Pessimist

1 - Butterfly

Everything affects everything.

The butterfly effect; logic that everything has consequences, whether good or bad.

I'm starting to understand what they mean by this now, why somehow an innocent act has gotten me stuck in a party where I am alone, cold, and forgotten. There's a high that numbness gives you that no other drug can. The cold feeling of not feeling, the unawareness of time and place, the loss of smell, hearing, and sight.

I think there are tears streaming down my face but I can't see. I think I have a headache but I can't feel it. The bright LED lights of the party hammer against my blurry eyes, the sound of distant pop music and conversations drowning out any thoughts I may have.

At the end of the day, I am to blame.

Because I decided to come here.

This was supposed to be my fresh start, this was supposed to be a different situation. Yet I know that I could move a thousand times and still be stuck at this stupid.

Alone.

Cold.

Forgotten.

Party.

Breathing in heavily, I grip the red solo cup filled with unknown liquid. The strong smell of sweat, weed and cheap liquor bring my headache to life. I can smell it again but I wish I couldn't. It was all too much; the strobe lights, the dancing bodies, the smoke, the suffocation, the drink, the cold floor.

Everything that could go wrong, went wrong.

I need to get out of here.

Taking another deep breath, I stand up slowly, steadily, gripping the smooth wall ahead of me to balance out the headrush.

But I couldn't get up.

Trying once again, my knees failed to cooperate as they stayed put, locked and pulled towards my chest like they were seeking embrace. This was a terrible time to shut down, I told myself. A fucking horrible time.

"Come on," I muttered, "Get up."

My brain was in survival mode, shutting itself down as it awaited for an attack that never came. Escaping something so adrenaline filled had that effect on your body, like it was still getting used to being normal again without the havoc of a potential threat.

"Do you need help?"

Looking up, a shadow of a person spoke. Soft and deep, like they were telling me a secret. It was a miracle that I heard them through this messy fog of voices and music, the smell now burning itself into my mind as I refocused on the task at hand.

"Nope, actually I was having a floor party," I grinned, grimacing at my fake burst of happiness. I need to get a grip of myself if I don't want to look like a major fool.

They frowned.

Sighing, I nodded, waiting for them to bend down and reach me, lifting me off the ground and into their arms. The sudden movement imploded a harsh wave of pain to my head. Quickly pressing a hand to my forehead, I stayed put with my eyes shut.

"Are you alright?"

The same groggily voice whispered into my ear, soothing the ache. I realized their proximity and moved away, nodding my head at them.

"I'm fantastic. Actually, ask me in five seconds and I'll be elated."

His frown deepened, making my smile dim, so I toned down my next response.

"I'm alright, don't worry. Thanks for the help." I stretched the fake smile back onto my face hoping the shadow wouldn't notice, and then I turned to leave before stopping suddenly with an obvious thought lingering in my head.