12:14 AM, November 1st. I've migrated from the closet to the upstairs bathroom, a feat I only accomplished after begging Tommy to let me do so. He made me promise to lock it, both when I was inside and when I was done, then pressed a key in my hand and disappeared in the crowd.

Now I'm alone. Bryce is elsewhere in the house, I'm sure. Probably making advances on some other girl. My phone is on the counter; I don't really have use for it right now. Even when it rattles on top of the sink, I just press myself against the wall and ignore it.

After how Bryce and I ended tonight, I don't want to see anyone. Hell, even the thought of getting drunk feels like too much effort. All I'd need now is some rain outside and I'd be the poster child for classic teen angst.

As my phone rings, I focus my attention on my chipping nail polish. Coming to this party was the worst mistake I've ever made.

It wasn't enough for Bryce to cheat on me. No, he had to turn around and blame me for it, too. Maybe this entire mess is my fault. Who's to say? I just wonder how the story's going to spin come morning.