Addicted 2 U

Gwen's First Party

GWEN

We pull up to Cole’s house about thirty minutes after the party’s already detonated into chaos. Music pulses through the walls like the house itself has a heartbeat. I expected something bigger—two floors at least, maybe a deck with string lights—but instead it’s this cramped little one-story ranch where half our grade seems to have squeezed inside like overexcited, sweaty sardines.

Someone is throwing up in the bushes. Two juniors are pressed against a mailbox, making out like they’ve forgotten air exists. I’m… oddly impressed.

Jay gives a low whistle. “This is… not what I thought Cole meant when he said ‘big party.’”

“Yeah,” I say, though my chest is buzzing with anticipation anyway. First party. First real night of being wild-adjacent. First night I might see Sara not framed by fluorescent school lights but glowing under terrible LED strobes.

Inside, heat slams into me. So does the smell—cheap booze, perfume, sweat, and something fruity that might be a candle or someone’s spilled drink or both. People dance even though there’s no space for it. Someone screams, “SHOTS!” from the kitchen like a battle cry.

Jay gets swept away within seconds—teammates grab him, shouting his name. He mouths something to me—“have fun!” or “don’t die!”—but the music eats it.

And then someone I don’t know shoves a cup into my hand. “Drink!”

I blink at them. I don’t ask what it is. I don’t think to.

I drink.

Burns like rubbing alcohol mixed with liquid candy. Horrible. Effective.

Mistake number one.

Time immediately begins to wobble. Moments stretch and compress like taffy. Am I dancing? Standing? Laughing? Who knows. Someone wraps their arms around me and says, “Gwen! You’re so cute!” like we’re lifelong best friends. Someone else pulls me into a photo. The flash blinds me. People keep handing me drinks as if I’m doing them a favor by taking them.

Through it all—through the blur and bodies and noise—my eyes keep finding her.

Sara.

Sara Starr is luminescent tonight. Her blonde hair is in a high ponytail that sways when she moves, and all her edges are soft under the colored lights. She’s smiling, but it’s lopsided and loose in a way that worries me.

Baron—towering, smug, overconfident Baron—won’t stop refilling her cup. He keeps an arm slung around her waist like ownership. When she wobbles, he steadies her. When she laughs too loosely, he grins like he’s proud of himself.

I don’t like it.

Not even a little.

At one point, he presses another drink into Sara’s hand—guides it to her mouth when she misses. Her eyelids droop. She sways like she’s on a slow-moving ship.

Then he lifts her off her feet entirely.

Carries her toward the hallway.

Into a bedroom.

Door half shut.

Something cold slices through the drunken fog. Instinct. Fear. I follow without thinking, my feet moving before reason catches up.

I reach the door crack.

I look through.

Sara is on the bed—spread out, still, dazed. Baron is hunched over her, kissing her sloppily, tugging at her clothes with the urgency of someone who isn’t receiving consent so much as ignoring its absence. She doesn’t kiss him back. She barely reacts at all. Her eyes are open, but empty.

My stomach drops.

My heart spikes.

Everything in me screams.

I slam the door open. “HEY!”

Baron spins, annoyed. “Relax,” he slurs. “You want in or something? I can be nice.”

His grin is feral. Mocking.

I look at Sara again—at her limp arms, her bunched-up skirt, her vacant stare. This is wrong. This is bad. This is dangerous.

“Get off her,” I say, stepping forward even though the world tilts slightly. “She deserves better than… this. Better than you.”

Sara’s gaze snaps—flicks, really—toward my voice. A tiny, flickering spark of recognition. It hits me like a punch. She knows I’m here. She hears me.

Baron straightens. “There’s no problem. Leave. We’re busy.”

“No,” I say.

It comes out steadier than I feel.

He notices my wobble. And I notice him noticing. His expression shifts—opportunity, advantage. Before I can react, he grabs my arm, yanks me into the room, and kicks the door shut behind me.

I hit the floor hard, breath knocked out of me.

By the time I blink, he’s on me—pinning me easily, weight crushing, breath sour with beer. Panic flares like fireworks in my chest. His mouth crashes onto mine, sloppy and forceful, and my brain screams—not him, not like this, not my first kiss—

He fumbles with my shirt buttons.

I try to shove him off.

Useless.

And then—

He’s gone.

Launched sideways off me with surprising force.

I look up to see Sara—my dazed, barely-standing Sara—having thrown her entire body into him. Baron hits the floor, stunned. She wobbles, but with one sharp kick, she nails him right between the legs.

He folds over, groaning.

Sara turns to me, breathing hard. She extends a trembling hand. “Come on.”

It sounds fragile. Scared. Brave.

I take it.

Something deep inside me anchors itself to that moment. That hand. That choice.

We run, half-falling, half-fleeing. Music blares. People laugh, oblivious. My shirt is half-open, Sara’s hair is falling out of its ponytail, and our fingers are still tightly intertwined as we crash through the crowd and spill out into the night air.

Jay is on the steps, frantic. His eyes widen when he sees us.

“Gwen! Where were you? I’ve been losing my mind—” He stops when he really looks at us. My torn shirt. Sara clinging to my arm. The terror on both our faces.

“Get in the car,” he says immediately.

I don’t let go of Sara. Not once. Not even when we slide into the backseat together. She curls into me, head on my lap, her breath shaky. I stroke her hair gently, trying to comfort her without overwhelming her.

My heart shouldn’t feel this full. Not right now. Not after all that. But holding her… It’s like touching something delicate and important.

We drop her off first. She doesn’t say goodbye. Just bolts for the door, taking a tumble.

I hop out of the car and immediately help her up, walk her to the door, and make sure she gets inside.

I’m walking back toward Jay’s car after she goes inside, hands still shaking. My vision blurs. The world rocks because I’m drunk, but also because everything about tonight feels too big for my ribs.

And she suddenly bursts out the front door again.

“Gwen!” she calls, her voice cracking.

I spin. “I-I’m here! I’m right—here—”

She doesn’t walk. She stumbles into me, arms wrapping around my shoulders, face burying into my neck.

“I didn’t say thank you,” she whispers. Her breath is warm on my skin. “You saved me.”

“I didn’t—no—I just—”

“You saved me.”

I’m trembling. She’s trembling. We’re a mess—alcohol and fear and adrenaline tangled together.

And then she pulls back, eyes glassy but focused right on me.

“Gwen… why did you come for me?”

My mouth opens.

And alcohol makes the choice for me.

“Because I love you,” I blurt.

She freezes.

Oh god.

Oh no.

Abort mission.

Undo. UNDO.

But I can’t stop. The words spill, frantic and honest and unstoppable.

“I love you, Sara. I always have. Since elementary school. Since your stupid pigtails and your sparkly notebooks and the way you laugh like you’re lighting the whole hallway up. I love you. I love you so much it—f*****g hurts.”

Her breath catches. Her lips part.

I keep going—because I’m drunk and terrified and the dam has burst.

“And I know you don’t—don’t think of me like that, I know you’re with him, but I just—after tonight—I needed you to know. I needed you to know I’d never let anyone hurt you. Never. Because you deserve more respect than that.”

Her hand lifts—shaky, unsure—and presses to my cheek.

I stop breathing.

“Gwen…” she whispers. “I—”

But Jay calls from the car, panicked:

“G! WE NEED TO GO! NOW!”

Sara flinches. Her hand drops. Reality slams back down.

She steps away like she’s waking from a dream.

“I-I have to go,” she whispers, voice fragile.

“I know.”

She backs toward her door. Hesitates.

And then—

“I’m glad it was you,” she says softly. “The one who found me.”

The door closes behind her.

And I stand on her lawn, heart in shards, alcohol crashing through my blood, Jay shouting for me—

Knowing nothing in my life will ever be the same.

It hurts more than I expected as I clamber back into the car.

Jay and I sit in silence, watching her house.

He finally asks, “He didn’t… do anything to you, right?”

“He tried,” I say softly. “But she stopped him.”

Jay looks conflicted. “G, they’re together. Are you sure it wasn’t—”

“No.” The word slices through the air. “Jay. No.”

Before he replies, the curtain moves.

Sara is in the upstairs window.

Staring down at me.

Her eyes meet mine. I smile—small, gentle. She hesitates, then returns it. A fragile, grateful smile.

Something in me unclenches.

I breathe again.

------------------------

The next morning, I wake in Jay’s bed with a skull-splitting migraine and a stomach flipping like a dying fish. I make it three seconds before vomiting loudly into the bucket beside me.

Jay shouts from the kitchen, “Left side! Bucket’s there!”

He sounds way too cheerful.

After an hour of misery, I drag myself to the couch. Jay is making breakfast… badly. I normally cook. He’s doing it like he’s trying to distract me with burnt eggs.

“Jay?” I croak. “What did I do last night?”

“That,” he says, poking at a misshapen pancake, “is a fantastic question.”

“I ruined my life.”

“It wasn’t that bad. Entertaining, even. Well—except for you, like, attaching yourself to Sara like a koala.”

I groan, letting my forehead hit the counter. “I can never see her again. I said things. Things I should never have said.”

He turns. “Like what?”

“I told her she deserved respect.”

He nods. “Reasonable.”

“And that I’d treat her better than literally anyone else alive.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Less reasonable.”

“And I basically confessed my undying love.”

He stops. Completely.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The silence between us grows sticky, uncomfortable.

And then—he leans forward and kisses me.

Just… kisses me.

My whole soul leaves my body. “JAY?!”

He recoils instantly. “I KNOW. I DON’T KNOW WHY. I’M SORRY.”

He starts pacing, running his hands through his hair. “I thought I was gay! I mean—I still might be—but you’re just—Gwen, I like you. A lot. More than I meant to. And I get it if you want space, or want to move out, or never want to talk to me again—”

I just stare, frozen.

“I’m—uh—I’m gonna get ice cream,” he blurts. “For both of us. Because sugar solves… things.”

He grabs his wallet, his keys, and flees the apartment like it’s haunted.

The door slams.

And I sink onto the couch, curl under a blanket, and hide from the universe.

From Sara’s empty stare.

From her smile in the window.

From Jay’s confession.

From everything I felt last night.

From everything I don’t want to feel right now.

Just for a little while.

Just until the pounding in my chest quiets.