Shedded Promise

Nicky struggled to sit up on the tangled sheets of the bed. His clothes, a dark green t-shirt and torn jeans, were rumpled and so filthy his skin crawled. Cradling his head in his hands, he wondered exactly how much he had drunken the night before. There were beers and wine bottles and vodkas...a moan escaped him as his head pounded furiously. Gingerly, he slid off the bed and onto his feet, and glanced at the clock. 9:52. He was way late to school, but what did it matter? Maybe he wouldn't go at all. After all, there was that civics assignment Nicky had neglected over the weekend. But then again, if he was at school, it was less likely he would think about - no. No, no, he couldn't think about it, shouldn't even let his mind wander there. Just forget about the party.

Groaning, he stumbled into the bathroom and turned the water on as strong and hot as he could. Nicky's entire body felt dirty in a way that went beyond plain grit, and he scrubbed as hard as he could with the bar of soap, until his flesh turned bright pink, and then harder still.

The previous night had started out great. He and Russ drove over to Tony's house, and it was huge. Big, white, and parent-less. What could be better? When they walked in at 8:30, the living room was already packed with sweaty teenagers. Apart from the people, it was sparsely decorated, with just a thick white carpet (that wouldn't stay white long), an elegant grand piano, a sofa, and a glossy plasma TV that currently showed a chick flick. Music blasted from an expensive stereo perched on a small table, loud and obnoxious songs that bounced off of Nicky's eardrums.

He grunted and squirted half the bottle of shampoo into his hair. Shouldn't think about it. Couldn't think about it.

They had wandered into the dining room, with a long mahogany table and thin, creamy white table cloth. A cracked plate surrounded by scattered blobs of melted cheese and pepperoni was in the middle, beside a dancing girl. She wasn't amazingly beautiful but still attractive, with her deep brown eyes and shining black hair. A closer look showed her skin waxy and eyes flat. Within a few minutes, the stoned girl staggered off the table and landed hard on the floor. Nicky winced, before he was handed a can of beer from Russ. "Good stuff, this," he'd said, grinning. "Drink it up, Nicky!"

"Drink it up, Nicky," Nicky repeated to himself, slipping out of the shower. "Drink it up, drink it up, drink it up. Bet you're regretting that now." Suddenly realizing what he was saying, he stumbled over to the sink, gripping both sides of the porcelain, and gasped, struggling to hold back the vomit that threatened to come up. "No," he panted. "No, no, no."

The kitchen had been dark, filled with just a couple of boys and girls, a few of which where lying motionless on the floor, saliva dribbling out of their mouths. Russ and Nicky carefully picked their way over the bodies, grinning stupidly at each other as they did so. He felt looser and more relaxed with the beer, and grabbed another one from a table as he passed by. A lovely girl wended her way over and then shoved herself into his arms, giggling coquettishly. "Nicky," she crooned. "Hi there, Nicky."

Gagging, Nicky stumbled out of the bathroom, steam following him, and ran into his room, where he pulled on a fresh set of clothes. Despite this, he still felt indescribably grimy, but that wasn't something he could wash away. He shoved a few random papers into his backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and hurried down the stairs.

Slurping his own beer, Russ chuckled. "You gotta chick, Nicky," he slurred. "She's a hot one." Snickering, he wandered off while Nicky tried to detach himself from the girl.

"I'm Delilah," she giggled, reaching up to stroke his face. She handed him a bottle of red wine, urging, "Try it, Nicky, it's French. Bet you've never had French wine before."

Shrugging, he took a swig, and spluttered. Delilah tittered. "Who'd have thought French wine was so strong?" she muttered, almost to herself, before bursting into laughter again. "Try it again! Try it again!"

Nicky slammed the front door behind him and quickly walked down the sidewalk. Pausing, he studied his reflection in a glass window. His face was pasty and there were heavy shadows beneath his eyes. Rubbing them, he turned away, his throat feeling strangely raw.

The bottle of wine was lying, empty, on the floor, while Delilah sat on Nicky's lap in the living room, laughing loudly. With every drink he had, she seemed more and more gorgeous, until Russ stumbled by. "Delilah," he slurred. "Hey there, Delilah." And then they were both laughing, laughing and snorting something strange. Russ reached out and offered one to Nicky. "Take a hit."

"Take a hit," Randy was saying. Nicky blinked and saw him holding out something. "You look awful. This will make you feel a lot better, believe me, man."

"Go away," Nicky snapped, walking faster.

Randy held up his hands reproachfully. "All right, all right, whatever."

Nicky had fallen asleep on the couch, and when he woke up, he saw Delilah and Russ kissing passionately. "Hey!" he shouted. "Leggo of her, man. That one's mine."

He gasped and fell against a tree. "You okay, man?" Randy asked in concern. "Do you have like diabetes or somethin'?"

Russ sniggered and kissed her harder. Nicky lunged and punched him as hard as he could. Laughing while holding his bleeding nose, Russ shoved him aside.

Nicky moaned and slipped to the ground. Randy was saying something but he couldn't hear.

Reaching for a heavy book, Nicky hit Randy's head. Again. Again. Again.

"Again!" he suddenly shouted. Randy was fumbling for something in his pocket.

Again. And again. And then suddenly Russ or was it Randy or was it Delilah or was it Nicky was lying on the floor, and Russ or Randy or Delilah or Nicky wasn't moving, and Russ or Randy or Delilah or Nicky wasn't breathing.

And then Nicky's head cleared and he vomited, vomited all over the floor and furniture, so hard and so fast he thought he would die, maybe it would be better if he died, but he didn't, he kept living and breathing.

"Hey, man!" Randy was shouting. "Oh, God, what did you eat?"

No one really noticed; they were too stoned or drunk or simply not caring. Nicky dragged the body outside, tripping and stumbling and sobbing.

Gasping, Nicky crawled forward and started digging with his bare hands. "What are you doing?" Randy asked in bewilderment. "Man, I'm calling 911, okay? They'll be here soon, all right?"

Nicky dragged the body all the way over blocks and blocks and blocks, a messy trail behind them and then stopped in the grass. He dug with a stick, a shallow, clumsy hole.

Clumps of dirt flew out and there was Russ, lying, and Nicky began screaming. "Oh, shoot," Randy breathed. "Oh, oh, oh man."

Nicky turned to Randy, his eyes red. And he knew what he had to do.