--” I start to hand it back to a hand in the crowd of bodies around me, but it is thrust back toward me.

“Come on!” Someone says.

“Don’t be a buzzkill!” That’s someone else.

“One’s not going to kill you!” A third opinion.

Chelsea wraps her arms around Isaac’s waist as they still seem like they’re arguing.

I’m downing the shot before I’ve made a conscious choice to do it.

The tequila burns. Then doesn’t. There’s salt on my tongue.

Then there’s one more shot in my hand. Then down my throat.

And another. Maybe two?

Three? Counting is complicated.

I’m laughing, I think. Too much, too loud, too fast. Unless that’s someone else. The room tilts, just a little. Or the house is floating. Like in that movie Up.

I’m feeling… soft. Light. Loose. Like gravity doesn’t want to tie me down anymore.

The music blurs. Faces and clothes turn into just colors. My bikini strap digs into my shoulder and it’s freaking unbearable. My stupid sensitive skin.

I stumble.

Hands catch me—big, firm, steady...familiar. Spanning my ribs, anchoring me.

I look up, and those sugar eyes are on me.

Isaac. Beautiful, amazing Isaac. Who makes my heart go flutter-flutter pound-pound.

I grin at him. I think. “Heyyyyy.” I slur. I think.

He smells so clean. Minty fresh.

He smiles at me. I know he does, because I never forget when he smiles at me. He looks like a whole different person when he does. Is he even from this world? He’s so pretty. Is he an alien?

A chuckle sounds out of him.

“Nope. Not an alien.” He murmurs, still holding me. Closer now.

If he’s not an alien, then how did he just read my mind???

Whatever. He feels so good. I lean into him. His rocking rock chest. It’s so...rocky. And something under his chest is super duper loud. Bum bum bum...

My head spins. The floor starts to vibrate.

I think I’m gonna be sick.

“I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re gonna be fine.” Alien Isaac assures me.

It settles me. I believe him. I’d believe anything he said to me. And he says the nicest things. Like the other day, when Chelsea snickered at me when I wore a dress, and said it made me look chubbier than I already am, he told me I look sexy. Right in front of her. With the most fierce expression. Sexy, he said. Not beautiful. No one had ever called me sexy before. Homely, yes, sexy, noooo. Chelsea’s face had turned a flaming red. And that time when I played the piano randomly in a mall when we were all out shopping, he was the only one who stayed for the entire song. A song that I’d written and composed for fun. He told me I should make a career out of it.

Now he guides me through all the undulating and excited people, one hand firm at my hip, the other bracing my back. People part. Probably because alien Isaac has powers.

The noise fades, like someone turned the volume down on the world.

Where he takes me, the light is too bright. I wince. He sets me down on something super soft, with a gentleness that has something stabby happening in my heart.

Then rubs my back, whispering, “Breathe.”

So I breathe. It feels better. Everything feels better when he is near me. What’s gonna happen when we graduate, and he and Chelsea get married? Will they move away? Will I never see him? I want to sob.

“I’m not going anywhere, Aubrey.” He informs me like it’s a promise.

No? That’s awesome news. The best.

My hands are on him. I think.

His shirt is so soft, when he’s so firm everywhere.

And he’s so close I can smell him even better. That cologne. Must be some custom made thing, because God.

It’s a drug. I just want to sniff him, inhale him, soak him in--

Someone’s screaming abruptly. Sharp and shrill.

My name. Isaac’s name. A lot of other potty-mouth words.

Who are they cursing?

And why does that sound like Chelsea’s voice? She’s my best friend. I’ve been such a good friend. Always.

Isaac’s arms around me tighten.

The screaming continues.

And then nothing.

The last thing I remember before I pass out, is the memory of Isaac’s arms not letting me go during the entire mayhem.

The next morning, I wake up in my own dorm room to a hangover, and a text from Chelsea.

Chelsea: Isaac told me that you came on to him. Like you would ever!! What a lying prick!!! I dumped his ass. Text me when you’re up to let me know you’re okay!!!

Disoriented and uneasy, I try to make sense of it.

He told her I came on to him?? My stomach churns.

I didn’t...I try to remember last night, and I realize with dismay that I’m hazy on the details. Just me getting drunker than I’d expected to b, then Isaac was there to help me, and we were in a...room..., then Chelsea seeing us and things getting loud...but nothing else.

It dawns on me that she saw Isaac and me, and misunderstood what was going on between us.

Because there’s no way I made a move on my best friend’s boyfriend. I take the girl code seriously. I like him, like a ridiculous amount, but Isaac is hers. I know that. Drunk or not, I couldn’t possibly forget it. That reality is a thorn which lives permanently under my skin.

And if I did do something with Isaac Hunt, I’d remember. Maybe not everything, but something. Anything.

So Isaac lied to her? Why would he do that?

My heart sinks.

I hurriedly text Chelsea back, distressed.

Me: Chels, I didn’t do anything, I wouldn’t. You trust me, right?

She responds in an instant.

Chelsea: Of course, babe! We’re never talking to that snake again--he’s dead to us!! Who knows how scummy he’ll be once he goes pro, ughhh!

I heave a sigh of relief, grateful that she chose to believe in me instead of him. Then frown. Does she not know he doesn’t want to go pro and wants to become a sports agent instead?

Wait, that’s not important.

Isaac...I thought he was a good guy. Different from the other guys Chelsea usually goes out with. But he threw me under the bus because what--he panicked when Chelsea found us, and painting me as a bad friend was the most convenient way out for him?

I meant that little to him? That disposable?

A pang of hurt slices through my chest.

It’s not the first time a guy has treated me like I’m nothing, but it’s the first time I’ve actually felt like I’m nothing. Like I’m always going to be nothing. Because I was just great living my insignificant existence until somehow he had me convinced that I was more.

I will never forgive Isaac Hunt for that.