1642734778_punk-57-pdf

I laugh. I’ve known him long enough to know he usually likes his liquor
mixed with Coke or juice or something.
“Come on!” He pulls me along. “Let’s dance.”
I smile, taking my beer and feeling a little better already as he leads me
over to where the music is. “Dirty Little Secret” plays, and the warmth
hitting my stomach from the beer filters through my limbs, as I sip my drink
and join everyone else, getting lost in the noise and excitement.
Over the next hour, we do nothing but dance. He replaces my empty cup
with a water bottle and another beer, and I double check to make sure he’s
the one who poured it. The slight buzz I had from the one has smoothed
away the edges, but I think it’s more the music and the energy of everyone
around us that’s intoxicating.
We jump up and down, laughing and dancing, and Ten leans into my
ear. “You feel better now?”
I nod, shouting over the music, “Yes! A lot more relaxed, actually.”
“Yeah, they say alcohol isn’t the answer, but it’s nice to be able to turn
off your brain for a little while.”
I finish my drink and toss my cup away, grabbing a bottle of water to
drink for the rest of the night as Ten joins me at the bar.
“Another one?” I chirp, pouring him a shot.
He smiles, shooting it back without the salt and lemon this time.
I lean into him, smelling his heady cologne. It feels kind of good to be
there for him for a change.
I keep everyone—my friends, my sister, my mom—at a distance,
because I started to believe that no one could really like me for me. That’s
why I had to change. And any attention my family or Ten gave me was
simply them pretending.