Chapter 26: The Party Monster
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After a moment, Joey’s grin faded as he looked at me for real again, the way he does when he decides something is serious enough to warrant it. Not dramatically, just differently. "You’re exhausted," he said, quieter now.
I shrugged automatically. "I’m managing."
"Bullshit."
"I genuinely am."
"Oliver." He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. "You’re working nonstop, dealing with your dad, surviving on instant noodles, trying not to fail your classes, handling the aftermath of the dorm fire, and on top of all of it, you’re stuck living with Damien freaking Lockwood, who apparently only communicates through written policies and disapproving silence."
He shook his head. "You’re going to collapse. Probably in public."
"That feels dramatic."
"You fell asleep in class today."
I blinked, caught off guard. A pause that lingered just a bit too long. "...How do you know that?"
"You snore, Carl texted me asking if you’ve got sleep apnea."
The horror crept in slowly and then all at once. "Oh my God."
"Yeah."
"In front of everyone?"
"It was pretty quiet. But yes."
"I’m dropping out."
"You can’t afford to drop out."
"...Right." I picked up my burger again, functioning on autopilot. "Right. Good point. Continuing then."
Joey sighed, leaning forward with the serious energy of someone handing out a prescription. "One night," he said, with the firm certainty of a doctor recommending something a patient is likely to resist.
I narrowed my eyes immediately. "No."
"Come on."
"No. I know how this goes."
"There’s a frat party tonight."
"Absolutely not."
"Free drinks."
"I don’t drink enough to make the social interaction worth it."
"Hot girls."
I was starting to get a bit convinced at that. "But I’m too tired to form complete sentences, let alone flirt."
"Hot guys?"
I hesitated and glared at him while he laughed like a dumb ass. "Not funny, moron."
Joey’s eyes lit up, and he pointed at me like he had just won a courtroom debate. "Aha!"
"I didn’t say anything."
"You hesitated."
"I was chewing."
"You considered it."
"I’m an open-minded person who was thoughtfully chewing. Those are two different things, I’m not gay."
Joey groaned dramatically, leaning back against the booth. I mean...why does everyone suddenly want me to be gay?! Did I give off twink vibes? Did I look like a femboy? I didn’t think I looked that sexy to pull that off.
"You need a break, man an actual break. Not just lying on your bed, staring at the ceiling while your roommate judges you for breathing."
"I need sleep."
"You need to act like a college student for one night instead of a stressed-out forty-year-old single dad of three, who also runs a small business."
"That feels personal."
"It is. It’s a precise strike." He pointed at me again. "One night. You come, you exist in a social space, you remember what fun feels like, and I’ll bring you home before midnight like a responsible designated friend."
I stared down at my half-eaten fries.
Part of me already knew he was right, which was what made Joey so irritating, he was annoying but often correct about things I didn’t want to hear. I was tired in a way that sleep alone wasn’t fixing, worn down beyond what rest could cure. Mentally exhausted. Emotionally drained. The kind of tired that seeps into everything until minor issues start feeling monumental.
And the idea of pretending, just for a few hours...that none of it was happening?Dangerously tempting. More than I wanted to admit.
Joey saw my hesitation immediately and grinned like he was winning. "Yes."
"No."
"That no didn’t have any weight behind it."
I groaned loudly enough that the table next to us glanced over.
"Fine," I muttered, pointing a fry at him. "Two hours. Maximum, non-negotiable."
Joey gasped as if I’d just made a life-changing announcement. "Yes! Okay. Two hours, totally reasonable."
I finished my burger in silence.
A few hours later, I stood in the Preston Hall bathroom, staring at my reflection like someone gearing up for an uncertain ordeal. The mirror didn’t lie: damp hair, tired eyes, a shirt that wasn’t bad but still felt out of place for the night ahead.
Steam lingered in the air from my shower as I pulled at the hem of my shirt, which looked clean and presentable, doing its best given the circumstances.
At least it was clean. It had to count for something. I was determined to let it count.
I ran a hand through my damp hair, took one last look in the mirror that offered no encouragement, and stepped back into the apartment.
Damien was back at his desk.
Of course. The guy studied like he was under some sort of contract with a soul-sucking entity that allowed no sick days or social lives, and he was sticking to it.
His gaze flicked toward me the moment I walked in, that quick, instinctive awareness he had about changes in his environment, like our apartment had a motion sensor he was linked to... then paused briefly, lingering on the shirt, my damp hair, and the jacket in my hand before he returned to his textbook.
I noticed immediately, because against my better judgment and without deciding to, I’d started noticing everything Damien did. Every pause. Every flicker.
Every tiny change from his usual complete indifference. It had turned into this involuntary habit, like I was automatically checking the weather or looking both ways, and I wasn’t thrilled about this revelation.
Which, honestly? Probably not great for my mental health. Something I meant to address later when I had more bandwidth for self-reflection.
I grabbed my jacket and shoved my phone into my pocket, determinedly avoiding the fact that I felt oddly self-conscious under his gaze. It was a couple seconds of eye contact at most. It meant nothing. He looked at everything with the same neutral appraisal, like someone glancing at a piece of furniture that had been slightly moved.
Stupid attractive emotionally unavailable rich guy, my mind helpfully chimed in, launching into its familiar internal rant about him entirely on instinct, as if it had set up a dedicated folder for Damien-related grievances.
God forbid he acted like a normal roommate for even five minutes.
God forbid he smiled once in a while instead of maintaining the perpetual expression of someone who had critically assessed humanity and found it lacking.
I shoved my other arm through the jacket sleeve more forcefully than it warranted.
"Going somewhere?" I muttered under my breath, mimicking his tone, as if I had started performing imaginary exchanges with my roommate while he sat a few feet away, which felt like a new level of psychological decline I wasn’t ready to confront.
I paused, frowned at nothing. Great. Now I was monologuing for an audience of zero in my own head.
Living here was dismantling me neuron by neuron.
The frat house was already loud before we even stepped inside, the music booming through the walls like a force of nature. The bass thrummed through the pavement under my feet as Joey and I approached, with throngs of students spilling onto the front lawn, red solo cups in hand, shouting over one another with the reckless volume of people who hadn’t spent the last week quietly losing their grip in a luxury apartment with a guy who only communicated through sighing and rules.
The moment Joey pulled me through the front door, it hit me all at once...alcohol, perfume, sweat, something faintly burning that I wisely chose not to investigate, all coiling together into this wall of sensation my sleep-deprived brain processed just a bit too slowly.
"Holy shit," I muttered, my eyes wide as I took in the chaos. It had been a while since I stepped into a party.
The place buzzed with a life of its own, jarring after two weeks in the controlled quiet of Preston Hall. Bodies huddled together under shifting lights that made everyone appear slightly unreal.
Girls in tiny dresses laughed loudly near the staircase, leaning into one another with an ease that suggested they were exactly where they wanted to be. Guys shouted over the music at beer pong tables, deeply invested in outcomes that only slightly drunk people cared about.
Expensive watches caught the light.
Designer shoes stuck to the floors, which felt like a metaphor for something.
Carefree laughter surrounded me, filling the space like it always did in rooms where inconsequentiality was a luxury.
And immediately, without any fanfare or invitation,l I felt out of place.
Not in a dramatic sense. Not something that crept up on me or announced itself. Just a soft, immediate awareness that settled over everything like an adjustment in focus, sharpening certain details more than necessary.
My shoes, old and clean but clearly not what anyone else was wearing. My jeans, the same old story.
The mental calculation I did automatically about how much the drinks on that table might have cost, compared to what I spent on food this week, and how those two figures related in a way I wished they didn’t.
Joey handed me a drink before that thought could lead anywhere productive.
"Relax," he shouted over the music, leaning in close enough that I could actually hear him.
"I am relaxed."
"Liar." He nudged me forward into the crowd. "Drink it. Stop thinking."
I took a cautious sip. Honestly? Not bad. Sweet, with undertones doing their job effectively. I took another sip, deciding to give the evening a shot.
For a while, I stuck close to Joey as he smoothly navigated conversations and people, moving through the crowd with the easy fluidity of someone who had always known how to blend in, which, as it turned out, he had.
Joey moved through social situations like water...without friction, effortlessly filling whatever space was available. It was a skill I’d noticed and admired but could never replicate, likely because it required a level of confidence I’d historically channeled elsewhere.
I mostly observed, drink in hand, watching the room with the detached curiosity of someone watching a nature documentary instead of actively participating in the ecosystem.
It was fine, genuinely fine. The music was loud enough to drown out heavy thoughts, which was actually helpful, and the drink was quietly working its magic, and Joey was nearby, and for short moments, I managed to just be without the weight of everything else crowding in.
And then...without any conscious decision behind it, the way eyes sometimes move before the brain issues commands, my gaze drifted across the crowded room.
And froze, in he came... Damien.