Where Did the Party Go? by Sara Travis

She stumbles out the front door, unsure of whether the pounding in her chest is from the music or her heart. She shakes her head to steady her vision, and watches the gatepost dance in front of her. The nausea has subsided for now, but her anger is starting to boil over. She staggers down the path, reaching into her bag for the car keys.

“Don’t do this,” he calls after her, and she whirls around the spot. He’s leaning heavily on the doorframe, struggling to stay upright, his shirt unbuttoned and his flies undone. Despite the booze and God-knows-what-else in her system, she’s finally seeing clearly.

“I’m not doing it! You did!” She screeches. He winces. She sighs.

“You know what, just forget it. I’m not even mad at you, I’m mad at me. I should’ve known better. You and me, we’re just … we’re not … it’s a jigsaw, you know? And your piece doesn’t fit mine. And that’s fine. It’s fine.” She feels the bile rise up in her throat, but she swallows it down. She’s pretty sure that made sense. And that she didn’t slur at all.

“You can’t … look at you. You can’t drive. I’m sorry, ok? Come back inside, please.”

“No. I don’t want to stay, not now. You’ve ruined the party.” She gestures back towards the house, and loses her balance, twisting an ankle. He moves to help her and she shrugs his hands off. “Don’t touch me! Don’t – touch me. I’m fine. I don’t need your help. Go back, enjoy the party. She’s waiting for you.”

He steps forward. “I am not going to let you drive home. Come back inside and I’ll call you a taxi.”
She takes a few steps back, tripping over the paving slabs. “Why would I need a taxi? I’m not drunk, I had like, two drinks. I’m fine. Now fuck off and leave me alone.” She turns and aims a kick at the gate post as she passes. She misses, and ends up kicking herself in the shin.

He follows her down the path, tucking his open shirt into his jeans. “For fuck’s sake, just come back inside. You’re in no state to drive.”

She spins again on the spot, her hair whipping around her face. As she speaks she steps back. “Oh, I’m a state, am I?! I’m a state. Is that what you think? Poor little old me, not pretty enough or smart enough or nice enough to hold onto her fella. Well, fuck you! I don’t need you! I’m fucking fine!”
She steps off the kerb and into the road, swinging her handbag in his direction. For a split second his face changes, from anger and guilt to desperation, panic. She doesn’t even see the car as it ploughs into her.