Fiona on Fire | ONC 2023

09. party animal

There were clothes strewn around Fiona's room. She paced back and forth, picking up and dropping various garments as she talked to herself. She had no clue what to wear to Alex's party. She didn't even know what kind of party it was. It felt too lame to ask.

As part of her splurge, she'd packed her closet with some new higher-end clothes. Fiona plucked up a silky little black dress. She figured she couldn't go wrong with such a classic piece. If the party was more formal than she thought, the dress might look distinguished and sleek. If it was more casual, it was short enough above the knee to avoid looking out of place.

Questions darted through her mind. Was it fashionable to be late to a party? What kind of party was this, anyway? Would there be a lot of people or a small crowd? Would everyone be drinking and doing drugs?

She had never attended a Los Angeles party, and she had an image in her mind of a drug-fueled rager in a mansion, attended by celebrities and socialites.

Alex had texted her his address. He lived in a house in the hills on Mulholland Drive. She had no doubt it was a nice, very expensive place—the wealthiest people always lived up in the hills. She didn't.

She put the black dress on and selected some heels to match. Daylight was steadily draining from the sky, shifting from pink-orange to deep black, dotted with stars. It counted down the hours she had left to decide whether or not to do this thing.

She was going. She was a part of this world now.

Fiona got in her car and entered the address so her phone could navigate. Then she took off down the shadow-soaked streets she had seldom seen, except when heading straight home from a late shoot. It felt thrilling to be out at night to have fun. She turned up the radio, enjoying her new car's killer sound system. The subwoofer buzzed with each beat of the bass. She could feel its pulse in her bones, alongside her own heartbeat. She felt alive.

She drove past his house, cars parked a long way down the street. It was packed. Music was blaring. People were diving into the outdoor pool.

She parked her car and hurried down the street—like an insect drawn to the welcoming light of a bug zapper. Being alone in darkness made her skin prickle.

She opened the door and let herself in, surprised there wasn't any kind of security or bouncer. In fact, no one greeted here nor took notice of her at first. She moved through the undulating mass of bodies moving to music. They looked hypnotized.

She went around asking people, "Where's Alex?" It began to feel like she was asking for Mr. Gatsby, never getting a reliable answer.

"I think he's in the basement getting baked."

"My friend saw him taking some really hot girl into a bedroom upstairs."

"I haven't seen him all night."

"I'm not sure he even shows up to his own parties."

She wasn't sure she would ever find him, so she grabbed a drink and sat on his couch in the living room. She sipped it down, holding back a cringe at the bitter flavor of alcohol, and made casual conversation with strangers who approached her.

"You're Fiona Flores!" a boy exclaimed. He was baby-faced like a teenager. "I love the Unreached series. So happy they're making movies of it." His words were slurred.

"Well, hope you enjoy seeing it in theaters."

"Yeah. I think Jessica Stewart would have done better, but I'll probably still see it." The kid stumbled away. The fact that he was clearly drunk and uninhibited made his words sting less.