Swimming Pools (Drank)

[Ciel]

At least Jasmine was a happy drunk. That was something, right? It's hard to throw a pity party of your own when you're giggling so hard your stomach hurt. Everything she saw, every person she bumped into or made eye contact, every little thing she did sent her into a gigglefit. She was giggling and hiccuping and rubbing her misty eyes with the sleeve of her shirt.

Somebody brought a strobe light and it was on a table across from her. Obviously someone was planning to turn the party into a rave at some point, but it didn't make any fucking sense to set the strobe light here, because the room was fully lit. The only thing the strobe light was doing was flashing right in Jasmine's eyes and making her wince. But she didn't care. She was contented. Happy. Because of the alcohol. That she was drinking. At a party.

Jasmine was drunk.

If you were to ask her about the party now, she'd be hard pressed to remember who invited her to the party. And it'd have nothing to do with her having a terrible memory, in fact her memories of the party were vivid and colorful. It was just...

... It was someone from one of the clubs she was in. They said, "hey, there's a party at so-and-so's house this weekend," and she wouldn't consider that an invitation because she just overheard it from someone else.

So she invited herself. Technically.

But that was just it, right? Jasmine never got invited to parties, not even birthdays. She was in tenth grade and she was friendless. Well, 'friendless' was a bit of an exaggeration. She had friends at school , assumed friends, people she wasn't sharing friendship bracelets with. There was Nancy! Nancy was a friend. Nancy would never ever get invited to a party though. As much of a 'weeaboo dork' Jasmine was at the time, even she knew Nancy was... uncool.

The people at the party though? They were cool. Jasmine was with the cool kids. And she'd never admit it but that was the main reason she went to the party.

It went as well as one might expect. Hence the alcohol.

After ten minutes of her trying to butt her way into conversations only for people to just brush her off, she settled for wine coolers and, when the party ran out of those, Bud Light. The wine coolers were sweet. The Bud Light tasted like cardboard. Jasmine was a silly drunk, but she was still bummed out, like, internally. She was giggling to herself, hanging out over in a lounge chair. To her left was the kitchen, which she was a terrifying mess. To her right was a couch. There was a couple making out on it. Jasmine, still buzzed, tried not to stare.

She could not recall what time it was. Truth be told, she couldn't recall much of anything at the time. Jasmine had enough brain cells left to remember that, yes, the party was still going and no, the police had not shown up yet.  But her brain was rice pudding and the solo cup was her spoon, or the cinnamon sprinkled on top of the pudding, whichever.

Jasmine remembered looking up at the grandfather clock as it chimed. When she did, she went to take a sip from the red solo cup. Her grasp loosened and she spilled the rest of the contents.

"Ah, what the fuck!!"

In a sudden rush of anger, Jasmine tossed the cup on the floor. Then she grunted a hard "kisama", which is Japanese for "motherfucker". Honestly even if Jasmine were blitzed, damn near close to being unconscious, she'd still remember her Japanese curse words.