ENCW: Champagne & Shackles

Part One

“Whewww!” I scream after spitting out my lime and slamming my glass down, my breath like a cheap perfume that smells of salt, lime, and three shots of tequila. I inhale deeply before exhaling to soothe my burning throat.

I am not the usual party goer type. But every once in a while, I like to let loose and have a good time. This was one of those times. I take my hair down and shake my short, blonde curls loose, giving my scalp a freeing scratch. The beat of the music resounds through the house and I can feel it in my chest, my body flowing with the vibration.

“Let’s dance,” my best friend Winnie says, pulling me into the middle of the living room amongst people I barely know. It smells of musty cigarettes and straight b.o. There are rowdy boys in white t-shirts and snapbacks howling at each other splashing their beer every which way, girls in spaghetti strap, sparkly crop tops with their basic black ripped jeans, and white nike low tops, trying to make their toy of the week fall in love with them. Majority of the people here are walking around in duos. One hand either cuffed or zip tied to their partner and the other holding a bottle.

‘That’s odd’ and I throw my head back laughing, throw my arms up dancing, and run my fingers through my hair letting the tequila take control. My head pounds as the rush of Ke$ha’s Die Young drums into my ears. Winnie and I feed off of each other’s energy and we let the music take over our movements. I put my arms around her neck and she grinds her hips into me.

“Okay, Mamacita!” I laugh-scream at my goofy ass bestie.

She spins me around, trying fruitlessly to help me move my hips to the beat.

“What’s the theme of this party again?” I try to yell over the music. But, before Winnie could answer, I felt someone catch my hand in theirs.

“Champagne and Shackles,” a smiling face says.

“WHAT?” I screamed back, over the music because I couldn’t quite make out what she said.

“CHAMPAGNE AND SHACKLES,” she says again, leaning in “I like your moves.”

I don’t know who this beautiful person is but hey, she likes my moves! Before I can figure out a reply, she introduces herself to me.

“I’m Riley,” she said, “and I’ve seen you around campus before!”

I try not to get distracted by her piercing olive eyes as I stand there staring. They had specks of brown sometimes hinting at hazel. Gazing into them was like watching streaks of golden-hour beaming through the forest canopy. She asks my name and I don’t notice her lift up my hand that she so smoothly had taken in hers.

“You mind?” she asks before also lifting a pair of fuzzy black handcuffs… I’m about to tell her that I don’t know if I’m into that kind of stuff. But I remember, just in time not to embarrass myself, that the theme of the party is Champagne and Shackles.

“Let’s do it,” I say, deciding to let the tequila make my night's choices. What’s the worst that can happen?

“I’m Sam,” I say.

“Well Sam, follow me,” she says after cuffing our hands together and pulling me towards the kitchen.

Her hands are smooth like silk and she came on so strong that I am truly intrigued. I want to get to know her better since I don’t know much about her. We just have a few overlapping friends from college.

“So tell me about yourself,“ the tequila in me says confidently. She smiles and her eyes sparkle like emeralds when they meet mine.

“I just moved into my own apartment,” she says while we attempt to use three of the four of our hands to open the Champagne she pulled out of the fridge.

“That’s great!”

“Yeah, my boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend and I were looking for one together, but he’s a toxic asshole and I broke up with him last week, signed my lease on my dream apartment yesterday, and have never been happier.”

“Wow, cheers to you!” I said and we clinked our plastic cups.

The champagne mixed with the tequila has got me feeling bubbly. Riley grabs my hips, pulling them closer to hers as we dance. I put my arms around her neck and throw my head back laughing once again. We’re having a great time when one of our mutual friends, Julia walks by.

“You two should get married,” she slurs sarcastically. Riley pressed her forehead against mine and said just audible for me to hear, “or we could make out instead.” I look down at her lips for one second before my eyes are closed and I can feel her mouth on mine. Our handcuffed hands are holding but her other one is in my hair pulling me closer to her. I gently nibble on her bottom lip before sucking and pulling away.

“Damn, Sam,” she said breathlessly. I smile, tilting my head in question.

“Is that..the Winky Lux Flower Balm?” She laughs, pulls me closer and gives me another kiss.

“What do you think?”

We use the shackles as an excuse to stay together for the rest of the night. We’re sitting on the couch as the party starts to die down and I check my phone, 1:27AM. Holy shit. We’ve been sitting here on the couch for hours, shackles long gone. She gently traces shapes in what feels like the shape of a tulip, onto my lower back as I lay my head on her chest, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing and taking in her steady heart beat. I know I just met Riley, but I love the way she makes me feel. We talk for hours and I admire how sensitive and sweet she is when she tells me stories about her childhood. She grew up singing with her musically inclined family and both her and her mother share a passion for song-writing.

I beg her to sing to me so I can get a little taste of music to my ears and she finally caves and gives me a verse of Supermarket Flowers by Ed Sheeran. Her voice is beautiful and I could listen to it for the rest of my life. We had so much fun together tonight. I know I can’t leave without asking to see her again. I lift my head up to look at her and the small traces on my back pause.

“Do you want to have dinner sometime? You can come over, I’ll cook for you,” I say. She does this cute little giggle thing before the back traces continue and she smiles with a “Yes” on her lips.

The next day, I meet up with Winnie to give her all the juicy details about Riley and how much fun we had together. Winnie says,

“If you’re serious about that dinner date, you need to text her and find a day before either of you forget or get too busy.” She’s right.

-Hey, when do you want to have that dinner date?

-Are you free tomorrow night?

-Yepp, Perfect. Come over at 7.

-Do you need me to bring anything?

-Nope, just your beautiful self!

-lol I’ll bring some wine.

Winnie and I go to Aldi and I pick out everything I need. I decide on some steak filets for $6.99, potatoes to make garlic mashed potatoes, and asparagus. I grab some cheap, colorful flowers that catch my eye. They’re pretty and smell good. As soon as I get home I start prepping the flowers and making dinner. From last night, I know Riley really likes champagne and I happen to have an empty bottle. I thought it would be cute to use it as a vase. So after trimming the ends and feeding the water, I fill the champagne bottle with the bouquet of flowers and get started on the dinner.

“You’re such a simp, Sam.”

“Why? Because I’m trying to impress Riley? Leave me alone, Win.” I give her a hug goodbye and continue to fix dinner up.

Shortly before it’s ready I hear a knock. Oh boy! It’s Riley! I feel the nerves start to come on and think about how much easier this would be if I had a shot of tequila in me. I remove my apron and fix my outfit before grabbing the flowers and opening the door.

“Oh my gosh!” Riley screams then laughs. She is standing there holding a bouquet of beautiful purple flowers. I laugh too because what are the odds we both got each other flowers? We sit down and even though the mashed potatoes were a tad too salty, everything else was perfect.

I get up to clear the table and Riley insists on helping me clean. I watch as she stands at the sink slowly swaying to the light music playing in the background. Her hair flows perfectly, stopping halfway down her back. I wrap my arms around her waist and nuzzle my head in the crook of her neck. She mumbles something about not being finished with the dishes. Regardless, she turns off the water and turns around in my arms.

“Thanks for dinner. This was really nice,” she said, “You-are-a great-cook,” she telling me between kisses.

I can smell her perfume; it’s hard to describe but like a flower, it draws me in, it's addictive and makes me want more. She smells better than anything I’ve ever smelled. Hell she smells better than the flowers we got for each other, and those smelt damn good. But this aroma is enticing and keeps drawing me in. It’s ambrosial and all I want to do is keep inhaling. I didn't realize I had taken a sharp intake and Riley leaned in giggling mischievously,

“What, am I making you nervous?” I step back, let out a breathy laugh, and run a hand through my hair. But she grabs my hand, pulls me closer, and begins rubbing small circles with her thumbs.

“Really, thanks for dinner,” she whispers.

“Thanks for the incredible company,” I reply.

Riley is bold. She was bold the night she kissed me and she’s not afraid of what she wants. I like that. All my past relationships have been with people who are too shy to communicate their wants and their needs. Not that that stopped them from manipulating me into wasting years of my life in a toxic, mentally abusive relationship. Somehow, I don’t see this being an issue for Riley. She knows who she is, what she wants, and isn’t afraid to go after those wants. I’m not gonna lie, it's really hot and I am intrigued.

We leave the kitchen and go upstairs to watch Hulu. She laughs obnoxiously and the sound brings smiles to my face that I didn’t know were possible. That night Riley made me feel so comfortable. Talking to her was so easy. With her little acts of physical affection like head scratches and cuddles I couldn’t help but feel beyond content. I don’t know how to explain it. She makes me feel…safe.

“So tell me, why are you single?” she asks me out of nowhere. Although I dread the conversation that I am sure is to come, I know I can trust Riley and open up.

“Since September,”I began. “My ex was very difficult, everytime I would try to communicate my wants or needs he would gaslight and invalidate me. He wouldn’t let me hang out with my friends and it took me forever to leave because he constantly told me I wasn’t good enough and no one else would want me. I believed him. I believed him for so long,” I don’t realize I’m crying as Riley continues the soft signs of affection.

“It’s okay,” she said, “You are more than enough, you are unique, incredible and I assure you, you’re wanted.”

She kisses me gently and before I can deepen the kiss she pulls away asking a question about my childhood. I’m not expecting that and even though I don’t really like talking about it, I continue to open up to her, because I know she genuinely is just trying to get to know me better. I tell her about my childhood with my combined mommy and daddy issues and once again she is comforting me. The honest sense of endearment I feel when in Riley's arms is beyond words. I barely believe it but I think she actually cares. She asks me questions and listens intently. She’s so reassuring that I believe I can trust her wholeheartedly. She gives me a gentle kiss and I fall asleep with my head on her chest and her fingers in my hair.

Part Two

That was three months ago. I spent the entire summer thinking about Riley. I thought about the way she would hold my hand while she was driving even though she should’ve used both hands for those left turns. I thought about how if I sat down after her, she would move closer so we could always be touching. I thought about the way her fingers would trail up and down my spine every time I would inhale letting the smoke fill my lungs and exhaling, the marijuana smell stinking up my apartment. I wrote her cards and love letters. I sent her videos. But I shouldn’t have been surprised.

I was not enough. I would never be enough, because I am not enough. Riley got back with her ugly ass boyfriend who treated her like shit. In the end, she treated me like shit too. I left for just one month and that was long enough for her to cheat on me. She hooked up with him the day after I left. And then she continued to lie to my face, playing me like a fool for weeks. I really should’ve known I couldn’t trust her. But I miss her. Why do I miss someone who treated me this way?

“You know you’re better off,” Winnie said, crunching on her garden salsa Sun Chips, “She’s the one that’s missing out.”

I know she’s trying to be helpful, but it really doesn’t help that much. I know I am better off without Riley and it's very possible that it might not be her that I miss. But I miss the feeling of her. I miss her hands in my hair and her body close to mine. I miss how she made me laugh so hard my sides hurt. I miss the idea of her: someone always thinking about me when they’re out, bringing me back sweet nothings, someone who mindlessly comforts me and brings me joy.

But like I said, I’m not good enough. I never have been. I think about my childhood. I always tried so hard to grow and do well in school to make my parents proud. Thrive like the perfect little flower they always wanted me to be. I did the best out of all my siblings but whenever I got an A, the question was always ‘why isn’t it an A+?’ Whenever I had a game or concert or something, no one ever came. No one ever comes and I believe it’s because I am not good enough. This flower is deteriorating away. Maybe if I was good at basketball like my older sister Katie, or musically inclined like my younger brother Dylan, maybe then there would be more support. A few petals, too dry and rotten to hang on, fall helplessly into the endless pool of not enough. Even though I am successful in my own ways, there isn’t any support. I don’t want to be selfish, but I just feel like a failure. The last petal falls, my stem of a self left.

In a way, I guess Riley taught me another lesson on the subject I’ve been learning my whole life: I am not good enough.

I didn’t realize I was crying until I felt Winnie engulf me in her arms. She was rocking me back and forth in one of those best friend hugs that are almost too tight for comfort but not tight enough all at the same time.

“Sam, oh Sam,” she cooed.

I just continued to let the sobs out. I was no longer simply upset about Riley, I was upset about my family, my childhood, myself. I was upset with myself for being upset. My therapist says that I need to allow myself to feel the feelings that I am feeling. I will give that a try… right now I feel… I feel… I don’t know how I feel. What the fuck? How does this even work? I feel my heart beat increasing and my breathing quickening. Winnie holds me tighter soothing the shakiness out of my body. In the background of my screaming thoughts I can hear her trying to get me to calm down. But I can’t. I can’t calm down because I can’t even breathe. I lean forward putting my head between my knees trying to ‘smell the flowers and blow out the candles’ or whatever that bullshit is. Fuck the flowers.

I step outside on my porch to breathe in the crisp air and simply be alone. I grab the closest blanket and cuddle up on my old couch that smells of dead flowers and stale ladybugs. I let my breathing steady before drifting off to sleep.

I wake up to Winnie bringing chocolate chip, heart shaped waffles to me on the porch with berry fusion tea. I thank her, taking a sip. The hot tea warms the cockles of my throat. I take another slurp, wiping the wetness off on my hoodie sleeve and clear my throat.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to freak out last night, I just-

“You don’t have to apologize, Sam. You are allowed to process your emotions however you need. Just know that regardless, I’m here for you and I love you.”

I don’t know what I did to deserve Winnie. She’s the only person I’ve ever been vulnerable with like this. She’s always been so understanding and motivating, I’m just really grateful.

“I appreciate you Win,” I tell her.

I decided that I did not like that crumbling feeling that I had last night. Why am I so hard on myself? I am allowed to be upset… It's not selfish to want to feel supported and it's time for this flower to bloom again. I take a shower and decompress.

I’m going to get ready and I’m going to force myself to have a good day. And if I don’t, I’m going to find something good about the day. I’m not going to worry about whether or not I am good enough for others because you know what? I’m good enough for me and if I forget every once in a while, I know I’ll always have Win to remind me. I might be a small bud, but one day, I will flourish. Fuck Riley, fuck my childhood, and fuck my expectations for myself.

I am enough. And I’m done.