(WP) Friday Night’s Mistake
She had no idea what even happened; somehow, she had gone viral.
The last thing she remembered, she was at a party, celebrating Halloween. And a cute guy dressed like a Shakespearean courtier approached her with a martini, tiny red pills in his hand. He had leaned in close, and Bee could smell the cologne he’d used to cover up the stink of sweat.
“What is that?” She asked him, taking the martini and nodding to his open hand, cupped around the bright round pills, so red that they reminded Bee of poppies. She took a sip of the martini and winced at the burn of vodka blazing a bright line from her throat to her stomach.
“I’m not sure. My roommate scored some from one of his townie buddies off-campus.” The stranger replied, giving Bee a rakish smirk. She could tell that whatever the substance was, he’d already taken some: his skin was flushed and sweaty, and his pupils had expanded so that it nearly swallowed the iris.
But she was all caught up with her work, and she had the weekend off, so before she could think about it too carefully, she held out her hand. She was rewarded with the pills and a hearty, companionable clap on the back that nearly made her drop them. Bee put the pills in her mouth, washing down the chalky taste with the alcohol.
“You may want to stay put for a minute!” The courtier, who she later learned was named Nicolai, put a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Don’t wanna have a bad trip, after all.”
Bee had finished half of her martini by the time the unknown substance started to kick in.
The room began to sway, and bright colors burst before Bee’s eyes. The music seemed to swell and fill what little empty space was left in the room. All the while, her new friend stayed by her side.
“I love this song!” Bee yelled, finishing her drink. She threw her hands in the air and danced, all inhibitions lowered. She didn’t even realize that the rest of the partygoers had pulled out their phones to record her as Nicolai led her over to the keg. She’d never experienced this kind of high, the kind that made your bones liquid and made the world seem like a truly happy, welcoming place.
She accepted a cup of pale ale, toasting the room, then knocked it back. She couldn’t see her own face clearly, thankfully, but she recognized the costume: she’d been dressed as a cat, with the trashy leather bodysuit and whiskers, the whole nine yards. But luckily, no one else could tell it was her.
“Turn it off,” Bee ordered, feeling her cheeks flush. Nicolai was chuckling, watching the events transpire from the video some drunk idiot had uploaded to Youtube.
“Damn it, Nico! I told you to turn it off!” Bee snapped, reaching out from behind him and snapping the laptop shut.
Her head was pounding. Yeah, last night was definitely a mistake.
**
