J S Bautista: Party at Jefferson's, Kartoniert / Broschiert

Klappentext

YOU'LL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED AT JEFFERSON'S.

10 PARTYGOERS, 24 HOURS.

"A JAW-DROPPING SATIRE OF THE COLLEGIATE PARTY EXPERIENCE."

Baker, Columbus, and John spread their clown costumes across the bed like they were preparing for war. Oversized polka-dot ties, rainbow suspenders, and greasepaint smeared in streaks of bright white and red awaited them. The temptation to cut another line of coke hung heavy in the room, an unspoken challenge. They resisted for now. Their plan was simple: claim Jefferson's room as their camp and push their bodies to whatever extremes the night demanded.

"We're getting pussy, drugs, and hugs tonight," Columbus declared, taking a swig from the Crown bottle. Lil Peep's Save That Shit blasted from the speakers, shaking the walls. "Let's show up and show out, yeah?"

Baker nodded, his voice rising over the music. "Man, I love the motivation I feel with you guys. We're dedicated, humble as fuck, and don't give a fuck about anyone else. Think about it, God put us here for a reason. We excel at what we do because we're built different."

Columbus said, "Kinda hypocritical, though, don't you think? You can't call yourself humble while saying you're better than everyone else. Humble people just are. They don't talk about it."

"I am humble," Baker shot back. "But right now? I feel so goddamn great, I can't help it!"

John snorted, leaning back in his chair. "You're the most arrogant bastard I've ever met, Baker. Drugs or no drugs."

"What do you mean, arrogant? Look at all the stuff I do for you. I've given you money, bought you drugs, hell, I've probably spent more on your habits than you have in two years. And I've never once asked you to pay me back!"

"Calm down, man. You chose to help me. I never forced you. And yeah, I'm grateful, but it's not like I begged you." John said.

"Maybe I should start saying no," Baker shot back, his voice sharp. "I'm not your mom, John. You've gotta take responsibility for your own life."

"I am!" John snapped. "But shit hasn't been going my way for a while."

"That's life! Nothing ever goes your way. You just have to hold it together long enough to have a good time, and then you can spiral all you want. That hole in the wall? That's you hurting yourself, man. Not Elena, not your parents. Just you."

"Why does it always feel like it's you two against me every time we do coke?" John asked bitterly.

Columbus shrugged. "We're just trying to help you, man."

John sighed. "Then cut me some slack and let's actually have fun tonight. Jesus."

Columbus grinned. "Hey, at least you're doing better than Alex. I think he's having a mental breakdown."

"Yeah, exactly," John muttered. "How much do you wanna bet that girl he's meeting with isn't even real?"

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the party buzz crept into their veins. John sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling through Snapchat, Hazel's story popped up. The image of her and her friends in neon tank tops hugging their slim bodies, big tits, and red clown noses made him pause.

"Dibs on the brown one," Baker said, leaning over John's shoulder.
>John's stomach churned. The thought of Hazel seeing him tonight, jittery from stimulants and barely holding it together, made his skin crawl. His earlier fling with Elena had left him emotionally drained, and the idea of navigating Hazel's judgment only added to his anxiety.

The night's cocktail of narcotics, coupled with Columbus's relentless teasing, was already too much. Add in the clown-theme, and John felt like he was on the verge of collapse. He longed to retreat, to curl into himself and let the night pass, but the pressure to be likable and fun was unbearable...