Originally Posted by
Mr.333
Then I'm jealous of the parties you go to, because trust me when I say that some parties can really turn you into cold-hearted fucks. I know from experience.
TRUE FUCKING STORY.
It was New Year's Eve, 2009 (2010 at midnight), and my brother was allowed to have a party at our house that night because our birthday (we're twins, though look absolutely nothing like it because he's 6'8") was the day before which was *my* day to celebrate becoming 18, and my brother choose New Year's Eve (the following day) as *his* day to party. However, before my parents left for San Francisco for the night, they of course laid down rules for the party: No Alcohol (lol) and to keep the party only between his close friends (double lol). So my parents left for the night, and, obviously, my brother brought out the alcohol, yadda yadda yadda (Personally, I could care less what he puts into his body). And pretty soon what was originally a party with his friends turned into friends of friends, and then that became friends of friends of friends, and then I'm looking at like 50-60 people in our house, all drinking, smoking, and playing the living shit out of that annoying, degrading ghetto-ass music. At that point, I couldn't control the party anymore, and my brother refused to do anything because he didn't want to look like a bitch in front of his friends, so I held myself up in my room upstairs (where, thankfully, no one was allowed to come).
It was about 10:00 PM when things started to take a turn for the worse. During the course of the party, the sister of my brother's best friend had a little too much to drink (and by that I mean 15 shots of alcohol and a margarita), so her brother and my brother carried her upstairs and laid her down on the futon in the guest bedroom (which is located immediately next to my room) and left her there to "sleep it off". Alone. On her back. Jesus Christ, isn't that what your NOT supposed to do? My brother assured me that everything was fine, so even though I was worried, I too left the matter alone at first. They did come to check up on her about 15 minutes later, and she said she wasn't feeling well at all, before she proceeded to throw up on her own face and hair (because she was laying on her back). At that point, what did her brother and everyone else do? They laughed at her and left. (Did I mention that she was only 15?). Pretty soon, everyone partying downstairs was talking about her and laughing, saying how she looked so stupid before going right back to the party. That was the last time her brother, my brother, or anyone else came up to check up on her. I heard her though, sobbing to herself, alone. She was so drunk she couldn't even move her body at all. Not her arms, not her legs, only her tears. And that's when I decided that I couldn't fucking take it anymore. So what did I do? Let me fucking tell you exactly what I did.
I took a washcloth, soaked it, and began to clean the vomit off her face. I soothed her, told her that it was okay, that I would never laugh at her, that everything would be alright because even if no one else was there for her, I would be. All the while I cleaned the area around her mouth, the chunks out of her tangled black her. And new tears formed from her moist eyes. Tears that no longer held images of misery, but images of happiness. Wonderful tears that someone finally cared, that her life wasn't entirely worthless. She formed the strength to talk to me, told me how, despite being so young, she always drank a lot to ease the pain from seeing her bitter parents always argue and scream at each other; that she didn't want to cause her family anymore pain. When she was finished, I gently told her that if she truly didn't want to bring trouble to her family anymore, then how would their only daughter drinking herself to death make them feel? what kind of grief it would cause them? I told her that she was so young, that there was far, FAR more to life outside of our crappy little town then she could ever imagine; and if she didn't believe me, then she would have to live and find out for herself.
Once I was finished cleaning her up, I brought fresh, new clothes (my clothes) for her to change in, and told her that once she was finished; that I would take her clothes downstairs to the laundry room, to wash and dry clean for her. I was about to leave the room when she told me that she still couldn’t move her body, and asked me to change her. All I asked back was if she trusted me. She said yes. So I helped her remove her shirt and put on one of my T-shirts (Her shirt was the only piece of clothing that was all vomitty). After that, I finally allowed her to get some decent rest while I washed and dried her shirt. (And yes, during all of this, the stupid 50-60 people party was still going strong.) Closer to midnight, I put down some blankets and pillows and slept by her bed; periodically waking her up a little bit to see if she was okay, and if there was anything else I could do for her. It was ‘bout 2:00 in the morning when she finally was able to get back on her feet and the spring back in her step. By then, I had her cleaned clothes ready. After thanking me, she and her brother left the party (the party itself had died down a little and the music was replaced with casual chit-chat). I stayed up a little longer to help my brother clean up the house around 4:00 (the party was over by that point) and then went to bed once all of the people had left. However, there are 2 things from that night which I will never forget.
1. She had a boyfriend. Throughout this entire ordeal that I went through he never ONCE came up to check on her. Not a single time. At least her brother did that much. I’ll never forget seeing him downstairs, chilling with his friends, and actually complaining how much this party sucked, not because he was concerned for the well-being of his girlfriend, but because she vomited on her face, he couldn’t fuck her drunken body that night. Here I was, cleaning her clothes, washing her face, comforting her, everything that he should have been doing as her boyfriend, and he was upset about not FUCKING HER?! DID HE EVEN GIVE TWO-SHITS ABOUT HER HEALTH AT ALL?! Why was I, out of 50 people, the only one who cared about her? Looking back, I sincerely regret not beating the crap out of him right then and there.
2. Back when I was cleaning her face, she told me over and over that I “was the nicest person she had ever met”. But was I really deserving of her praise? Did I really do all of that out of concern for her, or because of the fear that if something happened to her, our family would literally be up shit creek without a paddle? Was I a coward for being more afraid of what would happen to me if she died, rather than afraid for what would happen to her? Even now, I don’t know the answer, and I don’t know if she would have really lived or died if I didn’t interfere; but what I do know is that party be dammed, I was going to make sure it was the former. After she recovered, she told her brother on her way out that although I was helpful, I was annoying because I “did too much”.
Did I?
Re: Confession Session
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It was awful. My sister has been drinking beer since she was, what? 6? 7? I despise beer. Beer is horrible. :(
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