Why I thought going to a party was the right thing to do at that moment is a mystery.  It felt rebellious.  As though I was a teenager who had just been grounded by her parents, and instead sneaks out to hit up the towns hottest rager.

            Except, I am not a teenager.  I am a grown woman who was in the middle of some very questionable decision making. 

            I tried my very hardest to ignore all of the thoughts that were tumbling around in my head.  I didn't want to think.  I allowed just enough brain power to be able to maneuver my car around properly, but beyond that, I was near catatonia.  Beside me, Callie was the opposite.  She had taken on a frantic demeanor and was alternating between begging me to turn around and go back to the house, or animatedly suggesting that we perhaps head off to Mort's together to talk some sense into what was happening, with the promise of free green stuff on her.

            I felt horrible for dragging her along with my incredibly under-thought out plan, but she was resolute in not letting me out of her sight. 

            I was hurting.  I was in actual, physical pain as I made my way through town, looking for Tucker's street.  My whole body felt as though it was crawling inside itself.  I was being slammed into with dozens of urges, from turning around, going back to the house and begging for forgiveness, or finding something to kick and scream at, or even just stopping the car and bursting into tears.

            Exacerbating the pain dramatically, giving me the sensation that I was being stabbed in the chest, were the sudden flashes of Ben's face, contorted with confusion and anguish.  Confusion and anguish that I had caused him.  The idea of something that beautiful being tortured in such a way, let alone being the source of said torture was too much to bear.  I was a monster, there was no doubt about that.  I would have given anything to be able to make those images go away.  Not to make them disappear from my memory, but to somehow go back and see to it that they never existed in the first place.

            But I couldn't.  I wouldn't allow myself to think of the errors I had made, and the fixes that were surely lying in there somewhere.  Because then I would have to admit to myself that I knew that we didn't belong together, and that would mean having to let him go for good, or I would have to admit that I couldn't be without him. 

            The idea of committing to either option was more terrifying than I was capable of dealing with. 

            And so I ran.  A coward in every sense, I was avoiding it all together, and choosing to hide within the depths of an adolescence I had never known.  Tonight, had been invited to be a part of the elite, the coveted, and I was driven by sheer, morbid curiosity as to what lie within the walls of Tucker's house.  The legendary parties that I had only heard passing tales of now were opening themselves up just enough to allow me to slid within them. 

            There was a tiny voice inside me that kept insisting that part of the obsession was probably powered by the fact that Ben had made his distaste of these get-togethers quite apparent.  Hence the rebellious feeling.

            I had never felt quite as ashamed of my own immaturity as I did while pulling into a parking spot on the street in front of Tucker's.

            The part was obviously already underway, with a considerable number of cars already lining the sidewalk, and filling his driveway.  I had passed by this place several times in my youth, but had never gotten closer than looking through the window of my car as I drove.  His home, or his parents rather, was one of many on the street, looking as though they had been erected sometime in the early seventies, based on the style.  I remembered it as being rather quaint back in the day, but now, it, more than any of the other homes surrounding it, had the appearance of being somewhat neglected.  The pale green siding was faded and dirty, and one of the forest green shutters, attached to a downstairs window, was hanging dangerously crooked, as though it would fall with one good gust of wind.

            I was moving in full auto-pilot when I immediately got out of the car and headed up the sidewalk.  I could hear Callie protesting desperately behind me, but I wasn't even able to make out her words anymore.  It wasn't until I reached the front porch, pausing before ringing the bell that a brand new wave of panic hit.

            "What the hell am I doing here?" I whispered to myself.

            I had spent every second of every day of my educational lockdown, avoiding these people.  Invisibility was my goal, and yet, here I was, willingly prancing up to the lion’s den as though I suddenly deserved to be a part of that world.  Or more-so, that they deserved to have me in theirs.  Did I really want to be around any of them?  What was to be gained?  My stomach lurched as I imagined myself walking inside only to have everyone point and stare.  Or worse that they would realize how deeply I didn't belong and band together to force me out. 

            "You're right," Callie pleaded.  "Let's go."

            I was sure she had no idea as to what was making me hesitate, but her desire to flee was very clear.  For a brief second, I knew that she was right. 

            Just as I had begun to listen to the grown up inside me that knew I was acting like a damn fool, I was startled by the sound of a car door shutting behind us.         I whipped around and saw none other than Michelle Lancaster herself sliding out of a beat up, old, white sedan. 

            "Hey, Mackenzie!" she called, as she walked towards Callie and I.  "You made it!"

            She was overly made up, as she had been that first day I had seen her at the bank.  This time it was a more dramatic version, as this appeared to be her "night" look.  Same haphazard makeup application, just in thicker layers.  What surprised me the most was looking down at her outfit, and seeing that the pregnant belly I had expected was no longer there.  In its place was an ill-fitting pair of jeans that looked painfully tight, and white t-shirt adorned with a glittering image of a tiger. 

            "Come on in!" she declared, and walked right between us, and into the front door without knocking, as Callie and I stood in complete silence.

            I had reached a point of no return, and had no control over my body as it did as it was told and followed Michelle inside, as Callie did the same, with a slight whimper. 

            The house was full of people, although it was a bit hard to see due to low lights and a ridiculously thick cloud of smoke that hung over the living room.  I looked around, squinting to make out anything concrete, and the faces began to come into focus. 

            It was a complete shock to my system as I looked upon my former classmates.  They were easy enough to identify, and yet, they couldn't have looked more different from how I had last seen them.  It's not as though I had expected them to have all looked sixteen still, but to see just how they had all aged was disconcerting.  Most looked as though the last decade had been rather unkind, to say the least. 

            There were also a considerable number of people I didn't recognize at all.  There were at least thirty or so people, spread out between the kitchen and the living room, all that was visible to me from where I stood at the door.  Some kicked back and chatting on couches and chairs, some standing about talking to each other, some congregating around a large collection of bottles on the counters in the kitchen.

            In one corner, I noticed a group of five or so people sitting together, some on the floor, and realized this was the source of at least a large chunk of the smoke cloud.  The sweet smelling part of the smoke anyway.  I was able to make out right away that the person holding the joint was Christine Brant.  Christine was the most academically achieving girl in our class, the one that all the parents would push their kids to be.  She never participated in extracurricular activities such as sports, because all of her time was dedicated to acing everything she touched, and she always did.  She was always fairly quiet, and very determined in her studies.  She was valedictorian to Ben's salutatorian. 

            To see her there, hazy eyed and looking rather vacant, was completely surreal.  She looked very hollow, her clothes sloppy, her hair looking as though it was never a focus of attention. 

            "Oh my god," I whispered to Callie who was clinging to my arm.  "What happened to Christine?"

            "She got to college, and completely fried out during the first semester," she answered.  "That was just it.  She came back and was totally different.  She works at a dry cleaning place outside of town, and smokes a lot."

            It didn't take much to discern that she wasn't referring to tobacco. 

            The whole picture was so confusing and unsettling that I had to look away.  It seemed like a bizarre alternate reality that she would appear in a scenario like this in the first place.

            "Let's get you a drink!"  Michelle once again appeared from nowhere, and took my by the wrist, pulling me with her towards the kitchen.

            Standing around the drink selection was a group of guys, with two or three acting as bartender.

            "Hey, you all remember Mackenzie," Michelle announced brightly, reaching for the stack of plastic cups.  "She needs a drink."

            The men turned around to face us, and without much fanfare, gave a couple of head nods and a few hellos while staring at us.

            "Whoa," said one.  "Callie.  Haven't seen you around here in years."

            I recognized this person as Wes Martin, one of the guys in school that was generally well liked, had a good sense of humor, and was relatively average in most ways.  He was an under the radar guy in that he never stood out anywhere, not in school, or sports, but still managed to get along with just about everyone.  I was actually comforted to see him to a degree, just the idea of a fairly normal person in this atmosphere was a welcome touch.

            "Been busy," Callie muttered.  I noticed she was still standing awfully close to me, and had a dark look to her face, her eyes darting around as if she were looking for someone.

            "Hey, you're here!" A voice called behind me. 

            I turned and saw Allison and her little crew of Sandy and Mary making their way from the bottom of stairway in the living room towards us. 

            "Wow, and you came too," she addressed Callie indifferently while pulling bottles of beer out of the fridge. 

            Callie glared. 

            "Here," Allison handed me a beer and stood next to Michelle.  "So where is Ben?"

            "Uh," I froze.  What a wonderful first impression I was to make, having to announce that well, I was in the middle of a stupid drama in which I accused him of sleeping with his evil ex-girlfriend.  "He was, um, is, busy."

            "Did you break up or something?" she inquired calmly.

            "What?"

            "Well, I knew Amber had plans to see him," she looked at me with the blankest expression, but I could see something I couldn't read in her eyes.  Maybe it was because I was distracted by the desire to vomit.  "I don't think they ever really got over each other, you know?  Just one of those couples I guess."

            Callie glared harder.

            "How did you even know that she was going to see him?" I choked.

            "She told me," Michelle piped up.  "She said they were getting together today, and well, it didn't sound like they were just going to talk about the weather, you know?" She laughed at her little joke while I grabbed onto the counter to keep from wobbling over.  "But look, it's not her fault really.  I don't think she knew you and Ben were like a serious item or anything."

            "Oh that is crap!"  Callie barked beside me.

            "Hey," Allison interjected.  "Even if she did know, he definitely did, and he still got with her, so that makes him gross."

            "How the hell do you even know what happened?" Callie growled at her.

            "Well, I heard about Amber seeing him," Allison seemed almost bored with her explanation.  "And Max here looks pretty miserable, so I just assumed."

            "I look miserable?" I squeaked.

            "No!" Callie insisted at the same time Allison and Michelle said, "A little." and "Yeah.".

            "Pretty sure I am going to go home now," I muttered and started to set down the beer.

            "Hell no!" Allison interjected.  "That is the last thing you need to do!  When you have a sleaze guy problem, you drink!  You hang with friends!  It's the American way!"

            "Max, come on," Callie whispered.  "Let's go home.  They are wrong about Ben, I know they are.  We shouldn't even be here."

            "Yeah, have a drink with us," Wes joined in, handing a shot glass of something clear to me.  "Forget all the chick stuff, at least stay to catch up with everyone!"

            I decided I didn't have the strength in me to go on another tirade as to how it isn't technically catching up with someone if you never really knew them in the first place, but I was already feeling pathetic enough without adding my argumentative nature into the mix, all the while reminding them how incredibly lame I was in high school.  Besides all that, I had to admit that an obscene amount of alcohol was sounding better and better by the second, even if it was in the company of people I couldn't have been less comfortable with.

            And so I took the shot.  Even after drinking it, I wasn't entirely sure what it was.  Might have been vodka, but I couldn't say for certain.  I just gagged past the burning fumes and chased it as quickly as possible with the beer Allison had provided.

            Allison, Sandy, Mary and Michelle all stood together after that, discussing the evils of cheating men, but also how those childhood relationships have the strongest roots, and so really could Amber and Ben be blamed?  Michelle stood on the side that love should rule all, and seeing as how she had reportedly been cheating on her own husband for years, I tried not to take this as a very serious line of thought.  Allison however was very vocal that Ben was now the slimiest of the slime, and should never be trusted again.

            Periodically, they would glance over at me, either giving me a look of pity, or as though they were studying me.  They would also pour me more drinks.  Having never been a huge drinker, I knew that if blurring the day away with booze was my goal, I wouldn't need to go too far to achieve it.

            As I listened to their rundowns of my situation, or the supposed rundowns, I couldn't help wrestling with myself.  Part of me wanted very badly to jump in, to publicly decry his womanizing ways.  Jumping on that train I felt would give me the strength I needed to believe what I had accused.  It would have been easy to do.  The more I drank, the looser my thoughts became, and I could have very simply allowed myself to join in a round of bashing for the sake of personal mind control.  It seemed as though that is what they were all waiting for me to do.  Looking at me with expectant eyes, wondering when I would let the guard down and be a part of the time honored tradition of alcohol soaked man hating.

            The problem was that, even in my ever progressing tipsy state, I knew deep down that I didn't believe what I was supposed to say.  In fact, I found myself feeling violently defensive of the insults they lobbed attached to Ben's name.  It hurt to think that people would ever think of him in such derogatory ways, that he could ever be perceived as a bad guy.  As much as I had been dying to convince myself of that very fact since I had seen Amber in his driveway, it made it all the more clear, all the more wrong, to hear it from the mouths of others.  The urge to jump in, defend his honor, and clear the air. 

            I was too terrified to do it.  A complete coward.  If I stepped up and admitted that I was sure it was all a horrible mistake, then I would have to take this to Ben, and what would happen then?  Would he want to hear none of it, and then it would all be over?  Or would he forgive me, only to realize in the near future how very wrong I am for him?  Either way, I would be opening myself up to the fresh, and soul crushing sting of him letting me go. 

            As wrong as this all was, and I was well aware, even through the growing haze of liquor, that it was very wrong, I was afraid to let go of it.  Because even if it was just a story, it was something that allowed me to make the choice that would end us, but in a way that landed the responsibility on him.  A way to save my own pride, while tarnishing him.  Was I really so afraid of losing what I never deserved?  That I would be willing to punish this person, this incredible person, to try and save a little of myself?

            I had known the feeling of what I was accusing Ben of before.  I knew the man who would have committed such a heinous act.  Looking back at our time together, I could see that side of Eric throughout our memories, see that he had always been capable of that kind of behavior.  He was always more selfish than I cared to admit.  I brushed it off as him being independent.  He was not a thoughtful person in the way that has meaning.  He played the role of boyfriend, or fiancé, as well as to be expected on the surface.  To outsiders we would have seemed a swell couple.  That is the part I focused on, and I allowed myself to be blinded by our little show.

            What did it say about me that I would willingly choose someone that had all the traits of the guy to avoid, and then push away the Prince Charming?

            In the end, it doesn't matter how wonderful he may be, and I couldn't question that wonder, no matter how much I wanted to.  No, when it is all said and done, the knowledge of his perfection will only make the cut that much deeper when I lose him. 

            Callie's cell phone rang.

            "It's Nate," she sighed, looking very strained.  "I am going to take it outside, but can we please go when I come back?"

            "I guess so," I said blankly.  I realized I could just as easily internally debate my own fear and stupidity at home.  Even more convenient without the scary former classmates and cloud of toxic smoke that only seemed to grow thicker.

            I watched Callie make her way through the now drunker crowd.  Visibly so as people seemed to sway a lot more.  Or perhaps it was just me that was swaying more.  Having been deep in thought, and trying to tune out the anti-Ben banter of the women in front of me, I hadn't been keeping any kind of track as to what I had been drinking, or how much for that matter, and things were starting to get rather fuzzy.

            "So how have you been since school?" Wes piped up beside me.

            "Uh, fine," I shook my head a bit to clear it.  "How about you?"

            "Well," he smiled.  "Haven't been up to much.  Went to college for a while.  Now I am just working at this car place a few towns over.  Nice job.  Kind of boring, but it works for me."

            I wasn't sure of any proper response, or maybe I was losing the ability to form said response, but I could only manage to nod.           "You know," he moved to stand in front of me, leaning against the counter.  "I always thought you were really cute in school."

            I almost choked on my laughter.  "Yeah, right!" I spoke a bit too loudly.

            "No, it's true," he grinned.  "But I couldn't say anything about it, you know, because you were you."

            "What is that supposed to mean?"

            "Well, how people made fun of you, and you were kind of an outcast and stuff," he explained.  "It sucked because it's not like anyone could tell you they liked you without getting made fun of too."

            "Gee," I muttered.  "Thanks.  What a wonderful thing to hear."

            The only way to respond to that kind of information was to slam down another shot.

            "So," he continued, sounding as though he thought he had just somehow complimented me.  "Does this mean you are single now?"

            "I think I need to sit down," I coughed, still trying to swallow down the sting of the shot.

            "There is a room back here," Allison offered.  "It is a lot less crowded."

            I was starting to feel very off.  My body seemed terribly intoxicated all of a sudden, and yet my mind was still working fine.  Either I had drank enough that I was about to be insanely drunk, or I was already insanely drunk, but my mind was working too hard on overdrive and had somehow burned off the blurriness.

            I was vaguely aware that Allison had taken me by the hand and was leading me through the house into a room I hadn't seen yet.  Inside it was darker, with only a small lamp lit in the corner, and two couches lined up against opposing walls.  This room had the very same straight from the seventies vibe as the outside of the house had given off.  The walls were covered in a faux wood paneling, and the carpet was a very worn looking dark green shag.  While in the right context it might have come off as pleasantly retro, from where I was stumbling from, it looked sort of pitiful.

            I happily collapsed into one of the couches, leaning against one of the arms.  I had passed into a state of not being able to feel really anything below the neck.  Not only was I completely ashamed of how I had been acting, and the decisions that I had made over the course of the last few hours, but now, I was embarrassed that I hadn't managed to be smart enough to control myself while drinking.

            Although, as I lay there, feeling the heavy alcohol soaked weights settling into my limbs, I used my clearer than it should have been brain to try and calculate how much I had taken in, and I don't remember it being too overindulgent.  Definitely enough to mess me up some, but not enough I would have thought to cause me to be unable to stand.

            I wondered how much longer Callie would be on her call with Nate, because I could think of nothing more appealing than being able to go home and crash into my own bed.  I knew I was going to have to make a decision about Ben, and address the whole mess with him, but thankfully I had an excuse tonight to put it off until at least the morning.   I was hoping that somehow in the midst of my drunken night, that I would be able to try and put together enough pieces of my little puzzle to manage to pull my head out of my ass and do the right thing.

            I knew I couldn't let Ben suffer through this.  While I was indeed a monster for having allowed any of this to happen the way it had, I knew that I would at least do that right thing in that regard and let him off the hook for the whole Amber fiasco.  However, I wasn't so sure I would ever be able to rid myself of the guilt from having caused him that pain.  Flashes of his hurt expression, the sound of his distorted voice, kept peppering my thoughts, making me ache for having been so selfish, and moronic.

            The biggest question now, was how was it all going to end?  Would I be brave, and allow him to yell and torment me for the situation I had caused?  I deserved as much.  It would be somewhat cathartic to sit there and be berated by him for my poor judgment.  Or would I take a chance to salvage somewhat of my sanity, some ounce of control in the soon to be soul crushing relationship demise, and choose to end it myself?  Just beat him to the punch? 

            As painful as it would be, I got the feeling that I owed him the win to let him pull the plug himself.  The pain would have to be my penance for the insanity I had created.

            I tried very hard to not allow the part of me that was hanging on to false hope to be heard.  The part of me that wanted the rest of me to grown the hell up, and do whatever I could to make it right.  The part that wanted nothing more than to spend another night wrapped up tightly in Ben's arms.  To have been so lucky as to be a part of his world at all is something I knew to be grateful for, but I couldn't shake that voice that kept begging me to find a way to stay there. 

            It wounded me when the epiphany came that all this came about, all my fear and panic, and the triggering of the flight plan, was that I realized I had fallen in love with him.  Not the love that came with the idea of him.  The feelings that were created by a teenage crush, the longing of a person I had had always dreamed of.  No, this love came about on its own.  Silently building up in addition to the way I had always imagined him to be.  I hadn't even seen it coming.  But there it was, hiding away inside of me, the love for not Ben Stevens, the myth, but the genuine love of Ben, the man I had been seeing, and building with since my return.  It was as if the two versions weren't even remotely connected.  Two separate entities, evoking two very different strands of love.

            The more painful truth was that there weren't two Ben's, but in fact, two Mackenzie's.  The first was the Biddleton version.  The scarred, and angry, and afraid Mackenzie, that lived inside her head in a world where everything was scary and wrong.  Never having progressed beyond the emotional age of about fourteen.  To look back upon the actions I had taken, and the things I had done since my return was horrifying.  I am not this person, I haven't been that person for a blessed ten years, and to see myself morph back into the insecure, pitiful version of me that I warred with for so many years, is painful.

            The second Max, the real Mackenzie, is the one I grew into after freeing myself of this cornfield decorated prison.  I am a smart person, a considerate, well managed person who makes mistakes, but is still herself while doing them.  I was confident in who I was, but returning to my hometown has all but sucked the adult right out of me.

            I couldn't help but wish that I had been lucky enough to meet Ben outside of this world.  To have him meet the real me.  The one who is self assured, and mildly spastic, and who doesn't trip over herself repeatedly in front of men.  The one who would have been perfectly worthy of being a part of someone like Ben's life. 

            To imagine what we could have been together under the right circumstances is almost painful.  To think of what I could have been a part of. 

            To think that if I had only been able to resist the pull that this town has on my self esteem.  To be stronger than I am.

            The more I thought things through, the more I wished I had been smart enough to have gone anywhere but this house.  I felt deflated, seeing the errors in all of my ways.  The mistakes that had been purely mine.  I wanted to be home, to mope and punish myself in peace. 

            I also wanted to be able to move, but I seem to have been overcome by an alcohol induced paralysis.

            I wished that Callie would come back quickly so that we could leave.  I was beginning to fret over what a terrible friend I was, that had I listened to her in the first place, that I wouldn't have to beg her to haul my heavy, intoxicated ass off this dirty couch, past a horde of people I would hopefully never have to face again.

            In the midst of my dramatic thoughts, I hadn't noticed that I was not alone in my shag carpeted room.  I could hear Allison across from me, talking with a male whose voice I didn't recognize.  It sounded as though they were sitting on the other couch, based off of the spring squeaks.  More unnerving was having not realized that someone was in fact now sitting next to me.

            I worked to try and pull my head up off the couch, and was a bit frightened to find that I really wasn't able to move at all.  Or even open my eyes.  The fact that my mind was working perfectly, able to think clearly, while my body was all but unresponsive was forming a nice sense of dread in my gut.

            I focused on taking nice deep breaths, counting down the seconds until Callie would surely reappear. 

            "So who is this?"  So it was a man sitting beside me.  Also one whose voice I wasn't familiar with.

            "Mackenzie," Allison answered.  "I went to school with her.  She's having some guy trouble tonight." I assumed this was an explanation as to why I was incapacitated on the couch.

            "She's kinda hot," he offered.

            I was a bit put off by the 'kind of', but heard him take a drink from a bottle of something, so I figured poor manners might be an alcoholic side effect.

            There was silence then, gratefully so.  The mystery fellow beside me seemed content to sit and enjoy his beverage, and Allison and her guy sat, talking quietly.

            I was beginning to get concerned that perhaps I had alienated Callie more than I thought, and wondered if maybe she had asked Nate to come pick her up.  Not that I would have blamed her in the slightest, thanks to my below par behavior, but I was a bit worried about having to wait until I regained use of my limbs to be able to flee this dreadful place.

            Oh, ick! I thought to myself.  I had noticed that the sounds of quiet conversation had ceased, and were replaced by the unmistakable noise of two people making out close by.  Allison was nothing if not classy it seemed.  Well, enough that she felt comfortable groping a man, in front of another one, and a passed out person.

            Where the crap was Callie?

            My mild annoyance at the situation was quickly replaced my equal parts disgust and fear when I felt my fellow couch dweller move himself so that he was sitting dangerously close to me.  I am not sure what kind of signs I might have been giving out in my immobile state, but apparently this man interpreted them as he was welcome to not only sit practically on my lap, but that he should put his arm around my shoulders as well.

            I gave up on waiting patiently for Callie to return, and began trying to summon her through psychic pleading that consisted of my chanting her name over and over again in my head.

            Oh my sweet good gosh.  Creepy guy had begun playing with the strap of my tank top.

            Not sure if, or when, Callie was going to find her way back to me, I began using all the focus I had to try and make any part of myself move.  Any appendage would do.  My feet would have been nice, if only for being able to run from the room eventually.  I was perfectly happy settling for a finger, so as to be able to poke this jerk in the eye.

            He took another drink, and by now he was so close to me that I could smell the beer on his breath.

            My fingers and toes were as of yet unresponsive, so I tried mentally shouting at Allison, hoping at some point she would come up for oxygen long enough to see that I was in a bit of a pickle a mere ten feet away.  These inaudible pleas were apparently not noticeable over the sound of her rapidly escalating love-fest.

            Full fledged panic set in when I felt his fingers grazing over the skin right above the top of my shirt.  I was very sincerely cursing Callie for her brilliant idea of putting me into an outfit with such a lack of coverage in an order to show Ben what he was messing up.  I was also at the moment not thrilled with her absence.  Again, while I am sure she was justified in abandoning me, the current events were leaving me feeling slightly less forgiving.

            "Craig, what are you doing, man?" Allison's make out buddy accused.  "She's passed out."

            Bless him.

            "Whatever, Parker," Creepy Craig slurred.  "Allison said she was making eyes at me before."

            Oh my god, I was going to kill her.  I would actually have to kill her dead. 

            While I agreed that I deserved some sort of karmic backlash for my poor behavior earlier in the night, being sexually assaulted on a dirty, brown, plaid couch by Creepy Craig wasn't exactly what I'd had in mind.  I was thinking something along the lines of losing Ben and dying alone, or perhaps my car breaking down on the interstate or something.  Even by the harshest standards, this seemed a bit excessive.

            Grams, if you have any pull in the afterlife, and you could convince God to aim a bolt of lightning or two at this house immediately, I would be eternally grateful.

            All of my mute beseeching was not getting me anywhere, so back to a fight for movability I went.  I was elated when I managed to convince my thumb that now was a great time to wake up. 

            By the time I had managed to open and close my entire hand into a fist, Craig was freely pawing at my chest.  The level of profanity that was playing through my head at he, Allison, and the previously blessed Parker was at nuclear sailor level.  Longshoremen would cover their ears to run from the vile names I was creating for the slimy beings in the shag carpeted room.  And the revenge I was plotting upon them all would have made Freddy Kreuger himself shiver. 

            I had begun to accept that even though I was making some progress in regaining control over my body, that I wasn't going to be able to stop this before something worse happened.  I wanted to cry, but I was too angry to succumb to the terrified part of myself.  My head was spinning just as frantically as my heart was pounding, and I was quickly losing my level head to a feeling of complete impotence.

            "Max?"

            Oh god, Callie's voice!  I had never heard such a beautiful sound in my entire life.  Of course she wouldn't have abandoned me! 

            "Michelle, where is Max?" she asked.

            "I haven't seen her," Michelle answered.

            Liar!  I screamed silently.  She saw Allison bring me into this godforsaken room!  It seemed I would have to go horror movie on her conniving ass too.

            "Max!" Callie yelled louder.

            I could hear that she was right outside the door from where I was.  Salvation was close, and I hoped I could talk her into turning into feisty Callie on Creepy Craig here.

            "That room is private," Michelle's voice announced.

            I was beginning to panic again, fearing that she would believe her and search elsewhere.  I wasn't sure what I would do, but I could feel the urge to cry growing rapidly with each second.

            The sound of a scuffle pulled me back ever so slightly from the edge of hysteria I had been teetering on, and when I heard the door pop open, and the feel of the air whoosh around me, I was so elated that I managed to move my right leg ever so slightly.  My uninvited groper wisely pulled his arm from around me.

            "Max?"

            That was a voice I had not been prepared for.

            "Is she okay?" Ben asked, his voice serious, but concerned.  "What happened?"

            "I don't know," Callie sounded out of breath.  "They just kept pouring her drinks, but I don't think she had that many."

            "Max?"  I felt his warm hands place gently on my face, and while I was humiliated beyond belief for him to see me this way, I had never been so happy to see anyone in my entire existence.  I pushed every bit of strength I had to force my eyelids to flutter open slightly.

            Able to look around a bit, I could see Callie standing by the door, looking oddly small, and Nate beside her, looking large and pissed off.  I would have to acknowledge my mortification at a later date, as now, all I could feel was relief. 

            Allison had managed to break away from Parker on the couch and she was looking annoyed, leaning nonchalantly against the hideous paneling. 

            Creepy Craig was still lounging beside me, looking as though he had not in fact just been attempting to violate me.  My murderous feelings towards him had most definitely not passed.

            I only allowed myself to look at him for the briefest of seconds, but Ben's beautiful face was visibly plastered with anger and worry.  I was heartbroken at continually being the source of his less than happy expressions. 

            "Come on," he whispered to me.  "Let's get you home."

            "What is your problem, man?" Craig snapped, and stood up, in what seemed like an attempt at being intimidating.  "I don't think you were invited in here."

            "Shut up," Nate lashed out. 

            "Hey," Craig was speaking a bit garbled.  "Don't I know you?"

            Callie seemed to shrink even more as he addressed her. 

            Connections were being made in my brain as I watched this unfold.  Connections that I wished desperately could not be made.  Things I never wanted to know were becoming painfully clear in my head, and I felt as though I was about to be sick.

            I felt Ben trying to carefully scoop me up from the couch.  I used every bit of my energy to try and stand up with him, but before he could even pull me up from my slouched position, Craig thought it best to push Ben away.

            "Seriously," Craig growled.  "I don't know who you are, but get the hell out.  She is fine where she is."

            Ben straightened up, and stood motionless, his face like stone, staring back at Craig.  It was as though he was patiently deciding what to do, what he wanted to say, and was determined to get it just right.  Even in the most unorthodox of situations, Ben was the epitome of calm and collected.

            Or at least, this is what I had been thinking until he, without warning, pulled his arm back, and whipped around, landing a blow square in the face of Creepy Craig.

            "What the fuck!" he screamed as he hit the couch.

            Parker abandoned his own couch and flew up to help his buddy, but was blocked immediately, and absolutely by a giant wall of Nate, who looked more terrifying than I would have ever thought possible. 

            "You all need to get out," Allison threatened.  "Now!"

            I shouldn't' have been surprised to see it happen, but it was shocking nonetheless to see Callie suddenly dart across the floor and slug Allison as hard as she could. 

            Allison snapped her head back around, looking completely stupefied.  She looked a lot worse when she saw that Callie was coming for her again.  Thankfully for her, although I am not sure she deserved the reprieve, Nate looped an arm around Callie's waist to hold her back.  The string of obscenities that flowed from her pixieish mouth was well on par with my sailor-esque, internal tirade from before.

            "Time to go!" Nate declared, trying very hard to control the wild looking Callie in his grasp and moving for the door.

            Ben refused to break his steely glare away from the now bloody-nosed Craig before reaching down again, and hoisting me off the couch into his arms. 

            As we made our way through the party, heading for the front door, I thought back to how I had wished for only a single night more in the confines of Ben's arms, and had to admit the irony of it all.  It definitely made the case of being careful what you wish for.  Or at least learn to be more specific.

            Once outside, my lungs were greedily sucking in as much of the crisp, smoke free air as they could manage.  I could hear Nate enthusiastically congratulating Callie on her right hook, and she was back to her peppy self, proudly recounting her direct hit.  I would make sure to reward her for that.  Nothing says thank you for punching out the bitch that was letting your friend get attacked like a fruit basket.

            We arrived at Ben's car, where he allowed me to try and stand a little bit, with his arm still locked securely around me to keep me from tumbling over. 

            "You take her car, and I will meet you back at the house, alright?" he advised.

            He began carefully rooting through my pockets until he located my keys, and tossed them over to Callie, who bounced cheerfully down the sidewalk, Nate in tow, to my car.

            "Let's get you home," he murmured to me and maneuvered us around enough to open the passenger door.

            I wanted to say a million things.  I wanted to thank him.  I wanted to tell him how sorry I was and that I loved him, and that even though I could never do anything to deserve someone as perfect and amazing as he was, that I couldn't bear the thought of not being a part of his life.  I wanted to tell him that I believed him and was a horrible person for putting him through the earlier part of the night.

            I wasn't sure which of the things I had been planning to say when I opened my mouth, but it was readily apparent that words were not the things that were making their way out. 

            I barely managed to wiggle myself away from him before I began vomiting.  My body had lost the feeling of numbness, and was overcome by the sensation that I was perhaps dying.  I tried to push away from him, wishing there were anything I could do to keep him from seeing every single hideous moment of my life, but he was more stubborn than even I was.

            The feeling of his hand, soothingly rubbing my back as I kneeled, still throwing up on the pavement, while his other was working to hold my hair out of my face, was the last thing I remember of my night.