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Chapter 2 The Missing Chardonnay

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20 views3 pages

Chapter 2 The Missing Chardonnay

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© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
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We don’t tell Takeshi what happened.

We tell him he fell asleep, and that


Derrek and Jacob got drunk and fought. He just shook his head and said,
“Those two… Stealing my Chardonnay.” To make it believable, we stole the
Chardonnay.
Why not tell him? Because we want to figure out what happened for
ourselves. It could be more convenient for us to talk to him, but we’ll only do
that if we get stonewalled.
We bandaged Jacob and Derrek with Takeshi’s first aid kit he keeps in the
kitchen. Jacob couldn’t remember any of the shit that happened in the last two
days, but that didn’t matter. What matters now is my sister who’s going to
spank my ass if I don’t get home before midnight.
It’s bullshit. I’m twenty-three now, and I still have a curfew. Bullshit, I tell you.
The only reason I go by her rules is because I haven’t got a place to stay and
she’s my last resort. Can’t wait till I get a job and get the fuck out of here.
The only property I’m entitled to besides my toothbrush and clothing is a
motorbike. She’s beautiful. My only possession. I’m riding her right now.
The chardonnay’s components slosh in my bag. “I heard Elijah’s having a
party tonight,” I yell over the screaming wind. “Wanna check it out?”
Dylan shakes his head. “I gotta finish this piece. It’s due next week.”
“Is that your only excuse?” I go left, then straight.
“It’s not an excuse, It’s just-”
“Save it for your ex.” I turn right. “You’re coming, ok? You need this. Meet
someone. Get drunk. Be stupid. It’s the way of life.”
I stop the bike. Elijah’s house is big and blue. A well-groomed garden (that’s
about to be trashed) smiles at us. “We’ve arrived.” I hop off, but Dylan sits
there.
“Listen, you don’t wanna come, it’s ok.” I pat his back. “Should I drop you off
first?”
“Shut up. I’m coming.” He gets off.
“Really? Fuck, let’s do it.”
The sun has long since disappeared, but it’s still an inferno outside. The
crickets are singing and the cistuses are glowing. So pretty.
The door slides open before we even reach it. A wave of loud music hits us.
“Hey, Clyde,” It’s Charlotte, Elijah’s hot girlfriend. She glances at Dylan.
“Who’s that?”
“My friend,” I say cautiously. Charlotte can be overly critical. “Is it ok if he
comes?”
“Ehm, sure.” She opens the door wider and we walk in.
The party is going strong. Everyone’s hyped; not a single person isn’t drunk. I
turn to Dylan, and what faces me is a look of anxiety. “You sure about this?” I
ask reassuringly. “I didn’t mean to pressure you back there. I just want you to
have a good time.”
He fidgets with his fingers. “I know. It’s just a party.”
I nod. “Let’s go check out the food.”
The food was good. So was sex. Everything got hazy after chugging down
most of Takeshi’s chardonnay. I don’t know where Dylan went, but I went
upstairs and was involved in a threesome. I was hoping Dylan got someone
sexy to sleep with too, but I doubt that would’ve happened. I recall this as I lie
in the embrace of some guy (Jake, Jackson?). I feel blood rush into my
cheeks once I realize I'm ass naked. I immediately put on my clothes and
check the time.
My watch reads 05:00. Shit, shit, shit, shit… I check my phone. Five missed
calls and twenty-three messages from Kaylee. Now, stepping into the house is
equivalent to stepping into the grave.
I look around my room for the bottle. I remember the dirty things me and Dylan
joked about yesterday as it sat by our side and listened.
And I rush downstairs to check on him. I scan the room for his green ponytail,
but all I find is smashed bottles and pieces of God knows what on the floor.
And I suddenly feel guilty. Dylan never wanted to go to the party. Not this
party or any party. I open my phone to text him. I say Sup, you alright? Where
you at? No answer.
My stomach feels queasy. I don’t know whether it's a hangover or me worrying
about Dylan. As I leave, I notice the lovely cistuses I saw yesterday have been
flattened.
I hop onto my motorbike and drive to Dylan’s. He has a small apartment in a
building somewhere downtown. Somehow, I knew after the party he must’ve
walked there. It would’ve taken him half an hour, and it’s torture in weather like
this.
I finally reach his door and ring it once. Twice. The door opens. I see a young
man, rosy cheeks, shaved black hair, with a green ponytail for the cherry on
top. He looks tired, and a little older, maybe.
“Hey… Did… Did you walk?” I say sheepishly.
He doesn’t make eye contact. I can’t tell if he’s pissed or not.
“Yeah… I did.” He mumbles after a few moments of silence. I notice his hands
are covered in colorful smudges. So he did have some work to do.
“Listen, I’m sorry I left you behind.” I sigh and stroke my dreadlocks. “I just got
carried away with this guy’s cock… and I shouldn’t have done that.”
Dylan smirks deviously. He got what he wanted. “Apology accepted. You can
come in.”
“Oh and, have you seen the chardonnay?”
He shakes his head. I walk in and he says “I’m guessing your house is
temporarily off limits.” I plunk down on the couch. “Ah… ‘Tis indeed.”
As if on cue, my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s Kaylee.
“You better take that,” Dylan warns as he hands me a soda. “She’s probably
worried sick.”
Like I even care. But I pick up anyway, bracing myself for the ambush of
worried questions.
“Hello-”
“Clyde! Where have you been? I called you 5 times! Are you ok? Are you
alive? Where are you? Were you at a party? Should I come get you?”
After the wave passes, I finally speak. “Kaylee, yes, I’m alive, I’m not
decapitated, and I just had a sleepover at Dylan’s.” I take a breath. “I’ll be
coming home in an hour or so.”
“Ok… Ok.” She sounds calmer. “But tell me where you’re going next time.”
“I will, I will.” I close the call.
Dylan was trying to hold his laughter the entire time. “Jesus Christ, she’s like
your mom.” He giggles and takes a sip of his fruit punch. He drinks nothing but
that.
“It’s not easy,” I sigh. “You’ve got it all. You don’t have anyone to knock on
your bathroom door to check if you’re peeing and not masturbating.”
He chuckles, but then his face falls again. “It’s actually kind of… lonely,
y’know?”
I consider that. “I guess it’s different for different people.”
“I guess,” he replies.
I stand up. “Ok. Enough talk. We need to get started.”
“Is it about Takeshi?”
“Yes.” I grab the laptop on the table. “Research.”
He nods, and we begin our hunt for information.

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