Page 8 of Caged
“What?” I snap, turning my head.
She gives me a knowing look.
“You stopped breathing.”
“Goddammit, I fucking hate this!” I yell, flinging my eyeliner pencil into the sink hard enough to leave black smudges on the porcelain.
“What’s wrong?” Ele shouts from her adjacent bedroom.
I white-knuckle the edges of the countertop as I fight back tears. When I don’t answer, Ele snakes her head around the doorframe to check on me.
“Shit, Gabi,” she soothes. “Hey, we don’t have to go out.”
“No, we do. It’s the first night of our senior year, and… she would want us to go out… if she were here.” I clench my jaw in anguish as tears streak down my cheeks, and my shoulders shake.
“Ele’s right,” Vivienne says, joining my meltdown. “We don’t need to go out.”
“Yes, we do,” I growl, pounding my fist against the sink.
“Okay, well, we don’t need to go to Tommy O’s. We can go to The Woods or Gino’s.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I say, swiping at my mascara-stained cheeks. “No one goes there.”
“Everyone goes there,” Ele corrects me. “It’s just our circle of friends who only go to Tommy O’s.”
“Because we’re the cool kids!” Viv says in a sing-song voice.
“Not helping,” Ele scolds.
“I don’t think I can face him,” I admit.
“Who? Jace?” Viv asks.
“Any of them,” I say. If Jace is there, Kieren must be as well, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to contain my hatred for that piece of shit. He was the worst thing to ever happen to Monroe. I know he had something to do with her disappearance, and once I get a few drinks in my system, I won’t be able to stop myself from confronting him.
“Fuck, I look like shit,” I say, eyeing myself in the mirror.
“No. No, no, no, see, this is fixable,” Ele says, spinning me around. “Here, sit down, Viv will make you a fresh drink, and I’ll finish your makeup.”
I huff, blowing a strand of hair out of my face as I slide down against the wall.
“Don’t let me do anything stupid tonight, Ele,” I say as she removes the smudged liner from my undereye with a Q-Tip.
“I promise, I won’t,” she assures me. Vivienne comes back into the bathroom with my refill.
“Unfortunately, we’re low on ice,” she says apologetically, handing me the room-temperature mixed drink.
“As long as it takes the edge off,” I say.
“That’s my girl,” Ele smiles.
Tommy O’s is absurdly packed. The three of us hold hands in single file, barely able to squeeze through. Broad backs and elbows shove into me, knocking me from side to side, but I’m sufficiently buzzed and can’t find it in me to care. With every foot of progress, we run into another familiar face and scream withglee. By the time we make it to the counter of the bar, I’ve given at least thirty hugs. Everyone is ecstatic to see each other, and since I was abroad in Spain the second semester of my junior year, it’s been over nine months since I’ve seen most of these people.
Thirty percent of Dornell’s student population is involved in the Greek system, which is fucking huge when you do the math, yet somehow, our circle of friends feels no bigger than the number of bodies packed into this shitty, matchbox-sized bar. I’m glad we came out, because even though this bar smells of sour beer and piss like it always does, it’s comforting in a way, and admittedly, there’s no place I’d rather be on my first night back.
I’m beckoned into a booth and haul myself onto the ledge as a classic eighties song blasts across the speakers. Without question, the last song of the night is alwaysDon’t Stop Believin’by Journey, and it’s sacrilege not to belt it out as loud as humanly possible.
I’m mid-conversation with the girl next to me, another friend from my Delta Gamma sorority pledge class, when an uncomfortable feeling settles over me and chills skate up my exposed arms. My heart palpitates at the eerie sense I’m being watched. I’ve only felt this sensation once before, when my mom and I helped Monroe clear out her recently deceased grandmother’s house, and it’s unnerving.
