The night party had become a cacophony of chaos, scraping against my nerves and pounding through the walls and into my skull.
I swam through a sea of distorted chatter, punctuated by bursts of fake laughter and the clink of glass against ice. Red wine sloshing in unsteady hands, then the dance music cut through—loud, relentless, and blaring from every corner. Beams of bright, restless colors spun overhead, sweeping across raised hands, polished shoes, and pressed suits, including mine. My gray collar and black necktie felt tight. I only stood there, rigid, as if time had stalled around me.
My right hand turned white around the wineglass’ stem, fingers locked tight like a bicycle handlebar. Thoughts raced in a loop. “Don’t make a scene,” I muttered, shifting my necktie, jaw tight, lips pressed thin. Among the well-dressed crowd, I tried to walk carefully across the beige rug.
Then I saw him.
Among the blur, my eyes locked onto a familiar figure: ruffled red-brown locks, jagged brows, emerald-green eyes that seemed to burn straight through me. Even in his proud blue suit, his demeanor was unmistakable. He turned his head… and looked straight at me.
My breath caught.
“Well, well… didn’t think you’d show up,” he snarled, a crooked grin spreading. “So, Jerry… having a good time?”
A shiver ran down my spine. I stammered, stepping back as nearby conversations thinned into snickers.
“I’m fine, Jacob,” I muttered. “Just… leave it.”
Jacob chuckled, taking a step closer. “Lying to yourself, Jerry? You’ve got a real talent, you know that. Making everything miserable wherever you go!” Laughter sharpened around us.
“Just drop it, alright?” My jaw locked.
“Or what? You gonna do something about it?!”
His grin twitched, then faltered. “You don’t even see clearly, do you? Always squinting, like you don’t belong anywhere.”
Laughter returned, crueler. My fingers dug into the glass, teeth clenched. “Jacob, please stop!”
“Stop?! You made my life a joke! Got anything to say to that? IS THERE SOMETHING YOU’RE GONNA SAY–”
I cut him off with a bellow. “ENOUGH!!!”
I hurled the glass. It crashed, shattering, soaking the rug in red wine. Silence.
“What… you…” Jacob stammered, then roared, “YOU BASTARD! You ruined the rug!! I’LL MAKE YOU PAY!!”
He lunged, fist swinging—but I met it with mine, square to the cheek. He hit the floor with a thud.
The hall was thick with stunned silence. Glass shards glimmered under restless lights. The rich smell of spilled wine filled the air. People stepped back, unsure whether to laugh or gasp.
I exhaled, letting my muscles relax, and turned. My brown leather shoes tapped deliberately across the rug, shoulders squared, eyes fixed on the exit. I didn’t look back.
The exit doors loomed. Crisp night air hit my face, sharp and cleansing. The muted hum of the parking lot replaced the hall’s chaos. My red Ferrari Italia gleamed under the streetlights. I strode toward it, opened the doors, and let the engine’s familiar growl promise a brief reprieve from everything inside.
About the Author
Jose Enrique Villacorta Joson is a graduate of Senior High School from Bulacan Ecumenical School under the STEM branch. He started his journey in the Bubots Writing Class last November 2025 in the Advanced Class. Today, Jose strives to further improve his writing in the near future so that he may be able to pursue his dreams as a writer and an artist.