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There’s nothing playful about his tone. He’s pissed at whatever someone like him seems to always be pissed at and I don’t want to make a scene, so I take a sip of the orange-flavored water and paint on a sarcastic smile. “Happy now?”
Then I take an exaggerated bow.
“Very.”
Neo looks at Blake.“Why the fuck are you still here?”
Blake takes a careful step back. “My bad, man. She didn’t mention that she had a boyfriend. By the way, nice to meet you, Neo. I’m a big fan. Really love what you do on the ice.”
“Stop dick riding and disappear.”
Blake’s face drops as if he’s just been crushed by one of his heroes and he slinks away. My plan is to give Neo a tongue lashing for being so rude, but that’ll have to wait.
Because I’m so sleepy.
“Grinch, wake up.”
Neo snaps his fingers in front of my face.
“I’m awake!” I protest.
But barely awake.
It’s the oddest thing.
I shut my eyes back again, primarily so the room will stop spinning. I believe I’m even giggling.
Neo grows closer to my face. I can sense him, and when I pop my eyes back open, I’m face to face with a very angry one.
“Who’s the grinch now?” I say, laughing.
“I thought you didn’t drink?” he asks through gritted teeth.
“I don’t.”
“But you’re clearly inebriated.”
“I can’t be. I just told you. I don’t drink.”
His eyes narrow. “What did that motherfucker give you to drink, Violet?”
The ridiculous amount of twinkling white lights strung around the frat house is making it difficult for me to process information but I manage to answer him or at least I think I do.
“Punch.”
Everything that happens next occurs so quickly that it momentarily sobers me up like a hard slap in the face. The one I imagine a baby born in 1955 felt when they entered the world and the doctor who delivered them wanted to clear their airway and make them cry.
A jarring one.
Neo’s long legs take several large strides toward the opposite side of the room. Blurry eyed, I do my best to quickly move through the crowd to keep up. I follow him only to find Blake on the ground, his pale face partially underneath the legs of a chair, turning a shade of beet red because Neo’s hand is wrapped around his throat, choking the life out of him.
Watching Blake try to fight for oxygen is terrifying, but what’s even more frightening is that no one around us, even his so-called frat brothers, are attempting to help him. They either have their phones out and are recording the assault or their hands are covering their mouths in imaginary shock.
“Neo, stop!” I plead, scanning the crowd for Kennedy. I haven’t seen her in about forty minutes, but she’s got to be somewhere around here. I need her help. “You’re killing him.”
The tension in the room is palpable, like a thick, heavy blanket pressing down on everyone’s shoulders. My heart pounds against my ribcage, and my palms are sweaty as I desperately try to reach Neo and stop him.
But he doesn’t budge, his attention laser focused on cutting this poor kid’s life short. As I watch the fight drain from him, all I can see are flashbacks of my mother lying lifeless on the floor of her bedroom. These are two totally different situations, but possibly with the same outcome.
