Note: sexism and emetophobia warning.

Sinking 

The Swimming Pool 

12:33 a.m.

There’s always that one fucking asshole at the party who jumps in the pool fully dressed. At this party, that asshole was Annie. She’d regretted it instantly. What was really particularly stupid about it was the fact that it was the middle of winter, and the pool was so cold that fog had been springing off of it all night. Fucking idiot. Stupid, stupid idiot. She hadn’t even curled her feet to her chest or done a cool flip. No, she’d just stepped right in. 

The splash when she hit the surface was underwhelming, so underwhelming, in fact, that most people in the yard didn’t even look up. She should’ve known that nobody would notice. Nobody had seen her when she’d walked towards the pool by herself. Nobody had seen her when she’d taken her shoes off. And nobody had seen her when she’d dipped her fishnet-covered toes into the water.

Annie sunk straight to the bottom, her feet touching the ground. It was freezing, fucking freezing. She kicked off the bottom and propelled herself to the surface. If the water was cold, the night breeze was practically glacial. She felt there were probably actual icicles hanging off her skin like she was some sort of cartoon character. 

Annie had difficulty getting out of swimming pools at the best of times, but the cold air and emotional despair mixed with the entire bottle of shiraz she’d consumed meant that she slipped ungracefully several times before finally managing to heave herself out. A few people in the yard looked over in mild interest, checking that she hadn’t drowned, but no one came over. No one even laughed. She wasn’t the class clown like she’d hoped or a pioneer of a spontaneous pool party; she wasn’t even a headcase; she was nothing, and the deep end of that pool was far from the deepest she’d sink.

The Front Door

7:53 p.m. 

The party began at seven, so naturally, Annie, Brooke, and Tara arrived almost an hour late. This week was Nick’s birthday, the latest in an endless string of eighteenths in their year. His house was small but sleek. The floors were that classic cold suburban white tile. Annie looked around anxiously; Nick was arguably the most popular guy in her year, and she had drunkenly made out with him at a different eighteenth the week before. It hadn’t been life-changing; the pair had taken turns wriggling their tongues around each other’s mouths between mutual munting breaks. Annie had been anticipating the party all week, wondering if it would be awkward, wondering if he expected it to happen again. 

That’s why she was so grateful to have her two best friends by her side. The three of them had vowed to have a girl’s night. 

7:54 p.m.

“Right, I gotta go find Zack,” said Brooke. 

Before Annie could protest, Brooke had vanished into the attached hallway. She turned to Tara, her remaining companion. Tara was biting her polished nails. Her long, soft hair gently curled around her shoulders. She was wearing docs and a light blue slip dress, which matched her eyes. It fit her so well, and Annie envied her for it. Annie had squeezed herself into the tightest bodysuit she owned and felt a boob might pop out at any moment. 

“You’re not ditching me for your boyfriend, too, are you?” Annie asked, pulling out a bottle of wine from her bag. 

“Not yet,” Tara said distractedly, “Could I steal some of your wine before he gets here?” 

“What? No way!” Annie instinctively pulled her huge bottle of Shiraz closer. 

“Come on…” 

“You said you didn’t want any. I specifically asked you when I was at the bottle-o!” 

“I know; I thought Damon was coming with me. But he’s not getting here until later, so I have until then to drink!” 

“For someone so weird about you drinking, he’s certainly lax on the supervision.”

“There’s no way you’re going to drink all that yourself,” whined Tara. 

“Of course not,” Annie said, eyeing the ten standard drinks measurement on the back of the bottle warily, “...but I might want it another day.” 

“Fine, I’ll find my own,” said Tara.

“Don’t leave me!” Annie called after her pathetically. So much for their girl’s night...

“I’ll find you in a minute,” Tara yelled before disappearing down the hall. 

Annie wouldn’t see her again for almost an hour. Less than five minutes in, and she was all alone. She recalled bitterly barely a month earlier when she and Tara spent an entire party together, making fun of the super drunk people and hanging out in the empty bathtub. By this point, Annie expected it from Brooke: she and Zack grew closer to forming a singular person daily, but not her Tara. She’d only been dating Damon for like a week. 

A lanky, floppy-haired gamer boy was waving at her from down the hallway. It was Nick. Nausea threatened to take hold of her, but she forced herself to keep it together. Sure, their little make-out session hadn’t been the stuff of fairytales, but now that a whole week had passed and she could no longer remember the exchange in extensive detail, she thought it could be worth giving it another go. 

The Hallway

8:25 p.m.

Annie found Brooke and Zack lounging on the wall near the bathroom. 

“Where’s Tara?” Brooke asked when Annie approached them. 

Annie tried not to take this blatant attempt to get rid of her to heart.

“Went to find something to drink before Damon arrives and gets all weird about it.” 

“I forgot about that.” 

“He’s the worst,” Annie complained. 

“He’s not that bad,” Zack weighed in. 

“You’re right, he’s not. He’s not even really horrible or anything; he’s just really, really mediocre.” 

Brooke snorted, and Zack shook his head disapprovingly. Annie wasn’t sure why she was being so harsh; she just thought Tara could do better. 

Unfortunately for her, Damon had just arrived at the party and overheard her. The crowded room had concealed him. 

8:50 p.m.

The hall was overcrowded, and Nick relished leaning in close to Annie whenever someone had to pass by. Annie disliked the feeling of his hot breath on her skin, and she shifted uncomfortably as his eyes flickered to her chest. 

“So, what are you up to this week?” Annie asked. 

“Not much… probably just gonna chill, play some video games.” 

Annie waited for him to ask about her. He didn’t. 

“That’s cool,” she eventually responded, “I’ve got an excursion on Monday.” 

Down the hallway, Damon and Tara were making out. Annie began to skull the Shiraz. 

“Do you ever notice how Damon and Tara don’t really know how to kiss,” Nick joked, “like there’s no tongue, no prolonged contact, they just peck each other on the lips over and over, that’s why the sound is so horrible.”

Annie forced a laugh, but for some reason this comment irked her. She didn’t like hearing Nick talking about Tara like that. Damon was her first boyfriend, so of course she wasn’t an expert. 

“Wasn’t like that when you and me kissed,” Nick winked.

Annie forced a laugh again; there was a pit in her stomach. She couldn’t remember if a man had ever made her laugh for real. Suddenly kissing Nick seemed like the most revolting thing in the world. 

“So, have you ever seen Inglorious Basterds?” he asked her, “It’s deeply underrated.” 

The Living Room

9:52 p.m.

It was obvious Nick’s parents had added several couches to the lounge for the event because they didn’t all match the minimalist aesthetic the rest of the house had going, but it still wasn’t enough. Everyone was either uncomfortably squished together or on the floor. It was loud too, loud in a way that meant you had to yell at people for them to hear you, which was the type of loud that usually ensured Annie would be elsewhere. However, she was working with a newfound drunken confidence, so instead of leaving, she wedged herself between Tara and Damon on the couch. 

“I was going to give you some of the wine, I swear, but it’s gone now,” she told Tara. 

“You drank the whole bottle already?” Tara asked.

Annie nodded. 

“Nice,” said Nick, leaning over from a separate conversation to high-five Annie. 

“Why would she give you any wine, babe?” Damon asked Tara, “You told me you wouldn’t drink tonight.” 

Annie looked at him in disgust. He had such greasy, revolting hair, and his white shirt had stains on the armpits. She didn’t like looking at him and couldn’t for the life of her understand why Tara did. 

“Well, I…” Tara began to defend herself. 

“You know I don’t like it when you drink, babe.” 

Babe. Annie made a face at Nick, who laughed. He had a nice smile. She thought kissing him again might be okay after all. 

“Can I try some of your drink?” Annie asked him. 

He held out the bottle to her, and she sipped it. It was straight Southern Comfort. Damon rolled his eyes and paused his argument with Tara to insult Annie instead. 

“Careful, Nick, she’s probably gonna try to shove her tongue down your throat again.”

Annie held the whisky in her mouth, letting it burn her tongue for a while. Eventually, she let out a half-hearted giggle to make it seem like she was in on the joke. 

The Bag Room (Nick’s Room)

12:41 a.m. 

Annie burst into Nick’s room, dripping everywhere. It was dark in there. He had a lot of gaming merch and, more strangely, a collection of World War Two American propaganda posters. Perplexed, she began frantically opening Nick’s drawers. A few moments later, the door opened again. It was Nick. 

“What are you…” he started to ask, then noticed how Annie was dripping all over the floor. 

“Needed clothes,” she grunted. 

As if in a trance, Nick pulled out a shirt and some shorts for her to change into. Annie didn’t wait for him to turn around; she just changed, leaving her wet clothes on his carpeted floor. The clothes swallowed her. She sat on his bed, and he sat beside her. 

“Did you get in the pool?” he asked. 

“Just a little dip,” she joked. 

He laughed. She laughed. Then she started to cry.  

Nick looked scared, like he didn’t know how to help, which he didn’t. She lay down on the bed, and he lay beside her. 

“Do you think I’m pathetic?” Annie wailed. 

“What? No?” 

“Then why don’t you like me?” 

“I- I like you.”

“Really?” she asked. 

“Sure...” 

And then they were kissing. For a solid ten seconds, she felt that flurry of emotion and nervousness that comes with hooking up with someone.

And then it got boring. He moved his tongue from side to side inside her mouth like it was impacting the experience, but it just wasn’t. She straddled him, trying to feel something more. But there was nothing more. It was just tongues wriggling. Mouths touching.

Annie started to feel a strange, hot, dripping sensation on her face as they continued to kiss. She pulled away a little, confused, and found that her cheek was slightly stuck to his. Before she could investigate, the door opened. 

“Sorry mate,” a voice said, “just needed to grab my bag.” 

It was Damon, and he sounded incredibly smug. He didn’t bother to shut the door when he left. Seizing the opportunity to stop, Annie peeled herself off of Nick. The light spilling in from the hall revealed a horror scene. Nick’s face and shirt were covered completely in blood. Annie screamed. 

“Your nose!” he said, pointing at it, a look of disgust on his face. 

She was having a blood nose. Fuck. 

She climbed off his lap and grabbed her bag, trying to stem the blood flow with her hand. Then she looked down at her phone and saw the time, followed by several missed calls from her dad. She’d missed curfew. 

She ran out of the room before Nick could say anything, leaving him alone and covered in blood, but she didn’t feel bad. He could wash it off with a shower; she was the one who was bleeding. 

The Back Yard

12:08 a.m. 

A couple of Annie’s friends were passing around a joint. She had a few puffs but wasn’t convinced she was inhaling right. Her vision blurred as she stared into the fire; the smoke seemed to blow in her direction no matter where she moved. Damon and Tara were outside too, making out again. Even when they were ten meters away, she could hear the squelching that Nick had so beautifully described.

“Does anyone have a spare drink?” Annie asked, feeling bored. 

Nobody offered, so she scoured the backyard for leftovers. There were a few cans with liquid left. She skulled them. Then she saw a stray can by the sliding doors leading to the kitchen. It felt full. She took a swig. 

She choked and spluttered, spitting the contents of the can out as fast as she possibly could. Someone had been using it as a fucking ashtray. She heard someone laughing. It was Damon, of course.

“What’s wrong? You realised the can wasn’t Nick’s mouth?”

It was like he had slapped her in the face. His words were sharp, and they stung. Did she really seem that desperate? Nick hadn’t defended her all night; was it because he saw her that way too? She looked at Tara, but she only avoided Annie’s eyes. She wished she’d say something, but she didn’t. Everyone’s silence felt like confirmation. 

The Bathroom 

12:15 a.m. 

Annie stared into the mirror. Her lips were stained from the wine. She pulled out the huge wedgie she’d been sporting all night. There was a knock on the door. 

“Annie, it’s me,” Tara called. 

Annie let Tara in instantly, and Tara re-locked the door behind her. Annie saw Tara notice her tears and step back towards the door, so she grabbed her hands and pulled her towards the bathtub to stop her from leaving. 

“Not tonight,” Tara said tiredly. 

Annie got in anyway and patted the space beside her. 

“You’re an idiot,” Tara relented, getting into the tub beside her. 

Feeling mischievous, Annie turned the tap on and off quickly. Tara yelped and laughed when she felt the unexpected cold water. Afterwards, she rested her head on Tara’s shoulder. 

“Your boyfriend’s a fucking asshole,” she said after a while. 

“I wish you two would get along.” 

“He’s so weird about you drinking,” Annie blurted out. 

It felt good to finally say it. She thought if she could say the right thing, Tara would understand. She was still her friend, and that still meant something. 

“He has some family stuff with alcohol, that’s all,” Tara said. 

Annie went quiet for a while. She couldn’t help but find Tara’s voice soothing even when she hated the words she was saying.

“You deserve better than him,” she eventually choked out.

Tara shook her head in annoyance and exited the bath, but Annie held onto her hand. 

“I love you, Tara.” 

“I know,” Tara said, “I love you too.”

But Annie clutched Tara’s hand. 

“No, I love you, I really love you.” 

“I know, you too,” Tara laughed. 

Tears streamed out of Annie’s eyes. 

“I love you,” Annie cried again as Tara released herself from her grip. 

“I love you too,” she said, giving Annie a light pat on the head, “but I have to go; my mum’s waiting. Maybe lay off the wine next time, yeah?” 

12:25 a.m.

Annie sat alone in the bathtub, wondering why none of her friends wanted to hang out with her anymore or why Nick hadn’t made a move on her. Was it because she’d never been in a relationship? That seemed to be the main difference between her and everyone else. It felt like she was the only person still single in her year. She thought of the way Tara had patted her on the head like she was a child. Once, they’d bonded over their single status, but now that she had a boyfriend, Tara acted like she didn’t understand how Annie felt anymore. Her ability to relate had been stolen away by Damon the minute they started dating. She wished someone would steal it away from her too. She didn’t want to feel it anymore. She wanted somebody to want her for once. 

Maybe if she wasn’t such a pathetic mess. Maybe if she was more interesting. She thought about going to Nick, but if she did that, she’d probably never hear the end of it from Damon, and everyone would know she was desperate. She needed to find a way to get Nick’s attention so that he’d want her. 

Maybe if she did something crazy, he’d approach her. Maybe if he approached her, she wouldn’t feel so unwanted. All she knew was that she had an empty feeling in her stomach that expanded every time she tried to fill it. She’d do anything to fill it.