All Chapters of Euphoria: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

c a t h e r i n e  I never liked parties. Blaring music lined with reverberating voices, the cheers of drunken states and the clamour of fleshes craving for contact that would raise their high, they are ever so present in all chaotic manner. The laughs radiate through people's faces and vibrate through each other's ears but I wonder if which ever transcend happiness to their hearts. If in the absence of nicotine and liquor, would anything ever feel ecstatic. I never liked parties. But Jackson do so I liked them anyway. "You know I can't be seen with you." I discussed as we were about to part ways on a particular alley. I told him to go first at JB's house and I'll follow shortly. Jackson's studded lips curled vainly for a bold ridicule. The crow black bulging orbs fixated towards me with vexation. I felt the rush of chill within my spine as I muttered s

c a t h e r i n e  It was a short ecstatic feeling, when our lips met and mine melted against the softness of his. The stale taste of cigarette lingered in my tongue until my phone buzzed. Startled, I pulled myself back hastily. My fingers shuddered at the sight of Jackson calling. "I'm going back." I said before sprinting back to the house party.Vernon ran after me but we parted ways inside. I struggled to find Jackson in the havoc of guests now partying themselves to the fullest. The phone call is of no use for all I could hear is his incomprehnsible grunts. "Where are you?" His text message appeared. My nervousness elevated as I continued to stumble in the middle of the crowd.  "I went outside for some air. I'm back now.""Didn't even bother to tell me, huh?" "I'm sorry. You were busy talking with JB." It was hard typing messages in between unstable f

c a t h e r i n e Monday morning was drawn over grey dusky skies and fog-enveloped roads. Rainfall played along car honks, water splashed on concrete roads, and raindrops showered all over the street lights and car windows. It was my favorite weather. Everything under greyscale are calmingly gloomy. Ironically, the absence of life appeared to me more consoling. Sullen yet still fast-paced crowds drove past me as I deliberately headed for the train station, figuring it would be less crowded than the city buses.Train took minutes to arrive. Inside, the seats were emptier, given my earliness. My palms have began to grow weary of the frozen air, my lips dried and my skin ached underneath the cheap fabric of my sweater. Yet I managed to ignore it all. I sat there, watching the cruel skies cry on towering edifices, listening as the train stations change per brief halts, still until I felt something uncanny.  My gaze flew over

c a t h e r i n e  We were utterly quiet in class. For everyone, it was a surprise to see Vernon back in the classroom. To me, it was rather tormenting. I couldn’t get myself to comprehend what the teacher was speaking. Vernon’s dark façade on the corner of the classroom is stealing my attention.He was sitting beside the window. The gloomy skies before him heightened his apathetic air. Just like that. I couldn’t see anything else. It was just him, the rain, and how they perfectly sync. How both looked sad yet comforting. I never thought something so sullen could also feel like salvation. He was hail, and blizzard, and hurricane, and all things sad and scary. He was a gloomy weather personified. He was bad omen, it drives most people with a shiver down their spine and drives them away-- to a safer path. But I like danger. I like sadness. I like the snowfall and the tracherous roads.

In my attempt to understand his sudden impassivity, my gaze lingered on the resurrection of Vernon's ice-cold facąde. He seemed a master to putting on and off the mask of joy and apathy, I noticed that too well. It seemed to me as though such emotions are nothing but accessories which he'd purposely display on chosen occasions. Right now, his air of playfulness has vanished and so is the tricky grins and the sardonic humor. He stood across me still, his face fixed firmly for the coldness he was trying to mask.The late sun rays from the Victorian windows shadowed Vernon's face in bastard amber. Amid how serene it was supposed to look, he feigned his austerity. His hard expression a reflection of the customary warmth gone faster than the dying sun in the late afternoon.I could have forced him to honesty but I remained mute opposite to him.Suddenly, my phone rang loudly in the silence of the empty book shelf aisle. Elvis's Presley's deep and monoton