Not Juliet

It wasn't going to be like that: him scurrying up the vine outside her balcony with a rose in his mouth, declaring his eternal love; her peeking out from behind a curtain, both bashful and encouraging, suggesting that he climb inside.

Jeff pushed her hard against the wall, and when his mouth closed over hers, all she could think of was the smell of beer. “Jeff,” Emily squirmed beneath him, “I think you've had too much to drink.” Jeff hummed against her, one of his hands grabbing at her hip in a way that was more uncomfortable than anything else. His other hand tangled in her hair, which she remembered hadn't been washed that day.

“Jeff-” he cut her off with a tongue working its way into her mouth. Emily thought about how she disliked beer, how the tongue was a strange, wet muscle, how Jeff was one of the most popular guys at school.

She led him into a bedroom; the display of family photos on the wall indicated it belonged to someone's parents. They probably shouldn't be in there, she thought, as she fell backwards onto the bed. Jeff moaned like he hadn't noticed. Emily tried to focus on his fingers under her shirt, but they hadn't locked the door, her underwear was green, and she didn't know the proper time to ask him if he's got a condom.

When his hand stilled, Emily's eyes jumped back to his face, and she realized that he'd passed out. She breathed a sigh of relief and returned to the party.

Her friend Katie was waiting with a plastic cup and a conspiratorial grin. “So... you and Jeff? Was it everything you hoped for?”

Emily took the cup with a smile.