So. It all starts with an innocent suggestion. 'Let's go to my house,' Nate says, 'it'll be a right laugh,' in that posh accent of his, and, well, it seems like a good idea at the time. Go to Nate's, have some drinks, go out, have some more drinks and then have a wonderful multitude of options such as over-drink, pass out and wake up on a drip at the hospital OR over-drink, go home, pass out and wake up with your head on the toilet seat sat in your own vomit OR over-drink, go home to someone else's house, wink wink nudge nudge and wake up in the morning feeling like you've been hit by a truck, rolling over and finding out that the beer goggles were on damned tight last night.
What actually happens is that we go to Nate's house and since his parents are out for the week and someone has good connections, two hours later finds us stoned off our faces, laughing at absolutely nothing. There's a monopoly board in the centre of our impromptu circle, which means fuck all really because at present I don't think any of us can remember what piece we are, let alone whose turn it is or what the actual rules are.
By this point I'm still in the room, not floating off in my own subconscious, though I'm only half aware of the rather embarrassing fact that I'm falling to one side whilst sat cross-legged, giggling to myself. I'm also growing steadily less aware of the fact that Nate is laughing as well and his fingers are massaging my scalp. I'm about two seconds away from purring at the sensation and for a moment the startlingly sane thought that my hair will be an absolute state after a while more of this crosses through my head.
Of course, the most annoying thing about this kind of situation is that all sorts of little secrets start worming their way out of my mouth, one hundred percent due to the fact that I physically can't stop talking. They're mostly innocuous but occasionally a priceless little gem pops out, and then the others refuse to let up on it.
“Seriously? Oh my god...I had no idea you were a rug muncher, Maria...” Nate says, cueing the most girlish giggle I've ever heard from Craig and Landon, though I'm not sure if it's the term 'rug muncher' or Nate's posh accent saying the term 'rug muncher'.
“Guys, she likes...guys...” Jazz says ever so eloquently, displaying just how absolutely tanked she is. “Not like, just girls...” Darling girl, is Jazz. I love her so, and declare it loudly to the group.
“So did you do it with her?” Craig asks, wide eyed with wonder, followed by an overly curious 'did you see her tits?' from Landon and I roll my eyes.
“'m not givin' you guys wank material just 'cos you've no experience with women.” If I were of sound mind right now my eyes would be rolling in their sockets at my slurred words, but to be fair Nathaniel's hand is still running through my hair and now it's less 'back of my mind' and more 'pleasant distraction'. It probably doesn't help that now I'm sat down with a risk of falling over onto him instead of the floor, either. There's a delayed yet affronted 'Oi!' which could be from either Craig or Landon, but I don't care any more. My eyes are closed and the world outside my mind exists only as a blur of sound and Nate's hand, slipping from my hair and trailing down my back, eventually wrapping around my waist and drawing me close to him.