Go get wasted

You settle on getting wasted. No way Stacy would be able to make you feel any better. Besides, you would just feel a greater sense of shame if she knew you had been used like that. And then word would get out too and everyone would know. You would probably be thought of as a slut or something. And no way fresh air was really going to do you any good. Best thing to do was to head downstairs and drink as much as possible. So that is exactly what you do.

When you get downstairs, you can feel the eyes on you. You still look like a mess, and you realize that one of your skirt's buttons was undone, the line of your panties visible because of that. Some of the guys make catcalls. They seem to think you just got laid, and why wouldn't they? You went upstairs about an hour ago with your boyfriend and you come down looking like this. It was not too far from the truth either.

You shrug it off ultimately, and find your way to the liquor. You pour yourself a cup of Jack Daniels, much stronger stuff than you are used too, and you gulp it. Then another cup, and another, until the room seems to spin like a disco ball. You are actually starting to feel good right about now. The music is throbbing in your veins and you kind of feel like dancing.

You can tell people are talking to you, but you cannot tell what they are saying. You think that you are sitting on a couch though, and that at least one of the people is a guy. A strong jock-looking guy. But it is all a blur. You can only make out one or two words here and there. "Dance," is one of them, "basement" is another, "drink" is a third. Though, you are not sure if the third is real or just your mind demanding another drink.

"Come on," you hear. "No, this way, babe," you hear from the other direction. It seems a couple of people are fighting over you. One of the voices belongs to the person talking about dancing, and the other to the basement guy.