- XVI -

* * * * *
         Lena's tired but at the same time she's happy. The party's been good to her so far, now that's she had a chance to really immerse herself into it, to stop treading water at the surface and actually do something. Dancing mostly, enough so that her limbs have that pleasant soreness that you get when you've spent the last hour engrossed in good exercise, the kind that you know will cause an ache the next morning but you don't care. Even the noise is something she's used to now, there are no longer different conversations swarming around her to the point where you'd get overwhelmed if you tried to follow them all. They've blended now, with each other, with the music, with just the air around, until they're just as much a part of the ambiance as the wallpaper, as the lights themselves. Somewhere there's a strobe that keeps clicking on and off in seizure inducing cycles and for a while it's been giving her a mild headache. But she's ignoring it now, she's not going to let it ruin her night.
         Faces blur and people change. For Lena she's been mixing it up most of the time, sometimes dancing by herself and other times linking up with someone also by themselves and for a brief while finding a sort of synergy in synchronized movement. And then there are the even rarer times when a whole group of people get together, joining arms and attempting to fashion something cohesive out of a pile that's anything but. Most of the people around her are if not drunk, definitely most of the way there and trying harder every second. She hasn't had that many drinks, there's a light buzzing in the top of her head that's probably a mixture of the heat and slightly spoiled air but the dizziness is exhilarating nonetheless. Laughing, that's all she keeps hearing, laughing and shouting. People trying to sing along and forgetting the words, mangling the lyrics in an attempt to quickly improvise something likely as they go along and failing miserably. She could fill a book with the phrases she's heard and the thing's she seen. It's the way the party is supposed to be, a deliberate amnesia, a focused attempt to achieve something that in the end becomes little more than an old faded photograph. You can remember something of the events that led up to the picture but what you're actually looking at, you've no idea. And that's probably best, if everyone remembered all the things they did or tried to do at one of these parties, nobody would ever go again. They'd all swear off alcohol and join monasteries, sitting there all day staring at tiny print and trying to transcribe it, copying the same thing over and over and once in a while adding little flourishes of their own. The real world, in a nutshell. They'll be there soon enough, and this is just a stopgap to prevent it for just a few more hours. A communal fountain of youth.
         ". . . and oh mesh gear fox, pull out another bag of tricks from a scientific box . . ."
         The pace falters briefly, the beat slowing down. Not enough for a slow dance but enough to wake people up from the shared coma and give them a chance to get their breath. Sometimes she thinks some of the those people would dance all night until they dropped from exhaustion. Like those old shows her parents used to watch, with the dance marathons, those people with the numbers on their backs shuffling and moving for hours until they could barely stay on their feet. As a kid she used to admire people like that, she'd sit there in front of the television and watch their faces. They were tired and aching and mostly just wanted to collapse and yet they kept moving one foot to the other, kept going even though every part of their body screamed for some kind of rest, some sort of break. There was something utterly admirable and utterly stupid. To think of all the people who get put through stuff like that for reasons beyond their control and those people did it to themselves deliberately. And hell, even here, they're not doing it for prizes, well, not a monetary prize. She can see the guys, inching closer to certain girls, trying to see how far they can go, how close they can get before the girl either realizes what they're doing and stops them, or realizes what they're trying to do and welcomes it. Girls too, there's no slanted bias here, everyone wants something from someone else. A stolen kiss, a fondling embrace, maybe even more than that, after the party, in a quiet corner perhaps.
         But what does Lena want? Thinking of herself in the third person makes her laugh almost outloud. The night's getting to you, girl, when you start talking like that. But she doesn't care, her body is possessed of a tingling feeling that can only be from a combination of a light head and heat and close proximity to too many people. Getting drunk off the fumes. Her head's not spinning, it's just light, floating, when she moves there's nothing but air in her bones.
         ". . . it's the things you say, it's the things you do, go right through me . . ."
         Yeah, the song's too slow definitely. Her mind is whipping along too quickly, she'll look like an idiot if she tries to keep it up for much longer. One friend she remembers, a boyfriend of one of her old roommates, used to tell her the secret of dancing in large groups, which was to dance totally against the beat. Absurdly fast for the slow songs and amazingly slow for the fast songs. He demonstrated it to her once in a club, and she wasn't sure whether to laugh or feel sorry for him. He had broken up with her roommate shortly after and Lena had thought about going for it, especially when the semester ended and they weren't living together anymore but she just didn't. She's not sure why. Didn't feel right, maybe. Lena wishes she could go with her gut but going with instinct on a test question and following your basic feelings in a relationship are two different animals entirely. She knows that now. Sometimes everything can feel right, more than right, and it's still not enough.
         But she's not going to think about that tonight, is she now? If the slate wasn't clean before it is now, she's dived through a sheet of flames and burned it off of her body. Now there's nothing there, no markings, no symbols. Nothing. No past at all. There are nights when certain things bother her, when she can't fall asleep and she's staring at the ceiling and all the dark thoughts in the world seem to converge of her. And she tries to fall asleep and make it stop but they keep filling her head until finally she just has to sit bolt upright in bed, her chest clenching, her breath coming in and out in and out too rapidly for her to even catch up with it. There's a pressure behind her head then that leads to a different kind of lightheadedness, the kind that's bad, that makes you want to curl up into a ball and clutch your head hoping it goes away.
         But not tonight. She has to remind herself of that firmly. She's not in bed and she's not trying to fall asleep, in fact she couldn't be more awake. Her senses are flaring to life, nerves firing on all cylinders every second, her brain is just a constant series of flashing arcs of electricity. Like that film she saw once. All thoughts are light, brilliant glittering things going off in your head like rampaging fireworks. They could blot the stars out tonight, all of them together. Shine a light up so that you could see it from space. Maybe that thing would be up there and he would see it, he'd see it and know that they weren't staying scared. If they all stuck together there wouldn't be anything damn thing to be frightened off. No matter how hard it tried, no matter how goddamn hard Tristian-
         The sudden intensity of her thought staggers her a bit and she loses step. At the same time a damp body bumps into her and Lena backpedals to avoid falling on her ass. Something solid and cold rubs up against her back, raising goosebumps underneath her thin shirt, sending chills right down her arm where it touches bare skin. It makes her jump a little until she realizes what it is. The window. Ha. Lena laughs a little, shaking her head at her jumpiness. Too wired from the night. Every out of place occurrence becomes reason to panic. You've just got to calm down and take it one step at a time. Everyone leaps up at once to solve the same problem and that's when . . . that's when . . .
         when you all disappear
         Damn.
         Lena turns around suddenly to hide the no doubt unsavory expression that flutters over her face. She leans against the window, resting her forehead against it, breathing slowly and seeing her breath fog there, a widening circle of moisture. The coolness of the window seems to absorb the simmering heat in her body. It's almost relaxing, in a sense. Send it all outside, try to warm the air up. Her face is a reflection in the window, a vague hollow thing, not at all like her real face. Almost transparent. And yet she feels that way sometimes, these days, wavery and ghostly. Like you can see right through her. For the first time in a while though she feels solid, planted firmly on the ground, even as her head seems to want to lift off into space. Lena's happy that Will threw this party, it's what she needs, what all of them need but especially her. Something to put everything else into perspective. The problems of the world, of your little world, won't go away but for the one night you can see that they're not life threatening or earth shattering that the company of friends and friendly strangers you can ease it and maybe when the night's over and you wake up the next morning and look out the window to see the sun streaming down on everything, maybe it all won't seem as bad.
         Lena really hopes so. She really does. Because it's been a rough year so far, high peaks and low valleys, times when she felt totally safe and others when she felt completely alone. All the small pieces fitting around her bit by bit, walling her off into a place where she can convince herself that nothing could bother her. She almost did that, almost closed herself off completely. Even thinking about it now, skirting around the edges of the memory like going around a forest where you hear a wicked witch lives, it causes her breath to become a little more ragged, like icicles jutting into her lungs. The problem with the small problems is that they creep on you, inexorably, insidiously, and you try to put them aside, deal with them one by one and then it's not until almost too late that you notice that the house of cards you thought you had has turned into a cage of iron. Just one little slot left to fit the door and the trap is complete. It's that easy. The things we do to ourselves are many and brutal and in the end there's just no excuse. No excuse at all. The world is out to take a baseball bat to your kneecaps and kick out your full head of steam too often for you to sabotage your own efforts.
         Lena almost stuffed herself into her own personal cage. She closes her eyes briefly, letting the world resolve into false colors that there aren't names for and shapes pulled from her mind, all spinning in that private darkness. All it takes is one event, one goddamn event that weighs down on you so much that you start feeling the mass of everything else and that's it. Locked in and the key thrown into the nearby river. Let someone else fish it out because you can't give a damn, not anymore. That almost happened. Lena's not sure how she stopped it but she's proud that she did. Even as some nights she wakes up from a dream that consisted of nothing but total blackness and a familiar voice telling her the same thing over and over.
         something just doesn't feel right
         And she wonders how close she really came.
         Tucked in this little corner of privacy, not even facing the party, Lena feels a distant calm settle over her. The coolness of the window is nice against her forehead and her legs are constantly being brushed over by a small air conditioner being made to work in absolutely hideous conditions. This is probably the only cool spot in the room, and it's nice. Behind her she can hear the drunken shouts and catcalls of the party but it's like sitting in your house and hearing the neighbors next door busting the place up. You know it's there because you can hear it but for just this moment you can't bring yourself to care. And it's not a bad thing or a good thing, it just is.
         There's a couple on the couch that her hip is resting against and even though she's not looking at them directly the couch is shifting ever so slightly. Lena can't bring herself to look at them directly, for now she can pretend that they're just so figment, that they don't really exist. That's not true of course, even as she tries not to pay attention she finds herself focusing all of her attention on the situation. It's a perverse inverse game we all play, we parade the things that bother us most in front of our eyes, like we enjoy reminding ourselves of what makes us suffer. The bad things in the world don't mind, they enjoy the fresh air, honestly, the dank apartments they live in generally aren't conducive to growth. But a good honest self loathing, something like that can be more priceless than purest gold.
         Mutterings and murmurings are caressing her ears. Lena should really go back to dancing, or maybe even head to the bar and just chat. She hasn't done enough flirting tonight, a little bit here and there but it's not really her thing. Guys always think the wrong things, always seem to want to go one step farther than you want to go. Lena's not sure what she wants and maybe that's her problem, maybe it's not them. Not every guy in the world that expresses interest in her wants to have sex, she knows that. And yet sometimes . . . sometimes you just want to feel safe. That's all, really, in the end. That's what love always meant to her, feeling safe with someone, like you could trust them with anything and never have to worry. If the sex happened to be good, well that was just an added bonus.
         Such the cynic. Lena smiles a little, remembering Jina's comment earlier in the night. They've been there for each other a lot lately and Lena isn't sure who needs the other more. Nights like this, Lena is the one feeling like a disjointed pile of limbs, her thoughts all askew with the rest of the world. But there are other nights when Jina is convinced that nothing she ever does is right and that it's all just pointless. She hates seeing her friend like that, Jina is normally so cheerful that watching her mood turn dark and rank is like watching someone rip her heart out. Standing there with your arms tied behind your back because you're helpless to do anything, you just have to watch while your friend gets strung up by the world and dangles there, too tired to even struggle. And the nights when they are both suffering from the weight of the world
         like that one night that one night that
         Lena stiffens instinctively, thrusting the memory away before it can break the surface. Next to her the couch jumps, causing Lena to shift away in surprise. She still won't look at what's going on there, she really is better off not knowing. She can just hear gasps and sighs and crooning whispers, the typical soundtrack to a motion picture like this, she's been there enough times that she can fill the gaps in herself.
         you . . . have you ever felt like this before
         but Lena finds herself plugging the holes with manufactured memories, picturing the couple next to her in the theatre of her head, taking their wordless oaths of passion and dubbing her own words over it
         God no I've never . . . never felt like this . . .
         closing her eyes tightly as she feels ghost hands moving over her back, exploring the notches between her vertebrae, sliding down into her ribs, warm hands easily coasting over her suddenly cool skin
         I don't . . . why does this feels so different . . . it's different this time . . .
         around her stomach, tracing the contours of her hips, even as the voices next to her come in endless cascades of emotion, even as she can hear their voices right next to her ears, soft and comforting
         with someone I don't think I've ever felt this good
         fingers caressing her hair, travelling down to cup her ear, barely touching her cheek, like a faint tingle that makes her hand clench so tightly that her nails bite into her palm
         why do you feel this way I don't understand
         even she shivers a little, remembering how it ends, how it always has to end
         because I feel safe
         even as the couch trembles one more time, a move that nearly bruises her leg even as the dulled pain helps to focus her mind, even as she tries to clamp down on the escaping memories, a prison riot of swirling gibbering thoughts that have been held down for so long that they can't help but to run wild if given the slimmest sliver of a chance
         I always feel safe with you, that's why
         I want to always feel this way, that's all I want
         "Not how it happened," Lena insists to herself, turning her head sharply to the side, staring at the pooled darkness laying stagnant at the landing of the stairs. There's a poster on the wall that she can barely make out and she focuses on that to calm herself. She can't let go. Why can't she let go and just enjoy herself for this night. It's like she can't forgive herself for something she never really did. Like she had something special and let it get snatched away simply due to her lack of action. But that's not how it happened, that's not what happened at all.
         Lena looks down, placing her hand flat on the window, feeling the cold seeping right into her hand, going up her hand and she hopes that there's enough so that it reaches right up into her brain, numbs the whole slab of grey matter right down to the core. Don't feel anything and get out there and dance like a damn fool, girl, you don't stand here and pity yourself for something that you didn't have any control over. Maybe. Maybe.
         At the angle she's at, Lena can see the reflection of her own hand and it's like someone is on the other side trying to hold her hand, trying to reach her and the glass just won't let them touch. She curls her finger a little, trying to bring it that one final inch closer but it's the gap you can't cross, it's just too much distance crammed into too little space. The only thing she can feel is the dispassionately bland smoothness of the window. Maybe that's what she misses, a gentle touch, just simple pressure, a reminder that you're human, that someone wants you and someone thinks about you.
         you make me feel special
         "Not it either," Lena reminds herself harshly, looking down at her feet and letting the top of her head touch the glass. The sudden shift of perspective makes her a little bit dizzy, especially given the heat and packed nature of the room but she finds she likes the feeling. It's different, but it's reassuringly familiar at the same time. The pulsing river of the party is flowing right past her and she can feel it plucking at her, trying to get her to come back and join them. She will, really, she just needs some time to herself for a second.
         A breeze seems to brush right against her face and a nagging startled sensation makes her look toward the stairs.
         Tristian's standing there.
         Lena finds her heart thumping hollowly in her chest and finds herself almost automatically flinching back, as if Tristian was some flaming wreck of a man that might burn her just by being near. But that's stupid, he's just a guy. Just some guy. She has to remind herself of that. He certainly looks normal enough now, looking around the party with an almost exaggerated sense of curiosity, like he had fallen asleep for two years upstairs and is coming down to figure out what all the fuss is about. His head moves left and right, his eyes pass over Lena but if he sees her he makes no facial note of it. She's not sure how that makes her feel. On one hand, she hates being ignored, on the other hand, sometimes you're better off not being noticed.
         Smiling and almost nodding to himself, Tristian steps off the landing, lightly striding across the room, hands in his pockets, cutting through the crowd of dancers like he doesn't even exist. Or they don't. It's probably a matter of belief, if you disbelief your own lack of physical existence for long enough, then walls just aren't barriers anymore. Some professor told her that once in some stupid philosophy class and it's coming back to Lena right now. Back then the professor was making some sort of obscure abstract point that only vaguely connected to the class. She wonders distantly what he would think of this but right as she's following Tristian, tracking him with her eyes, he's gone, swallowed up by an anonymity better than any witness protection program. The entire sequence unfolds so quickly that it's almost like some half remembered fever dream, she finds herself doubting that it even happened. But she knows. You disappear in there and it's like nobody's ever heard of you. In a party, nobody sees nothin', nobody knows nothin', nobody can tell you anything. Fifty personal parties going on in every square foot, they just happen to all be using the same room tonight. In this place. In this time.
         Still, she keeps thinking of Tristian, when she was staring at him without realizing what she was doing, catching him in what appeared a freely unguarded moment. Deep down inside, she wonders how much of what he does is just for show. And the crazy theory arises in her head, a sea serpent rising after holding its breath for too long and spraying foam and water, head whipping around in the blinding daylight, the theory that maybe he's doing all of this to make them hate him, that he wants them to make him go away. That he can't find the strength to get away from them, but he wants them to do all the work.
         Lena thinks about all the things she's thought about Tristian, in the last few months, in the last few hours. More thought than she had previously figured. And yet, considering them all, she wonders how well Tristian is doing his job. And how well she really knows him. She thinks of Brown's story again, of a Tristian that she had never seen before, that she thought she'd never see, and she really wonders if that Tristian was ever buried and left for dead like they thought.
         Lena wonders.
         it's not like it used to be, you know, the things you say they don't
         Even as her brain tries to stop her.
         "Figures that the one night I agreed to drive," Lena muses with a vaguely detached amusement, "is the one night I really need to get drunk." The dancers are swirling in front of her like schools of fish mingling and crisscrossing each other. The music slaps a beat out that she doesn't want to ignore. But she likes it here, just standing and watching, there's a kind of happy peace to it. Sometimes you immerse yourself so much in people that you just want to get away from them for a bit. Just for a bit. Else they stick to you and cling and you can't move anymore for lack of the weight coating your body. People. Lena crosses her arms and smiles a bit, starting to feel happy again. These fears are just so stupid, she thinks. Things gone past, things that you can't do anything about. It's just in her nature but that doesn't mean she can't try to be better than it, that she can't try to rise above it. And maybe she won't succeed the first time or the second time or even the tenth time, but that can't stop her from exorcising the thoughts from her head, to when she can stare at her warped expression in a dirty pane of glass and not feels claw of doubts descending on her brain. Maybe she hasn't made the right choices in the past and maybe she isn't as absurdly happy as she wants to be but she's young. There's still time. There's always time, even when the bus is bearing down on you and your legs have stuck to the ground like there's quicksand. Even in that split second, you've got an eternity of action. Granted the outcome is generally the same each time but hey, you can't win them all.
         Something hits the head of the couch next to her and Lena looks down to see a pale head staring up at her. The rest of the body is fortunately still attached, splayed out on the cushions, his hand on his head, tangles of hair caught in between his fingers. His eyes aren't very focused and his smile can be politely called goofy, if you were being kind. At least the couch isn't shaking any more.
         "God damn . . ." he says, and even then Lena's only guessing, partially because his words are nearly slurred into one strung out syllable and partially because it's so damn loud that even someone next to her as to raise their voice to near shouting levels.
         "God damn," he repeats, and his eyes lock with Lena's, "why the hell do women suck so goddamn much . . ." The words are spit out like a sigh, an expulsion of breath. Some phrases just slide right out of you like someone greased the language right up. Generally the things you least want to say. Does this make me look fat, honey? Oh hell yeah, like a bloody zeppelin. Things like that, things you can't control.
         Thinking like that, Lena finds herself giggling a little at the scene in her head, at the guy nearly passed out below her asking the air what she hopes is a metaphor, at the world itself. To keep the guy from asking her more questions that would care not to think about she slides to her left a bit, still glancing back at him, even though she can't see his head anymore, just his stomach and legs. Something about that makes her laugh even harder.
         "You're losing it, girl . . ." Lena admits to herself, tipping her head back and rubbing her arms.
         "Hey you," someone says next to her, tapping her lightly on the shoulder.
         "What . . ." she turns to see a familiar face standing at her shoulder, grinning at her with a face that Lena can't quite decipher yet. "Oh hey Jina . . ." There's a story behind Jina's expression that Lena is sure she's going to hear. Hopefully it'll be interesting and won't involve how Brian once again wonderfully and sublimely made a total ass of himself.
         "This is about the last place I expected to find you," Jina notes, bumping her a little with her hip. "Catching your breath . . ." and she gives Lena a sly sideways glance, "or looking for me?"
         "Well, aren't we the modest one tonight . . ." Lena laughs, crossing one ankle over the other and settling against the window sill. Even as she does so she knows in a few minutes it won't be comfortable at all, even now the corner is digging the hell into her ass. Story of anyone's life, you wedge yourself into somewhere of dubious comfort and see how long you can hold out before you start getting a stiff neck and a crick in your back. Still, she was wondering just a tad where her friend had vanished off to for the last half hour. "Where did you go, by the way?"
         "Aha!" Jina exclaims, pointing at Lena. Ambient light glints off the tarnished silver ring on her finger. "Admit it, you are just a little bit curious!"
         "Emphasis on the little bit," Lena notes dryly, rolling her eyes a bit. "It's not like you were going to leave without me or anything."
         ". . . sometimes you're better off dead, there's a gun in your hand and it's pointing at your head, you think you're mad, too unstable, kicking down chairs and knocking down tables . . ."
         "Oh I don't know about that," Jina replies coyly, tilting her head away from Lena, smiling secretly. "There's any number of people here who'd give me a ride home." She leans back against the wall, hands laced behind her back, swaying her body to the pulsating beat. "It's just a matter of choice, really."
         "Oh yeah you're beating them off with a large club," Lena points out wryly. "That's why you're here with me, you figure I'll scare them off, hm?"
         "Scare them off?" Jina asks, narrowing her eyebrows at her friend. "You seemed to be doing fairly well for yourself tonight, girl. A swinging single gal like yourself, you're just irresistible to them." Jina gives a slight laugh. "If anything, quasi-single me is the one scaring people off."
         "Don't I know it," Lena sighs, looking down at her sneakers. She's not sure how much sincerity she's been injecting into her voice. Still it's a good feeling to be talking to her friend, whenever she starts to get all caught up in herself, Jina helps bring her back to earth.
         "What's wrong?" Jina asks, her voice still light enough to be caught and swept away by the roaring party winds, but there's a hint of concern there as well. "Too much choice out there for you? Not sure where to start?"
         "Oh yeah, right . . ." Lena snorts, looking directly at her friend. "That's just the problem. You've got me."
         "Well how about that guy over there . . ." Jina notes, taking her friend's arm and pointing to a guy dancing near the center of the group, his body moving as if oblivious to everyone out there. His hair swings over his eyes every so often and tiny beads of sweat can be seen flailing out into the air whenever he flips it out of the way. "He'd be into you. And he might even be your type."
         "You can tell those things just by looking at him?" Lena asks her friend, eyeing her sideways. Lena has to admit that the guy is mildly cute, and he's definitely enjoying himself, not moving perfectly with the music but dancing freely with anyone who's coming over to him, either in groups or just with someone else. Lena feels like a voyeur just standing here staring at him, at everyone else, like she's rating and ranking them, a shark trying to find the juiciest swimmer of the bunch by floating underneath and staring at their legs and the cut of their swimsuits. In this dark section of the party arena, it's a closed in feeling, a claustrophobic sense that the dancers might just keep expanding until they're all standing smushed against the wall, trying to hold conversations and avoid elbows in the face, shouting over a party soundtrack that has become more and more like a bludgeon, physically assaulting them with waves of noise, drum beats lashing them across the face, leaving welts even as they laugh and slap each other on the back, swearing that this is the best party ever. The wound vanish by morning along with other memories. That's just the way it works.
         "I've got a good eye . . ." Jina smiles.
         "So how do you explain Brian . . ." Lena teases.
         Jina blinks but says nothing, her face falling blank for just a second. Lena finds that odd but isn't sure how to approach the subject, if there's even a subject involved. She's so bad at reading people, everyone might as well wear bags over their faces for all the good it does her. Everyone's just a mystery to her, and maybe that's a good thing. Maybe she'd be better off not knowing what makes people tick, why they do the things they do to each other. For some absurdist reason, the image of Tristian standing on the stairs, wavery, a mirage borne of a room too full of moisture, it slithers into her head, caught in a burst soap bubble. She has to force the memory to go away before she can think clearly again. It's turning into a strange night. Really.
         Turning back to Jina, she asks, "So you think I should just go over there and introduce myself . . ."
         Jina blinks again, then her face resolves itself back into a grin, "Oh so you are interested . . . told you I knew your type . . ."
         "I haven't said anything yet, I'm just saying . . ."
         "Oh come on, you're interested, you know it . . . I can see it in your face . . ." Jina pushes Lena forward a little, not being ready for it, she nearly finds herself stumbling headfirst into the crowd. "Go for it."
         Lena twists herself so that she's partially facing Jina again. "And what are you going to do, stand there and cheer from the sidelines?"
         "If you want me to be your cheerleader," Jina replies innocently, hooking one foot behind the other, mimicking the first steps of some cheer that probably hasn't been popular since Jina left high school. Still the oldies are always favorites.
         "I was thinking more along the lines of my mother," Lena responds.
         "Your mother would do that? I'm so sorry," Jina laughs. She pats Lena on the shoulder, saying, "Come on, Lena you need to enjoy yourself out there more . . . maybe not that guy . . ."
         Lena narrows her eyes, "Definitely not that guy," as she sees him suddenly hook his arm around some girl and spin off the dance floor with her. Bodies falling to an earth turned sideways, they both hit the wall embracing, faces melding even as Lena tries to focus her attention elsewhere. She didn't need to see that, fortunately the crowd parts and then fills the gap in with opaque people, mercifully blocking her view.
         "Oh okay, not him then," Jina admits, though she seems more amused by it than anything. Hell easy for her to say, if Brian weren't here, she would be beating them off with a club. In fact she wouldn't even really be bothering standing here talking to Lena, she'd be fielding requests, getting the most out of the party to the best of her ability. Nights like that, they'd always leave together and Jina would chatter on incessantly about the guys she met and what did and almost did and oh my God do you believe what he almost had me doing. Stuff like that and Lena if she was driving just mostly nodded and focused on the road, while if she wasn't driving just did her best to fall asleep in her seat. Maybe not the most polite thing in the world but whatever it takes to preserve her sanity.
         "But anyone else, Lena, come on work with me here . . ." Jina admonishes, tapping her friend on the arm. "You're not being much help."
         "Help?" Lena comments. "You're the one trying to set me up with every random person you see."
         "Not set you up . . ." Jina corrects. "Just, you know, show you who to go to if you want to enjoy the night a little more." She holds up a hand, "And don't tell me you're not interested in that, Lena, come on, I saw you dancing out there with people. You just need a little extra pushing."
         "That'd be you, I take it."
         "You don't have to thank me now, it's okay. I understand. Really I do."
         "Sure, sure . . ." Lena laughs and shakes her head. She can't believe they're having this conversation, Jina must be nuts if she thinks that just because she's been given a little prompting, a little prodding she's just going to throw herself at the nearest attractive guy and start trying to make out with him, she's sadly mistaken. Lena likes to think that her tastes are a tad more discerning than that but at the same time, she can't help but watch two people making out, caught up in each other, entwined, blotting out the rest of the room until it's not so much as a party for them as a sectioned off corner of the world where they can pursue whatever sordid tasks they want in pretend privacy, she can't watch that and help but want some of it. It's an empty feeling that makes her stomach ache and her chest sore and so she tries not to pay attention. And yet some of those times she was dancing out there and a guy would brush her shoulder and smile maybe and Lena would feel an electric tingle coursing down her spine. Stuff like that. It just makes you want to let go. But she can't. Or won't, she's not sure if it's a conscious thing yet, like her senses were all tied off at the most critical junctures, everything is dulled here, like the world here is so alive with sensation that she has to shut herself down a little so she can take it all in.
         ". . . so let's sink another drink, because it'll give me time to think . . ."
         Lena wishes she knew what was wrong with herself, lately everything has felt so awkward. Dancing tonight is about the first time she ever felt anything approximating grace in her life for the longest while, just letting her body go and not caring where it takes her. Still, at the same time she's holding herself back. She didn't used to be like that. Growing up maybe? Or growing old. She always thought that maturity was something that you had to consciously choose, a helmet that you fit on one morning and constantly adjusted for comfort. Apparently it's a dart that creeps on you anyway, no matter how much you want it. She taps her foot to the insistent rhythm, feeling a tenuous connection to all of this, waking up from a coma to find the world changed from when you last fell asleep. Lena can't find herself falling into a passionate sweaty mess, it's not what she wants. And yet even making that decision doesn't even satisfy her. What the hell does she want?
         "Hey," she says suddenly, partially because she actually has a question and partially because she senses that Jina is going to say something else on the subject that Lena isn't all that ready to hear, "where did whatshisname go?"
         "You mean Tristian?" Jina asks and there's a twinkling in her eye, a lopsided sort of smile. Lena's not sure what hidden meaning is implied by that. It's so hard to read the details in this room anyway, even blunt words are stripped of any interior symbolism.
         "No I don't mean Tristian . . . God you've got him on the brain tonight . . ." Lena sighs, rolling her eyes a little. "Your other friend, Joe . . . that's his name."
         "He's not here?" Jina narrows her eyes and looks around, trying to stand on tiptoe to see through the smog of people hovering in front of them. "He must be still outside, I guess."
         There's something she's not saying and Lena picks up on it almost immediately. "When did he go outside . . ." even though Lena's got a feeling she knows the answer already.
         "Hm . . . oh, with me, I went to go have a cigarette and he came out with me for fresh air . . ." Jina says almost absentmindedly, as if trying to remember something utterly unimportant.
         Lena digs further. She's not sure if she should just drop the matter entirely or wait until the car ride home but something evil in her is egging her on to pry now. It's fun to get some stuff out of Jina for a change, instead of her friend standing there and analyzing all of her feelings, her thoughts. It's a benevolent sort of revenge, if such a thing exists. "Just fresh air? That's it?" Somehow she manages to keep a straight face as she says this, even doing a small two step to the music while she's standing there. Some guy circling the perimeter spots her and gives her a drunken thumbs up. Lena grins and returns the favor. She can enjoy herself when she wants to, the ability isn't totally lost.
         "And company, I guess. We chatted for a while." She seems to sigh, the sound almost lost in the galloping clatter emerging from the speakers. Lena's sure that she's going to spend the next few days shouting and thinking that she's talking perfectly normal. The price you pay, she guesses. "It's been five years, you know."
         "I know," Lena agrees, a portrait of innocence, nodding sagely. "You two must have had lots to talk about." Together all night they've been, two lost friends who thought they'd never see each other again. Brown seems to be a fairly sweet guy, even Lena's found herself admiring him from a bit of a distance but he doesn't seem the type for relationships. Or even randomly hooking up. A strange sense of honor. Lena remembers dancing with him and it was really nice, he was cool and collected, dancing close but never going too far. If Lena wasn't in such a weird mood tonight she might find herself screwing her courage up. If Jina hadn't been here as well, if she hadn't seen how they looked at each other, closing a gap opened by something she hadn't been around for. Something like that you just don't get in between, Lena may have made some silly decisions in her life, but she's not an idiot. Even if she had thought Brown was her soulmate, she would have stayed the hell away. For all her teasing, Jina's been too damn good of a friend to deserve something like that from her.
         "Hell," Jina sniffs, "I was surprised that he was even still alive, you know, you don't hear anything from anyone for that long and you start to wonder, right?"
         "You were never one to read the obituaries," Lena responds, and she hears the longing in her friend's voice. Instantly she feels bad for even bringing the subject up, especially since her motives were less than honorable.
         "No I'm not," Jina concurs solemnly, as if debating the relative merits of a recent trade agreement. She laughs suddenly, a near silent sniffing noise, as if finally getting a joke that someone told her an hour ago. Slow on the uptake. In the flickering ghost light playing tricks on their eyes, it almost happens frame by frame, the world finally shifting gears and moving into slow motion. The night extending itself, because they've been so good. Yeah right. If all of their parents could see them now, knee deep in hedonism, they'd sit there with heads in hands and wonder where they went wrong, conveniently forgetting all the things they did as kids. The dates on the calendar changes, sometimes the faces but nothing else really ever seems to. We follow in footsteps that aren't ours for the sole reason that we don't want to risk missing anything by detouring or trying something different, wasting valuable time. That breath that you can't get back, that minute that gets torn off your heartbeat and is wrestled screaming to the ground before being finally stomped into silence.
         ". . . kissed him, Lena," Jina is saying, her voice the buzzsaw slicing through the tangled forest of Lena's thoughts.
         The half sentence floats to her with enough force to floor her even with its fragmented meaning. "What?" she says, feeling her eyes growing wider in the time honored tradition of showing apparent shock and surprise. "What was that?"
         "I kissed Joe," Jina admits, her expression caught somewhere halfway between shame and exhilaration. "Out there. We were standing there, you know, talking and I just . . ." she gives a sheepish shrug. "I don't know how it happened. But I did it."
         "Wow you were busy, weren't you," Lena says neutrally, not sure what to think. One kiss, that's nothing, right? Hell it's one more than Lena's gotten tonight, though we've already established that she's not really trying her hardest, eh? She eyes her friend. "You look like you enjoyed it, though."
         Jina breaks out in an impish smile. It lights her face up. "I keep trying to feel guilty and it's not working."
         "Would you like me to help you with that?" Lena asks only half kiddingly. "Because you know I will."
         "No, knowing you, you'd probably succeed," Jina notes archly, a smile blunting the acidity of the comment. "No," she sighs, stretching so that the backs of her hands are touching the window behind her, "I think I'd like to remember this one for a while."
         "This is something we're not telling Brian, I take it," Lena says, mostly just to be thorough. Not that she would tell Brian anyway, she's got that much loyalty to her friend and it's really none of her business anyway. She did something like that and Jina would never speak to her again. Not that she'd blame her.
         "Don't plan on," Jina responds without hesitation. "Would you?"
         "Probably not," Lena admits.
         "I hadn't seen him in so long," Jina says almost dreamily. "You know how . . . how sometimes things, they're just not under control . . . that's what it felt like . . . like we started talking and there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing either of us could do. You know?" She smiles and shakes her head at the memory, as if doubting its validity.
         Lena says nothing, but she knows exactly what Jina means, it's something ingrained into her memory, stabbed there with a chisel, almost hard enough to draw blood. The memories are all pleasant, each and every one but the emergence is what pains her. It's not something she wants to be reminded of now. On this night. When watching all this oblivious faces staring at each other so blankly, as if caught in some tribal trance, trying to raise some god and make him do their bidding. When all they're really doing is boiling their hormones to an almost fever pitch. Even she can feel it, her heart pounding quicker every time she locks eyes with someone she can get lost in. The temptation to just reach out and try to connect with someone is almost maddening. You can't stand there among people who are doing the same thing and not fight off the need to join in for too long. Lena thinks she'll succumb to it sooner or later, it's just a matter of time. And which guy gets to be the lucky one. Yeah, right. Sure.
         Someone breaks off from the group suddenly and in the hunched over darkness it's not until he's right on top of them that they can tell who it is. "Hey, girls, looking good . . ."
         "Hey Brian!" Jina says, giving him a quick kiss as he puts his arms around her. Lena tries not to look directly at them. This is bothering her more than it should. Her eyes scan the crowd for Brown but he's nowhere in sight, she wonders if he's watching this from somewhere. It puzzles her, the way Jina is talking she'd leave Brian for a second to go with Brown and yet Brown would never go for it. She knows that even as she admits she knows nothing about the man other than his name. They're almost perfect for each other and yet it'll remain something unfinished. Lena likes it when things are pat, complete, these dangling threads of life swinging in the heavy wet air around her don't do her any good. It just reminds her of how random life can be.
         "So you want to have a dance?" Brian asks, his voice a slurred blur of words. Drunk already probably but having enough sense to know who Jina was. One time he nearly kissed Lena before she stopped him, his vision had gotten so bad. The memory makes her smile. Brian's got his faults but he's still a decent guy. Treats Jina well. Lena can't find herself complaining. It's not her life. She's got enough in her own life to take to task, unfinished business, knotted events, blurred reasonings and fractured rationale. Lena can't find it anywhere in her to blame Jina for kissing Brown, she wasn't even there, it's not something she can judge. In the end, it's more of an envy thing, seeing those people going through their lives, seemingly more self confident than she'll ever be. She wants to be them. Any of them. And yet she knows that she wasn't always like this, silent all the time, projecting a face to the world that isn't what she feels inside but still isn't happy. Her true self is curled up in her head, trapped behind glass walls that it stuck itself inside, brick by bloody brick because in the end she didn't know what else to do. The austere intensity of for a brief second not existing did it. You blinked out and the walls went up by the time you cane back. It's that fast, what you can do to yourself.          "Love to," Jina grins at Brian, letting him sweep her back into the crowd. It's like Lena's not even there, but she's come to expect that sort of behavior. When Jina is with a guy she's really into, it's like the rest of the world disappears. And guys like that too. Her eyes follow them until they get swallowed up and for a second Lena feels very alone, almost lost, as if she might be this way forever. It almost makes her feel cold, even in this stifling room. The stray thought of wanting to go outside hits her but she doesn't want to do that just yet, if at all. There's still dancing and maybe out there she'll meet someone. And they'll be perfect for each and fall in love right in front of everyone and life will be perfect. Right out there in that dizzying swirl of bodies, the perfect match might be looking. Just for her. Waiting.
         "Right," Lena sighs, shaking her head at her own false optimism. It doesn't work that way, she knows. Probably be boring if it did, actually. She places one foot in front of the other, the way the ballet classes used to teach her, pivot and then without hesitation she steps into the storm once again, sliding in between gaps to get into the deeper portions, where the better dancers are. The people on the outside are just trolling, looking for eligible staggering about, hoping that the heat and noise will get to them and they'll want to go someplace quieter. In the center it's different, those people are more devoted. She puts her arms above her head and laughs, feeling the beat strip her to the core. When all is said, Lena remembers that deep down inside she's someone who likes to enjoy herself. Here she can come alive again, pretend that nobody is staring at her even when she knows that everyone is. Closing her eyes a little, she moves back and forth rhythmically, easily catching the beat and riding it all the way down to the end.
         ". . . well I left my baby and it feels so bad I guess my race is run, well she's the best girl I ever had . . ."
         She's left her watch at home but even if she had it on her it wouldn't be telling the right time. Time. That's the theme it keeps running back to. There's never enough time, the songs are their clocks and their pulses and their stopwatches, slapping out seconds in three minute intervals, giving voice to something that in the end crushes them all to dust. Not that anyone in this party is thinking about that, and Lena can't figure out why her thoughts keep visiting those off limit areas, circling around like a vulture eyeing a carcass guarded by a lion, not willing to go near for fear for being hurt but smelling the fresh stench and finding yourself unable to stay away. Lena tries to push all of her thoughts out of her head, she's moving faster, trying to keep up with a song that seems to be constantly outrunning her. Body's as light as a bird, as endless as light itself, whipping out tendrils into the night, the world slashing across your eyes, sideways and tilted, a dark dense mess of people. Voices blending into voices, Lena's back in the center and the world spills out from there. In an infinite Universe we're all the center, each and every one of us. We dance in our little spaces and you're the center of your own world and so is the person next to you and so on. Until the gravity balances out and no one moves closer and no one moves farther apart. A physical truce. There are bodies close enough to Lena where the smell of sweat and broken down perfume is almost a solid thing, all of it rising toward the ceiling and clustering and hardening there. Making it darker. Making it as dark as it gets.
         She gets glimpses of faces as she moves, but it's like when she was on a carousel ride a kid. Her parents had put her on and she had clung on to the painted horse for dear life, legs wrapped tightly around the dead wood even as the world rushed by in circles. And every once around the circle she'd see her parents but it wasn't her parents anymore, their voices came as warped things from a record left out in the rain, their waving arms and smiling faces turned into something liquid and dragged into something unrecognizable, until it was like she'd step off the spinning horse and straight into a new garish world where all the colors ran together and people were smushed and blurred, as if seen through dusty glasses. It's like that now only color has fled the world entirely, they've chased it out until it's like those stark photographs that you keep seeing from the days when your grandparents were children. Blank faces where you can almost see the beer floating behind wide eyeballs, bodies strained to the point where it's screaming for sleep and rest but the music drowns it all out.
         Lena swallows and feels the dryness in her swelled throat, she tries to breath through her nose else she might have to taste the heated air, maybe even get drunk off the soaked stinking atmosphere. Still she's got a grin on her face, just like before, people are shouting, at her and with her and she might even be shouting along but who the hell cares in the end. Because you won't remember it clearly and you won't remember it in pictures, you'll think about it only in textures, only in fragmented feelings and emotions. Emotion is a contagious disease, mood can be spread from person to person even without contact. Lena's laughing because she's feeling happy but she's not sure where the feeling is coming from, outside or maybe even inside herself. The party takes pliers and pulls it right out of you, stabs the prongs right down into your soul and yanks it back to the surface. And you let it happen because you've got little choice in the end, if you're not happy then the combined will of people just ejects you from the party, antibodies engulfing a foreign organism. She's seen it happen, dejected souls slumping toward a far corner, trying to get away from the wall of emotion directed at them. The mob mentality, Lena's read about it a dozen times but you never believe it. Lena's laughing and spinning around, swinging from person to person, hands clutching her hands, around her waist, the darkness would be frightening if it weren't so utterly natural.
         ". . . so you just remember how he would tell you lies and then pretend that everything was so sweet, no need to sacrifice if you're not satisfied, he's just a canine running round on heat . . ."
         The past is something you pick up with the dirty laundry and toss out with the bathwater. You always think that when caught in a crowd that you'll act the way you normally do, that when it comes to down to it, you're an individual, you're always yourself regardless of the situation. But if Lena has been taught anything, it's that you never know how you're going to react in a given situation and what it will do to you. The consequences are always longer reaching than we want to admit, breaking down and building up, you're never sure if you're on the way up or heading down and even which is the best direction you want to be heading it. It's all so damn relative. And if the crowd wants to dictate how she's feeling then right now she really couldn't give a damn.
         Jina's there too, her and Brian spinning toward her, Jina looking toward her while still dancing with Brian and laughing something out at her that the world just cuts to ribbons. It comes to Lena garbled, gibberish that even strung together makes no sense. She detaches from Brian and her and Lena join hands and dance in an utterly silly fashion, goofy faces and random motion. They must really look like idiots but they don't care, Brian somehow manages to slip himself inside the pair and it's a threesome where the sexual overtones are swept up and kicked at the ceiling along with everything else, stuck into the roof like cutlery from a knifethrower with lousy aim.
         And then Jina's gone too and Lena's not sure if it's because she's moving constantly or Jina is moving or maybe they're all moving, rotating around some misbegotten center, partners switching partners, everyone revolving at different speeds. Stars are shining through the window, with the lights out in the room the dark is clearer than daylight. The slow sinuous dance of the planets is here, in them, speeded up to catch up with their lives, they burn out and flare and fall away before the planets move an inch in the air but it's all the same. If there's any pattern in life it's that there's always motion, even when standing still you're always moving. The ground is moving, life around you is sweeping you into the flow, your mind is a network alive with arcing spurts of electricity. Even when her world ceased to exist for a second, she was moving, the intervening distance crossed faster than the mind could follow. Even when she thought her world had ceased to exist, sitting on her couch watching television and crying because she was being showered in technicolor love stories, even then she was moving toward something. Or away from it. Or the world moves away from you. Or with you. Hammering the point home doesn't make it any clearer, Lena can't remember the last time it made any sense to her.
         Yes she can. She can. On her back, laying with someone's hand lightly touching hers, watching a sky so blue that it hurt to stare at it, seeing clouds drift in the air. Feeling a calm and a peace and at the same time being totally aware of the earth grinding forward under her back. Feeling the hand on her and feeling anchored all the same. A pleasant drowsy warmth of summer and the wish that it had never ended. That it could never end.
         why don't we ever talk like we used to
         whispers that she feels dotting her face like light spring rain
         we are you just aren't listening anymore
         Motions.
         I want to listen, you just have to say something
         Sensations.
         it's not going to work that way, not now
         no-
         The music wraps her in a blanket and she tries to turn her mind off and fall away. But it's not working she's still Lena and not all the forces in the world can make it go away. Does she want to? She draws her arms in close, feeling time scrunch to a halt almost, the voices of the world turning deep and baritone, extended sentences, slurred undertones. Even without being drunk it's a trip, a black and white psychedelic world, broadly smiling faces and the sense that anything is possible. In the darkness you're so numb that you can't even full the wet tissue paper that's the illusion covering it all.
         Someone grabs Lena suddenly, and with a near shout of surprise that gets buried by the relentless toothless snarl of the surroundings she stumbles and is propelled along with it. She spins to get her bearings, it's like being dragged out of the water, feeling as light and free as a dolphin and then coming up on land and realizing how limited you really are. How heavy everything is. The sudden inrush of air makes Lena a bit dizzy and she staggers over to the wall. The touch on her arm is gone but she can sense someone standing near her. It's not Jina, too tall, not even Brian. And the jagged silhouette is too broad for Brown, which makes her a little disappointed for reasons that are too complicated to totally piece apart.
         Lena's got her back against the wall now, and she's facing the dancers and it's like trying to see the nearest galaxy with the naked, it's just swirling still lights, caught in still frame so far away that you can't imagine how it can impossible affect you. The slap in the face from reality is a bit annoying and Lena feels a bit cold, having emerged from the womb like conditions of the center. It's got her a bit irritable frankly and she's more than willing to unleash her wrath on the person she sees as the cause of it all.
         "Listen, Tristian, I-" and she spins and takes a step forward as she does so. The person flinches back, though slowly, as if knowing he's going to get struck and resolving himself to take the pain. Like he deserves it.
         The light washes over him from the single lamp illuminating the bar. Even with shadows that drape him like a beard, Lena can tell. She can tell it's not Tristian. What made her say his name? Has Jina got her thinking about him all the time now, all her talk about Tristian is starting to have a subliminal effect on her brain, whenever she turns she's connecting the world to Tristian. All the damned misery in the world flows in him and through him. Like it's his fault.
         "Lena," Jack spits out, backing up a bit and swaying on his feet like he's nailed to the floor, the wind gently guiding his movements. "Sorry. I'm sorry." Lena's not sure what to even think, why the hell is he even doing this, even she can even hear him properly. Over his shoulder she can distantly see that Carl is at the bar now serving and it's now Brown. She wishes she knew where Brown was or Jina or Brian or even departed Tristian. The look in Jack's eyes is liquid and dulled. He's been giving his liver quite the workout it seems and all the excitement has gone to his head and set up camp there.
         "What are you doing, Jack-"
         But even as she's saying it he's talking, standing closer to her, until she's back up against the molding of the closet door, feeling rounded wood digging into her spine. His breath is a fetid stink of a million kinds of liquor distilled into something that could probably offer instant drunkenness if you could find anyone to sell it to. Hell, who is she kidding, everyone would buy that. They're all out to get drunk in degrees, even her. She's no better it's just that it's not her turn tonight.
         "Lena, I'm sorry," and he keeps saying that, "but I've been thinking . . . and you know . . ." he wipes sweat off his face, giggling a little while he does it. Lena's got a bad feeling about all of this, she really does. But there's no escape.
         "I mean . . . we never, that's . . . that's the problem, right . . ." and he grins at her like she should agree with his point, when he hasn't even stated one yet, "nobody ever says the . . . things that they want . . . to . . . say, I mean there are . . . there are probably . . . stuff you've never said, right? Right?" and his nodding is like one of those stupid flamingo things that bob back and forth into the water. See the drunk with the floppy neck. Amaze your friends.
         The things that Lena has never told anybody she has always told herself she'll take to her grave. That's how she wants to be, either utterly open about everything or completely closed in. The words written on books in her brain stayed locked up, the keys gathering dust in the folds of her mind.
         "What are you talking about, Jack?" Lena asks, frustrated, wanting to get back to the party, wanting to run but unable to even move. His eyes are paralyzing her, there's something there that she thinks she wants but it frightens her at the same time because the fact that Jack is giving her this feeling is telling her how bad she's getting. How bad she's gotten. You can only fall so far before you can't stop caring about plummeting. Lena's fast approaching that point and she didn't even realize it, the darkness equalizes everything.
         "There's . . . there's something I . . . oh God," Jack rubs his face again and Lena thinks he's about to cry. He blinks hard. "I don't want to be like him, Lena, I don't want to . . . to hold it all inside of me and . . . I don't want to turn into him, you understand? You see?"
         "Who are you talking about, what is this all about?" Lena's probably shouting at the top of her lungs, but none of it is penetrating the haze surrounding Jack's head. He just keeps blinking hard and shaking his head, caught between two worlds, flickering in and out of this damned world.
         "Because, that's, that's all we have in the . . . in the end, each other, right? And if we don't . . . talk," Jack's got a whine to his voice but at the same time it's impossibly sad, "then we'll never . . . know," his speech borders on pathetic though, decrying a life that's only been good to him so far. You're still alive, right? You've still got health. There can only be hope then, no reason for this moping.
         ". . . you've got to stop the fool before he starts . . ."
         ". . . you!" and whatever proceeded Jack's statement is lost in the static flare of the speakers, they're standing too close, the noise is hurting her ears now, forcing her closer to Jack. He thinks it's for another reason and the hopefulness in his eyes makes her almost want to cry. This isn't going right at all, she wants to get out of here.
         She's not going to ask him what he said, she's going to get the hell out of here and not let herself be subjected to this any longer, that's just the way it's going to
         and then he grabs her by both arms in a touch that's surprisingly gentle considering his lack of control over his strength and in a voice devoid of all subtlety cries out achingly
         ". . . in love with you . . ."
         the tone hits her right in the face along with his breath and now she's blinking and flinching back, almost dragging him along with her
         "I can't . . . there's no reason not to tell you . . .
         "Jack, I . . ." but Lena can't keep her thoughts straight, it's getting hard to breathe, the room is suddenly this closed in prison, keeping it hedged in, keeping her trapped in a maze of bodies, wandering only in right turns, passing the same corner
         "but I have to tell you, because . . .
         "Jack, don't-"
         "because I love you and always have and . . ." now there's an actual tear leaking out from his eye and his grip on her arms is a sweaty slickness, "when we don't . . ."
         "God, Jack you're-" and there's no escape except escape
         "tell each other . . . anything and oh God Lena I saw him . . . and I don't . . . I don't want to be like that ever, I don't want you to . . . to think of me that . . . way, and . . ."
         He's going to say it again and Lena can't take that. If there's anything that makes her want to flee it's this and the world is speeding up again, chipmunk voices clutching at her, tittering all around her. Jack's about to speak again and Lena's got a panicked crushing feeling in her chest because the memories are still there and it's almost like part of her wants to stay her and respond
         I can't be this bad, this desperate
         and tearing herself away is a twirling motion, his hands ripping from her and she expects skin to be left behind on his palms, skin and hair and she twists too hard and slams into the wall, gasping for breath
         someone's calling her name
         and she stumbles, following the wall, tracing contours, the darkness a pressure on her face as she strives to see, scrabbling for purchase on a smoothness that defies her touch
         he's going to say it again
         and you can't stop him
         but the voice you hear isn't his
         the doorknob is under her hand and the door is yanked open and she's stumbling out into a light, muttering things to herself that she can't understand, the party a warzone now that's she streaking from, a jet lost in enemy territory
         can't let him say it again
         the damage
         and she only pauses a second before the single word out lashes against her and she's stumbling down the stairs, afraid she'll fall, afraid she'll trip and break her damn neck and those are the last words that she'll ever hear another human say
         Lena, I-
         oh God no and she's falling and walking and nearly getting splinters from the bannister, hearing hollow clatters from her rapid footsteps, her breath thundering in her ears like the distant rumble of a thousand hoofbeats, pressing your face to the ground in hopes of getting some warning
         Lena I lo-
         No! Please God no-
         She hits the door almost like someone threw her down the stairs and she just stands there, every intake of breath a hiccuping, sobbing motion
         "Oh God, oh God damn . . ."
         and there's something wet tickling her face and the taste of salt at the edge of her lips that she wipes away almost angrily because she is angry
         I lov-
         angry at herself and the world and mostly herself again, for letting a simple phrase upset her, for letting Jack upset her, for letting that phrase remind her
         and all her anger is doing nothing more than getting herself sick in the stomach and she stands for a few seconds, wishing for a friend, wishing that she'd stop crying, not even sure if she really is crying, her face is pressed against the steel door and the numbing chill is rendering the world a distant speck of a thing
         ve you-
         "Damn!"
         she cries, smacking her palm against the door, wanting to feel the pain riding her up arm, the shock arcing down right into her shoulders, her neck, her head, causing a buzzing at the base of her brain
         take a deep breath, Lena, calm down
         She forces herself to take deep breaths, not liking how uneasy her stomach feels, how gnarled and knotted she feels inside, how ashamed she is of herself for letting a pathetic drunk trigger emotions that she thought was long over
         but apparently not it seems because she can still hear a different voice siblant in her ear, telling her things that make her go warm inside even as a pressure outside envelops her
         "I need some air," Lena admits finally, blinking her eyes back into clarity, laughing in a false, sniffling manner, wiping her face and hoping that she didn't screw her face up too much. She just needs to clear her head. That's all. A little fresh air and this will all seem like some silly overreaction. Hell she knows she was overreacting already. That's right. That's the spirit, Lena. Put it all into perspective.
         you don't even say it, you don't ever say I
         Memory's not an easy houseguest to get rid of and Lena has to evict it from her head even she grabs the cool doorknob and slowly opens the door. The sudden hopeful thought that Brown is still out here makes her cheer up a little bit, even as she wipes her eyes again self consciously just in case. He might even listen to her, he seems that kind of guy. Sympathetic. Receptive. She can deal with that, that's what she needs right now.
         And even as she's placing her foot out onto the concrete landing Lena can see that there is someone out there already, at the edge of the stairs. In a green jacket. Hands in jacket pockets, staring out into the night, like he's contemplating the stars. Silent. Facing away from her so that she can only see the back of his head. Lena feels her stomach go light as recognition floods her senses. Her mind abruptly goes blank even as she detachedly registers the door clicking shut behind her unaided, physics doing her work for her.
         "Hello, Lena," Tristian says after a second, not turning around, his voice blandly conversational, "it's really a nice night, wouldn't you say?"