The First Drink
"Hello," the girl beside me, with her mesmerizing emerald eyes, greets me hesitantly, and I respond with a warm and gentle smile, trying to make her feel at ease.
"Hello, my name is Dalilah, but you can just call me Lila. I prefer it that way," I say. She seems relieved at how friendly I am, and I chuckle softly.
"My name is Paige," she introduces herself, and I can tell she wants to engage in a conversation.
Others around us are also trying to get to know each other during this welcoming party arranged at a five-star restaurant just for the four of us freshers.
"What are you majoring in?" I ask curiously, trying to find some common ground.
"Oh, automotive engineering," she replies, surprising me a bit. I make sure not to show too much shock on my face, not wanting to be impolite.
"I'm double majoring in business administration and hotel management," I share with her, hoping to keep the conversation flowing.
Paige seems genuinely interested, "Oh, you're double majoring as well. I've heard it's very difficult to go through."
I playfully fix my glasses over my nose bridge and boast, "You're talking to a straight-A student." Paige chuckles at my confidence. "But it's just the start. I hope I survive until graduation," I add with a touch of humor.
Just then, Ben approaches us. "Lila and—" he takes a moment to recall Paige's name, "Yes! Paige, come on, you two. It's time to make a toast."
"I've never drunk alcohol before," I confess immediately, and both Ben and Paige look astonished. In high society, someone not drinking alcohol even once after turning eighteen is quite shocking to them.
Ben checks, "Your eighteenth birthday has passed, right?" I nod in confirmation.
"Then we're good to go. You can't become everyone's target on your first day itself," he says with a knowing smile. I understand where he's coming from and nod appreciatively. It's all about making a good impression, after all.
All of the student council members stand in a circle, their formal dresses and suits. I find myself feeling grateful for Mr. Adams' strictness with my dress code; it allows me to blend in seamlessly with the crowd, wearing my bright purple silk gown paired with silver earrings and heels.
As fate would have it, I end up standing beside the grumpy sloth once again, surrounded by the other two freshmen; Paige and Tom, as the seniors push us together for the toast.
Amidst the cheers and laughter, I raise my glass with the others. The seniors, having experienced this before, enthusiastically encourage the hesitant fourth member of our group to take the shot.
Ben was right about not wanting to be a target on your first day. They cheer him on. With all the pressure, he downs the liquid in one impressive go, earning him a round of applause. It might look like they are all cheering for him, but for real, this is no better than ragging.
I too had taken a cautious sip of the stinging red liquid, letting it pass slowly down my throat. Almost immediately, an uncomfortable sensation settles in my stomach. I try to hide my unease, not wanting to draw attention to myself. It is my first time drinking, and I'm not entirely sure how my body would react.
...
"Can you do me a favor?" Ben asks the grumpy sloth, who gives me a judging stare, causing me to huddle closer to Ben's arm for support.
"What is it?" he replies nonchalantly, and Ben heaves a sigh of relief.
"Lila came to the venue with me, but it looks like I will have to stay here a bit longer. I don't think it would be appropriate to leave her in a corner and go about my business when she is this drunk, neither can I tag her along like this," Ben explains, his concern evident in his troubled voice. I understand his dilemma, but in my hazy state, I'm tempted to ignore his words and hold onto him for dear life.
Feeling nauseous and lightheaded, I struggle to focus on their conversation. "So let me put it correctly, you want me to take her home?" the grumpy sloth scoffs in disbelief. Despite the discomfort, I chuckle at his offended tone while rubbing my head against Ben's arm, trying to ease the throbbing sensation.
Ben nods and the grumpy sloth lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Can't do," he refuses without any hesitation and is about to walk away but Ben grabs the grumpy sloth's shoulder, stopping him.
"You are taking her with you, and I'm not asking you now," Ben says with a stern authority that surprises me. It seems the other boys are always obedient to Ben, as if they're afraid of him, even though he's nothing but sweet and understanding at all times.
With a begrudging acceptance, the grumpy sloth agrees, "Alright, I will take her home." I feel his fingers holding my shoulders, as if I am contagious, but I'm too dizzy to react or say anything. He proceeds to lead me outside of the venue, dragging me along as I struggle to keep up with him.
...
I stumble as the grumpy sloth tries to steady me while talking to his driver over the call.
He cuts the call and looks at me, his irritation evident in his expression. I pout and point my index finger at his forehead, right between his eyebrows, slurring my words as I speak. "Why are you not drunk?"
"Get your finger off me," he growls, but I can't help finding his reaction amusing, so I tap his forehead twice. "I'm telling you, if you don't get your finger off me, I will--"
I cut him off by placing the same finger over his lips, letting out a long "shh" as his eyes widen in surprise. "Why are you always so angry? You look like a grumpy sloth," I chuckle, finally calling him that to his face.
"You must have gotten a few screws loosened with that drink," he mocks, and I huff, throwing a punch to his chest—why does he have to be so grumpy all the time?
He seems taken aback by my audacity, but he soon holds my shoulders, this time a bit more firmly. I let out a small whimper as his grip tightens, but he doesn't seem to notice as his fingers dig into my flesh while he shakes me a bit harshly. "Wake up!" his voice is loud and too close to my ears, and it sends a ringing sensation through my head, like tinnitus, a very strong one.
And then it happens—I throw up right on his clothes, and he stands there in disbelief, he's utterly disgusted and enraged. The look on his face is unforgettable.
But I manage to smile, wiping my lips as the throbbing in my head and the burning in my stomach finally starts to subside. Despite the embarrassing moment, there's a strange sense of relief in my heart, like a burden has been lifted or maybe it just has not hit me yet.
"What is wrong with you?" The grumpy sloth's voice annoys me once again, and he looks at himself, scrunching his nose in disgust at the vomit on his clothes.
Although my mind is not as hazy as it was before vomiting, I still feel a bit confused. "No~ What is wrong with you? Why do you keep shouting, huh?" My speech is still slurred from the effects of the alcohol.
"The audacity you have to ask that to me," he retorts, trying not to inhale the pungent smell by holding his breath, which only makes his face turn even redder than it already is with all that boiling rage. He quickly gets rid of his navy blazer, clearly furious with the situation.
"This is why you should always stay within your limits. Just because you walk into a five-star hotel, you act like you're all that," he continues to berate me, and I frown, struggling to understand what he is referring to. When did I act out of my limits?
"You're just a piece of crap that talks nothing but crap with no logic. I only had one drink, you idiot, you grumpy sloth, you egoistic jerk, you punk!" I shout back at the top of my lungs, detaching myself from him as he grabs a handful of his hair in frustration.
I don't know what else he would have spewed in his illogical hatred for me; but thankfully, his driver stops the car in front of us, diverting his anger.
The poor driver receives the scolding instead, and my heart hurts for him as I witness his humiliation as he just stood there, bending his neck and looking down at the ground.
"I'm sorry for you that you have to endure this jerk at times," I blurt out without much thinking, feeling empathy for the driver's situation. He looks at me with widened eyes, clearly taken aback by my unexpected comment.
I don't know what I will remember the next day, but I want to remember the dreadful look in the grumpy sloth's eyes.