Like a Bat out of Hell

A girl sneaks out one night with her friend, and the two spend it drinking alcohol and talking to hot guys. But when the night comes to a close, they realise that everything comes with a price.


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1. Like a Bat out of Hell

 

 

Tires screeched on the bitumen as headlights faced each other. We swerved, but the oncoming car turned the same way. I saw my friend. She snored lightly beside me; oblivious to what was about to happen. Her seatbelt lay forgotten behind her.

Adrenaline pumped through my veins, giving me the extra strength I needed to heave her onto my side of the car. Her legs barely passed the threshold when metal collided with metal and sent the car spinning out of control. I didn’t have time to brace for impact, and the sudden jolt smashed my head into the window. The world around me faded to black.

 

Five hours earlier…

 

The song ‘Bat out of Hell’ by Meat Loaf blasted in my bedroom while I fixed my hair. I’m gonna hit the highway like a battering ram. My heart rate spiked in time with the song as I imagined the exhilaration of speeding down the highway. Then I remembered that I don’t have a car, or a license.

Looking out the window, I spotted Jasmine waiting in the bushes. I gave her a sharp nod and quietly checked on my parents. They were watching T.V.

The window creaked in protest and I thanked the music for drowning it out. My feet went through first, and I hit the ground with a soft thud.

 

We hear the party before we see it, the bass already reverberating through our chests. Cars lined the road leading up to the house, pointing in the direction of the noise.

Inside, the rooms were crowed with people. In all the excitement and confusion, somehow Jasmine and I had separated. Looking around I recognized some familiar faces from school. But that was all they were to me. Faces. I didn’t know their story, or their name.

“Hey, it’s Paton, right?” a deep voice shouted over the music.

I froze. I knew that voice. How could someone forget his voice? When I glanced up into his green eyes, I could have melted. He knows my name!

“And you’re Wyatt?”

“That’s me,” he shifted from foot to foot, “Do you want to go outside?”

I followed him into the backyard and we sat on an empty bench. Wyatt handed me a bottle. “You need to loosen up.”

I stared at the unopened beverage in my hand.

“You’re supposed to drink it,” he grinned, running a nervous hand through his brown hair. It was styled in a way that was somewhere between “I just woke up’ and ‘It took me ages to make it look like this’.

“I don’t drink alcohol.” I held out the bottle for him to take back.

“Then what are you doing at a party? It can’t be for the music.”

I paused. He had a point. Gingerly, I took a sip.

It took everything I had not to spit it out. The stuff burnt my throat and smelt similar to paint stripper, but to avoid embarrassment, I continued drinking it.

Slowly the conversation picked up and soon we were laughing together. Whether it was the alcohol, I’m not sure, but at least he was talking to me.

“Paton! There you are.” Jasmine stumbled over to me, supported by her new male ‘friend’, “I want to go home.”

Despite my many protests, we ended up in ‘male’ friend’s car. I soon learnt that his name was Hayden. Jasmine had passed out on the seat next to me, so I gave directions.

“Turn left up here…” I trailed off as we drove past our turnoff. “Hayden, I need to get Jasmine home.”

“I’m just having some fun,” Hayden slurred.

Wyatt nudged him, “Maybe I should drive.”

That was all it took. Hayden took his eyes off the road for a second, and the car veered to the right lane.

I called to him, but it didn’t matter. The other vehicle was too close.

 

When I regained consciousness the car had stopped moving. Someone yanked the door beside me open and helped me out. They didn’t need to return for Jasmine.

The person said something and gave me their phone. I looked into their eyes for reassurance. I recognized him from somewhere… The guy nodded and ran a shaking hand through his hair.

I called a number I knew so well, and they answered on the third ring.

“Hello?” The bubbly voice of Jasmine’s Mum answered the phone.

“Mrs. Lo? It’s Paton,” I couldn’t bear to look at the scene before me. Instead, I gazed up at the stars as tears blurred my vision, “I’m sorry.”

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