Back up the stairs

Noah had made it halfway up the stairs, his heart thudding, mouth dry, a lead weight in his chest—when he stopped dead.

Condoms.

He still needed at least one. The entire mission had been about that stupid box in the first place. Somehow, in the haze of betrayal and ****, he'd forgotten. But now, locked back onto his own sick logic (whatever that even was), he remembered.

He turned around, half jogging, shouldering past a guy carrying a case of beer upstairs and a girl openly weeping into a lawn chair cushion. The living room pulsed with bass-heavy music, and the walls felt like they were leaning in on him. It was hard to think straight.

The only thing that kept him moving was the clear, gnawing thought: If I don’t move now, I never will.

He ducked back into the side bathroom across from the kitchen, where Jacob suggested a stash might be. The medicine cabinet had been raided already. A few empty prescription **** bottles were left behind, some empty solo cups littered the bathroom sink. But in the drawer under the sink—half-buried beneath a box of tampons and a roll of gauze—he found it.

It was a red box that he didn't immediately recognize, but they were labeled: lubricated and ultra-thin. The box was crushed on one side. Three were left inside.

He checked the date and they were 5 months expired.

Not terribly out of date, Noah assured himself.

He left the bathroom, shoving a single red and white packet down the front pocket of his jeans, when a voice slurred behind him.

“Noooahhh? Is that you?”

He turned.

It was Amber.

Freshman-dorms-Amber. She looked about two stiff drinks past reasonable. Her eyeliner had smudged into little bat wings at the corners of her eyes, and her tube top had migrated high enough to flash the under-curve of one of her tits. She clutched the doorframe for balance, smiling like she didn’t entirely remember how to use her mouth.

She squinted at Noah’s hand, still stuffed into his pocket. “IS, somebody getting lucky?”

He winced. “Not exactly. I mean—hopefully?”

She stepped closer. Her breath smelled sweet, like peach schnapps and mint. She was chewing gum with a slow, exaggerated rhythm, and her eyes occasionally cutting to the pocket he stuffed the condom into.

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” she said, pressing a hand against his chest. “Unless you’re looking for a partner?”

He blinked. “Wait, what?”

Amber giggled—giggled, like they were back in the dorm rec room watching one of those bad free-streaming comedies and not standing three feet from a house-wide moral collapse.

“You always were cute,” she said, leaning in a little. “And well, you know, I’m available.”

She was drooling. Actually drooling. Not dramatically—just a thin string of spit that trailed from her bottom lip to nearly the bottom of her chin, before she wiped it away with the back of her hand.

Noah took a small step back.

“I… I’ve got someone else in mind.”

Amber gave a sloppy shrug, like it was all the same to her. “Your loss.”

He nodded. Tried to smile and failed. Then he slipped past her before her hand could wander somewhere else.

The hallway was blocked, with a crowd of people, so Noah went back through the kitchen.

With the condom in his pocket now, and warm, with liquid inhibition coursing through his veins.

He dodged around stumbling party guests and climbed the stairs again.

He was committed to seeing this through. He wasn’t really sure why, **** driven stupidity, or catharsis.

Noah hit the top step like he was breaching the surface of a lake. His lungs felt tight, everything was muffled, and his vision blurred at the edges. The hallway buzzed under fluorescent light, some of them were clearly in line for the bathroom, slouched over, nursing red solo cups, scrolling their phones, or cracking jokes too loud for how narrow the space was.

The line to the guest bedroom was still there.

Now there were only three guys ahead of him. A couple leaned against the wall with the same bored patience of the people waiting for the bathroom. The guy at the very front stood a little straighter, adjusting himself now and then like he was back in middle school and trying not to get picked last for a round of dodgeball. Noah had seen him earlier, he was probably the fifth or sixth guy in line, but didn’t recognize him from campus or any of his classes.

The guy at the very back of the line—right in front of him—was new.

Tall. Lean. Tan. He wore a wrinkled gym tank that probably should’ve stayed in his duffle. He smelled like he had taken a bath in one of those ****-heavy body sprays. He turned the second Noah stepped behind him.

“Yo!” the Gym-bro said, greeting him like they were teammates. “You just get here? Line’s movin’ quick, bro. Sometimes two go in at a time.”

Noah nodded, jaw tight. His face didn’t know what expression to wear.

The guy extended a fist for a bump. “Can’t wait to see what all the hype’s about. I heard she’s like… wild. Like, legit pornstar level. What’d they say, twelve dudes already? No signs of slowin’ down. You ever heard of anything like that before? It’s like something out of a porno, right?”

Noah bumped his knuckles, out of reflex.

He tried to smile. It came out lopsided.

The Gym-bro kept going. “I heard she’s fuckin’ baddie too, and she’s got a dump-truck ass, you know? Like—” he curved his hands in the air, miming exaggerated hips and then flexed his fingers in the air like he was gripping something heavy, “—Bro, if it’s as good as they say, I might have to get back in line after the first round… I think she kicks ‘em out after the first pop?” He nodded at the closed door. “Ya, think?”

Noah just shrugged and watched the door.

Still shut. Still quiet. The wall throbbed faintly with the beat of a Travis Scott song playing downstairs, but otherwise… nothing. No moaning, no voices. Just a closed door and the three guys ahead of him.

He thought of Jillian’s laugh. That crooked little smirk she gave him when she wanted to tease him a little. Her sleepy, disheveled hair in the morning after a late night shift. The way her legs felt wrapped around him when they’d watched movies on her floor mattress with the sound turned low.

Then he thought of Amber's gum-slick mouth and the taste of Fireball burning up the back of his throat. And of this new dude in front of him, grinning like it was Christmas morning and Noah was just here, standing in line, like he had bought tickets to this shit-show.

He swallowed.

“Yeah,” Noah said eventually. “One round seems like it’s enough.”