01 | 𝑇𝑜 𝐸𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝐻𝑒𝑟 𝑂𝑤𝑛

The beginning began way before this.

In fact, my developing love for the golden boy who dwelled on top of football medals and teacher's praise began when I was old enough to appreciate such captivating beauty. His honey-saturated blond hair, forest green eyes, and contagious smile were dream-worthy. He, himself, was the epitome of what people dream about. Loving Sullivan Corbett was a passion, a hobby, and a motivation to better myself. All that I ever wanted was to gain his approval, to gain his appreciation, and more importantly, to get him to notice me.

Maybe next time though, this day, however, I was burning in the dissatisfaction of inevitable avoidance.

He wasn't looking at me, barely even deviated away from Kayla Ashby who stood by my side. I assumed it was her clothes which gifted her his flirtatious attitude. Sullivan possibly wasn't into the whole pink sundress and pastel appearance that described me. Maybe he was into Kayla's dark vampire-looking clothes, therefore, prior to his house party I borrowed some. My caramel hair was down to my waist and I wore a black cropped top and mini skirt---hated every minute of it because black isn't my color, makes me look paler than I actually am (and that's saying something).

He threaded his fingers through his luscious blond wave, gripping a sweating beer bottle in the other. The dribbles of condensation fell to his hardwood floors while a sea of people circulated. Their statue figures added residency to the stuffy and humid atmosphere. While I could've been lusting over the way his sky blue cotton shirt tightened his flexing biceps or how his green eyes sparkled with a hint of intoxicity, I instead, narrowed in on the unveiled mountainside beyond the windows descending his crescent shaped hallway.

That was until I heard his laughter ringing up to my ears beneath electroying currents of bass music. He rolled his emerald green eyes, throwing up his beer and downing a good portion. "Very funny," he said distantly. "Did you just get here?"

Kayla squinted, a playful grin toying with the curvature of her lips. "Need a play-by-play?"

"Precisely." He shared a quick laugh, silencing himself at hearing his name be called into the crowd. "Gotta go. See ya round, Kay--you too, Mia!" He waved a quick goodbye before dashing down the halls, squirming his way through in a swift blur of motion.

I know what you're asking. Who's Mia? Well... spoiler alert, it's not me. Mia is what Sullivan, my long-time crush, thinks my name is.

"Why don't you ever correct him?" Kayla argued, uncrossing her arms as we walked into the living room, our heels mutely clapped atop dark gray tile. My hand brushed over the oak wooden door frame as we passed, a blush soon creeping onto my cheeks, fading as quick as it came.

"Because," I started matter of factly, "I would feel awkward correcting him now. Besides, he'd be embarrassed. Liv's called me Mia for so long, to be exact, four years and I don't want to make him feel bad." My voice transpired to sympathy, a glaze of hope in my smile as I spoke.

Yes, I know, I'm stupid for liking a guy who doesn't know my name.

She shook her head rigidly, blonde curls swaying over her mouth in a heat of disregarding me. "No one calls Sullivan that," she addressed, referring to my nickname, Liv, for him, mumbling incoherently at the end, "And he's a big boy, he can handle it."

"To each her own." There was no denying how irrational I was, but the name 'Mia' slipped off his tongue so casually. The way his smile upturned on his lips, and how cruel I would be to get rid of that? Besides, the mistake had the possibility of becoming an inside joke we'd tell our kids in the future.

She flung a hand to the mini bar aside the kitchen, grabbing my wrist and hurrying me to the granite counter. The opposing wall of the kitchen exposed Wyoming mountain slopes through floor to ceiling windows. Its exhibition of nightfall pressing closely to the glass panels, making the orange glowing bulbs surrounding Sullivan's house, as well as the chandeliers to pursue much-needed light forth. The window and door frames were built with furnished oak, as glossy as the gray tiles on the floor, but people were clustered so much so in the large, open space, that it was impossible to admire anything but the cobblestone fireplace from afar.

Above the kitchenette was a balcony and students found it hilarious to throw cups, drinks, and themselves off said balcony into the pit of drunken people below.

My house was nice, but not mansion-nice, and though Sullivan's humble abode was perfect for parties, I couldn't imagine walking into the kitchen without the commotion of a high school Friday night.

I wonder if he'll let us get married on the property.

Music drained my ears from all else sound, the screams of people belting lyrics and each stampeding jump eventually shook the trembling walls that ripped through my body, forcing me to look at Kayla's outstretched hand. I didn't need to question, I took the red Solo cup and downed the liquid with hooded eyes, my mascara weighing heavy. Convincing Kayla to go to this party was one thing, but convincing myself to have a good time was another. The liquid courage had to be of aid.

"And here're the two stars of the room!" he exclaimed, surprising us from behind and throwing an arm over our shoulders, closing him into his chest. His familiar brown hair rubbed against our cheeks in greeting as we shared a laugh at his intoxication. "I knew there was light coming from somewhere." Jaydon Bach lifted his hand from my shoulder and popped the drink out of Kayla's hand with a plastic crunch, finishing it.

"Are you sure that isn't your schizophrenia talking?" Kayla urged, tearing the red Solo from his hand. The currents of music blew through the gaps in our conversation and he couldn't seem to find his voice due to a mixture of humor twisted into his expression and chortles. He looked up momentarily to Kayla and I, revealing precalculating mischief.

Playfully offended and thinking hard of what he was going to say, pursed his lips in a redeeming grimace. "My best friend says otherwise."

I piped in suddenly, "Lemme guess? Harriet?"

"Oh, come on," he joshed, "Who else would it be?"

Fatefully, I rolled my head back to the countertop where my empty Solo cup remained. Harriet was known in the school as one of Jay's best friends, though Harriet, didn't exist. Jaydon was an open book and therefore, his humor became fragments of his mental illness, making him very easy to talk to.

He wondered in a low hiss for only us to hear, "Did you guys see Penelope?"

Kayla turned and asked just as low as him, "Why are we whispering?" she enunciated.

He shook his head, both of us staying tucked under either one of his arms as he informed, "Penelope is supposedly sleeping with Keegan, but she looks really gorgeous, like a ginger-haired version of Audrey Hepburn kinda-beautiful." He shot us both a cold stare. "Wouldn't she and I make a cute couple?"

"Wouldn't me and Liv?" I argued using incorrect grammar, unbothered to wonder who either of the people he mentioned were. I guzzled more transparent liquid into the cup, downing it to feel the hazyness torture my temple. It hit me like a truck.

Oh, I was gonna feel that tomorrow. I could already feel me feeling that the next day.

His voice slowed as he said, "Liv? Like... Olivia Marshall?"

"No!" I waved my hand with a chuckle. "Sullivan--"

"Don't get me started," Kayla bemoaned drowsily, stumbling a bit beneath his grasp. "I keep telling her no one calls him that."

"Whatever," I replied, oscillating my head with motivation. I was going to prove them wrong, determined to smile smugly at my best friends while being swept away in bridal style to the limousine sporting my wedding dress. The grip he'd have on my body would tighten because I'd previously informed him of their playful doubts on our relationship. In pursuit of stamping the last word on our ongoing debate, Sullivan Corbett would also, smile smugly.

That will be my future.

Jaydon guffawed and interrupted my daydream, removing his arms and cupping my shoulder reassuringly. In his best sophisticated, yet sarcastic tone, he announced, "Well, just in case it is Olivia Marshall, I support you, Riyah."

He gave a sup-nod and disappeared into the crowd without another word following. It was typical of him to do his rounds at a party, having recognized nearly every face there. This was also an automatic indication for Kayla and I to part ways. We never stayed glued to each others' hips like a lot of our friends saw us, but Kayla would try and score a hot date for the night whilst I would try and catch Sullivans' eye contact across the room. One was successful, and one was absolutely not.

If it wasn't clear, I was the one who failed.

"Alright, catch ya later," Kayla said, descending the drink to the counter and sauntering away. I, on the other hand, took one more shot before I left. Suddenly feeling a lot more lightheaded and similar to a cloud. Just floating through the room. I easily recognized this as being drunk when I found one of the chandeliers in the kitchen worth laughing at.

The room was blurring. Cobblestone and wood looked the same as glass, people were moving--or was it me who was moving? Groups of familiar faces were jumping and dancing, making my knees feel boneless and instead filled with water. I wobbled, staggering away and through the house, trying to find my place in a room of places.

I explored a new hallway as "Womanizer" by Britany Spears curled around my back. As much as I aspired to be married to Sullivan, I wondered if he'd want a house like this when we got married--because if that was the case, I'd always be getting lost. It reminded me of when I went in a corn maze with Jay and Kayla during a Halloween fest thrown in town.

I laughed aloud at the memory.

Frequently rolling my body over the wall as I chuckled in motivation to find something, but I didn't know what that something was. Blurry family portraits returned to my eyes as I tripped over my feet and gained an advanced sense of self. An adrenaline doused my veins in warm anger. "Why don't I get a cute nickname like Kay?" I muttered, scratching my head and causing a bit of chocolate-colored frizz to stand.

I ignored the passing by people I probably knew if I paid attention too while channeling my frustration. Everything was foggy, as if I was in a continual hallucination. I always felt like this, not good enough, as if my body grazing the walls was not seen by anyone else.

I mean, did they even look at me? They, being random people in the hallway?

My senses were undeniably shifted and I could feel the balance on either one of my shoulders tilt me closer to the supporting wall. "I don't even get a name? My name!" I declared, seeing an open glass sliding door inviting me onto the balcony.

"But no!" I exaggerated. "I get called Mia!" My voice progressively increased in volume as I neared the platform extending off the house and looking out onto Wyoming property. A single black fence encased me inside. The outdoor breeze seemingly returning my complexion to normal.

"I'm not fucking Mia! Who is Mia? I'm not Mia! That's not my name!" I shouted, centering my body on the balcony and searching the ominous mountains veiled by nightly shadows. I could almost hear an echo, that or Brittany Spears--it was all starting to blend.

"I bet the squirrels on that expensive-ass hill know my name ain't Mia!" I obnoxiously, and drunkenly slurred before swinging my body around, throwing my caramel locks over my shoulder and twirling foolishly towards the house.

"Woah!" I giggled, pointing to the figure pressed to the wall, looking at me with a crazed glare in their eyes. "You just appeared," I gloated, studying their slightly arched back along the wood siding of Sullivan's home. This figure held a lit joint between two fingers, exhaling a cloud of smoke which infused into the air.

"Yeah," he agreed in a raspy, perplexed tone. "Not-Mia." Being as drunk as I was, the mysterious person darkened by the obscure light attached to the house, had a soothing, yet crisp voice. Almost turned me on right then and there.

"See, someone gets it!" I exclaimed. The figure separated into two heads and was starting to disorient. I couldn't tell if they were wearing a hat or had a head of black hair, but something brought me to say, "You look like Mark Wahlberg and he's hot," I gossiped.

That was until my knees gave out and the figure leapt from the wall to prevent me from collapsing in on myself like a beach lawn chair. The strong smell of lemongrass pot and body wash left his black clothing and into my nose. I stuck my sniffer to his jacket to get a better scent. He really smelled nice.

Joint in hand, he let me get cradled in his arm as I asserted, "I think I'm taller than you." He was silent, but I could tell he was trying to inch away from me. "You should walk with me. You're like talented at that... has someone ever told you? I bet they have," I mumbled with a laugh, looking up at him with big brown eyes.

"No," he shot, prying himself away. I stood as tall as I could, my knees still buckling and unbuckling repeatedly. My spinal cord was deflating causing me to wobble like jelly.

"Fine! I'll walk by myself! Prove you wrong, you son of a bitch!" I sauntered off the balcony and dragged my body along the wall, but somehow a guy appeared in front of me.

Not the balcony guy I was talking to, but my drunken self didn't react. It was all happening so fast, my vision was blurring and the sounds of music penetrated my ears, my heart right alongside the repetitive and thrumming bass.

Guy was saying something, but his words were nice sounds added to the music. I hadn't realized if I responded because next thing I knew, I was being lured with an arm swept around my waist.

In the matter of seconds, I was jerked away from Guy and thrown into the crowd. It was sweaty, humid, and disgusting. I gagged, but that was it. I mean, until I met refreshing air.

I must've been leaving Sullivan's house since I was suddenly introduced to the benumbing ice temperatures again. However, like a repeat of the last Corbett party I attended, I blacked out, and I mean quite literally, quite cliche, everything just went black.

Shit, I was supposed to go home with Kayla.

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