You ever find yourself in a really awkward situation? Like, you commit to something up front thinking "What's the worst that could happen?", but then you immediately realise exactly what the worst is, and it's really bad, but you're too deep in now to get out of it without making things even worse than that? Maybe it's just my terrible luck, but that happens a lot to me. Hell, for a while I even believed that my whole entire life was just an extended moment like that. In typical Emma O'Reilly fashion, that night seemed to be going that way from the moment I left home.

To begin with, I got lost on the way there in the first place. I blame whatever lazy architect in the 80s designed the suburbs of my town to be as bland and uninspired as possible. How the hell am I supposed to find one specific house in a jungle of identical red-brick monstrosities? In normal circumstances, I'll admit it's not too much of a dealbreaker to get lost, but nowadays? I'm surprised I even made it here alive in the first place. Just a few streets away, I took a wrong turn into a cul de sac, only to be met by a gang of young teenagers, who I think were trying to blow up stray cats and birds with fireworks. They started calling after me when I turned to leave, and I'd rather not think about what they were screeching at me, but thankfully they just got back to whatever psychotic way they planned to spend their last night of their lives. I can't really critique their choices, since I'm the one going to spend my last night on Earth blackout drunk with some friends and a horde of strangers, but I must admit that hearing the bangs of fireworks accompanied by a howling cat and giggles as I walked away was a little disturbing.

I reached the house eventually, but my night didn't really improve much. As I walked down the gravel driveway, I looked to my right to see that some girl was already puking in the corner of the front lawn. The front door had been left ajar, probably by the girl emptying her stomach on the grass a few metres away, so thankfully I could at least get into the house without drawing attention to myself with the doorbell.

It was right at that moment, when I entered the house for the first time, that I decided I'd probably have been better off with those psycho kids from earlier. I heard shattering glass and screaming, and I paused for a moment, wondering was this really what I wanted to do with the precious last hours of my life. Just then, a door swung open right beside me, revealing a small bathroom, and my friend Marianne stepped out alongside a guy I didn't know.

"Emma! Heyy!" she yelled into my ear as her new "friend" walked quickly back into the crowd. She set down her purse and pulled me into a hug- she seemed pretty drunk already. I've never been much of a person for hugs, so I just patted her back awkwardly until she let me go.

"Hey, Marianne. How're things? Where are the girls?" I said, noticing how badly smudged her lipstick was.

"We're in the kitchen. Emma's here!" she called, to no one in particular. She picked her purse back up and handed me a can of cider from it. I opened it straight away and took a drink.

"My treat, don't say I do nothing for you!" she chirped, and took my hand and led me into the kitchen. I was immediately greeted with the smell of vodka and vomit, and I didn't recognise the song playing. I came to the conclusion that if Marianne hadn't appeared out of nowhere, I would probably have left by now. I took another gulp from my drink to prepare myself.

"Emma!" called my entire group of friends in unison as they saw me. I smiled politely as they bundled me into another group hug. I'm not touchy feely, so I kept my hands down by my side until they let me go, and I'm pretty sure they didn't notice.

"How've you been?" asked my friend Helen, once they'd let me go and stood back exactly where they'd been standing a second before. My eyes shot to the other side of the room, where someone was being dragged outside. I assumed they were the source of the stench of vomit.

"Not amazing, honestly. It's been rough." I sighed. I didn't feel like getting into further detail, and I still don't, but the group pulled me into yet another hug that I think was meant to be comforting rather than let me speak further, which I suppose was both a blessing and a curse.

"Any news with the girls? I see Marianne's already had her fun." I asked once I'd been freed again from their embrace. Marianne grinned, her expression showing that strange mixture of pride and embarrassment girls feel whenever their new men are brought into the conversation, as the rest of the girls gave a customary "ooooh" of fake surprise and scandal.

"Well, apart from me, I don't think anyone's gotten lucky yet," bragged Marianne, "so that must mean I'm the hottest of all of us here."

"Or the easiest." added Helen. We all laughed at that, even me. I took one last drink and noticed my drink was already empty.

"Slow down Emma, Jesus! You've had that drink about two minutes, you're really going at it!" said Marianne, sounding shocked but a little impressed as I slammed the empty can on the counter nearby.

"Drink to forget, right girls? I'm going for another one." I said, excusing myself as I left my purse with the girls and crossed the kitchen again to get another drink. Lager this time, because it's a man's party, and of course that's the only thing that big manly men drink. I stood there for about half a minute, weighing my options between two brands of beer with equally ugly packaging when I heard someone speak to me suddenly.

"Oh, hey Emma! How've you been?" asked Mark Collins, who was probably the last person I wanted to run into tonight. I realised just then, which was probably a little too late, that I was at one of his best friend's house, so really I should have expected to see him, or just not come in the first place.

"Mark, hey, yeah, I've been alright," I answered politely; I didn't want to be rude. Something changed in his face when he looked at me properly- his smile dropped a little, and something seemed to register on his face. He excused himself a moment later and went back to his friends with a drink in his hand. I felt a little guilty.

Mark and I had history. A few years ago, we'd been really close friends, inseparable for a while. I didn't get along with any of his friends, and he didn't get along with the girls, so we mostly just hung out alone, just the two of us. Our friendship was always quite private, and honest- it was like we were each other's break from the rest of the world and the pressures of life. We told each other everything, and neither of us held any judgements. Of course, everyone else misinterpreted what we had. The girls made a lot of jokes about us secretly being together, and I have no doubt his friends did the same, and when you hear something enough, you start to believe it eventually. I stood there for a second as my mind found itself wandering back to a night like this one- another party on another summer evening, in this very house, where we'd gotten together for the first time.

"Eeyore, hey!" Mark said, as he opened the door. I'd seen him watching for me from the window of the living room when I arrived.

"Hey! How're things? Happy summer!" I cheered, pulling him into a hug. His hands hesitantly made their way to my upper back. When we pulled apart, I could already see some of his friends smirking at us from the other room, so I took an awkward half step back from him.

"Everyone's in the front room. The match is on in a few minutes, and Steven managed to get a slab of beers off his cousin. David showed up off his head too." he said, turning and walking into the room. His cheeks were tinted red as if he were nervous about something. I was a bit nervous too, but I don't know if we were nervous about the same thing.

"Oh, we're drinking tonight? I've never properly drank before. I've had, like, a glass of wine with my mum every now and then, but I've never been drunk." I replied, following him gingerly into the room. The aforementioned beers were already being hit- I counted six already gone from the packet.

"That's alright. You don't have to drink a lot, but try one and see how you feel. They're fairly light beers anyway so the taste shouldn't be too strong. The taste was always worse for me than the actual alcohol when I started." Mark answered. He grabbed two cans of beer and handed me one with a smile on his face, and I immediately felt a bit more sure of myself, so I took it. Mark always had a way of putting me at ease- it's why I liked him so much. No matter what I was going through, whether it was at home, school, with my friends or in my own head, he always knew the right words to say and the right advice to give. I opened the drink and took my first few sips. He'd been right- it wasn't a strong taste, but I disliked it all the same.

A bit of time passed. At the request of some of Mark's friends, I invited the girls to the house, and they came around fairly quickly. I figured at the time that the only reason Mark had been allowed to invite me was to have an excuse to invite a group of girls similar in size to Mark's group of friends over. It seemed like a terrible idea to me, and I feel like Mark agreed without saying, but it happened anyway. Typical.

The hours went by, and I wasn't having that great a time- I was never into rugby, and Mark was being oddly quiet while all my friends were trying to mingle with the other boys. At least the music was good- I recognised a lot of the songs, and I had a feeling that Mark had made the playlist. He rarely shut up about the songs and albums he liked- I'd sat through several long winded explanations of whatever musician had caught his fancy recently- but I didn't mind. I liked how passionate he was, and you'd be surprised at how often regurgitating that information could impress people. I could almost feel him suppressing the urge to geek out about a couple of songs that came on through the night, but even when I asked him about them to try and get some normal conservation going, he was unusually brief. I knew there was something weighing on him. It was weighing on me too.

I was a little tipsy. I had one can of beer and drank about half of a second one before I didn't want to drink anymore, so Mark finished it for me.

"Finishing her drinks for her, are we Mark?" his friend Dave sneered from across the room, being the only one of his friends not talking to any of my friends. He wouldn't come out until later in that summer, so I guess that made sense in retrospect. "Get a room, would ye?"

The entire room suddenly turned their attention to us, forming a choir of "ooohs" and "ayyyys" that were either meant to cheer us on or mock us, or maybe both, as paradoxical as that seems. Mark swore at them playfully, trying to play it off as though it meant nothing and failing badly. He went as red as a sunburned lobster and appeared to have some difficulty in figuring out where to put his hands, eventually resting them both on his farthest knee from me. It suddenly struck me that I was really warm, and the leather couch was pretty uncomfortable to sit on. We were sitting in the centre of a social pressure cooker, so I got up and left, telling everyone I was going to get a glass of water. I left the room, hearing Mark try to support my story. Something about it being wise to drink water between beers, which I guess made sense. It took me a minute or two to find where Steven kept the glasses, and by the time I did, I got the feeling someone else was in the room with me.

"Hey, Eeyore" said Mark. He hesitated for a little before calling me by that nickname. He was nervous.

"Hey, Mark." I answered, turning to face him, my grip tightening on the empty glass, and a distracted part of my brain wondered if it'd shatter in my hand.

"Uh, sorry about all that in there, I didn't... uh..." he said, trailing off. It was an odd sight for me, seeing Mark Collins speechless. The boy who always knew what to say, what joke to make or what excuse to give, had finally ran out of words.

I don't know why I did it, but I leaned in and kissed him. I don't know if it was that strange look in his eyes, a mixture of reverence and lust, or if it was the minimal amount of alcohol making me act up, or if it was simply just me finally collapsing under the weight of the expectations on us. At first it was just a brief kiss, but his hands found their way to my back, decisively this time, and pulled me in for more. It was my first kiss. It wasn't bad by any means, but I felt a little underwhelmed. It wasn't by any means the magical experience that the dozens of Disney shows I'd seen had made it out to be.

"Heyyy, they got a room after all!" came Dave's voice from the kitchen door, and we jumped apart as if we'd been electrocuted. There stood not just Dave, but our entire collective group of friends. There was no going back from there. Mark and I were officially together.

After that we started going on dates, and acting like a couple. It was good fun, and he was a good guy, but something about it never sat right with me. I found myself wishing we could just go back to being friends without everyone having something to say about it, but it almost seemed impossible. It was my first relationship, and it was also my last- it made me realise I preferred to be alone and wasn't really interested in anyone. I do think I felt something unique for him, but I don't think it was love. I have no frame of reference, of course, so maybe love is just underwhelming.

We broke up about a week before school started again. We haven't spoken since. It's not his fault, honestly- I'm sure he was under the same pressure that I was too. I blame the world around us, pushing us together without either of us being ready. It taught me a valuable lesson- that other people rarely have your best interests at heart- they want you to do what fits their idea of you. Our friends cared nothing for our friendship, and the good it did us- they wanted us together, because that's what they thought we wanted. You could argue it's not even their fault- that the world we grew up in, where the notion of typical romance is forced down our throats to make us lonely, and sell us what we don't need to fill the void. Mark and I were victims, not lovers, and sometimes I wish I could tell him that and make things right. I never did. Before the world was ending, it just felt like too long had passed, and it'd be far too awkward and uncomfortable to ever bring it up and get closure. Nowadays, we don't have the time to waste on feeling better about something that happened years ago, so I don't blame him for walking away. I grabbed a can of beer and walked back to my friends, who hadn't even seen Mark and I speak. They suddenly fell quiet when I got to them, so I knew it had to be about me. I decided to hold my tongue for the moment.

"What is it?" I asked. "Come on, I know you're talking about me."

Helen sighed uncomfortably, and spoke up.

"Did you see the fight that happened a few minutes ago?" she asked. I shook my head.

"Was that what they were dragging that guy out the back for? I thought he just puked." I answered, worried about how this related to me in the slightest. The last thing I needed was two drunk men fighting over me.

"Nah, he laughed at the guy who puked, then he got a bottle smashed right on his head. There's people saying he might die from that, head trauma's pretty serious." Marianne chimed in.

"It was your cousin who hit him. People took him into the living room to calm him down." Helen said, pointing at a doorway, and now I understood. They didn't give a name, and I have plenty of cousins, but I knew exactly who they were talking about. Without another word, I stormed off into the living room, guessing that the doorway that Helen pointed at was the doorway to the living room, and thankfully I guessed right. Inside sat my cousin Keith, his own puke coating the front of his shirt, seated in an armchair, muttering about something to the group of fellow misfortunes sat around him.

Keith was the family disappointment. We grew up together, since we were born only a month or two apart, but thankfully our similarities ended there. Keith had been alright when we were kids, but had fallen in with a pretty bad crowd when he was eleven or so, and nowadays he was a complete waster. Keith was the heaviest smoker I've ever seen, and had been since he was twelve- I'm amazed he's lived long enough to even see the end of the world in the first place. I can't say I've never smoked, because who isn't partial to a cigarette every now and then, but Keith appeared to have intentionally gotten himself hooked- he just loved telling everyone the story of how he smoked three packs in a single day the first time he ever smoked. His voice sounded like rubbing sandpaper over gravel, and from the way he coughed you'd swear he was on his deathbed ready to go to Hell where he belonged. Keith has tried to hook up with every single girl our age in the entire town, and probably most of the younger ones too. He'd swear every single fifteen year old he drives to McDonalds to buy nothing but a Big Mac for himself is mature for her age, and a story went around a year ago that he'd tried to get with a twelve year old, which sadly doesn't surprise me as much as it sickens me. He's the type to go out looking for trouble, always finds it, and frequently ends up out cold on the footpath or in the hospital. Keith likely hasn't paid for anything other than drugs in years. I could rant on and on about Keith for hours, but I'm sure you get the picture- Keith is a shameless, repugnant bastard, and I wish that bloody meteor would land directly on his head.

I stormed up to the aforementioned shameless, repugnant bastard. I was done holding my tongue.

"Heyy, there's my cousin. Where's my hug?" he said. He was clearly extremely drunk, and probably on every other substance under the sun. Just hearing his voice served to piss me off even more.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? You could have killed that guy!" I yelled, furious. I could feel my face heating up, and a part of me realised that confronting Keith in front of his group of equally terrible friends may be a bad idea, but I couldn't care less. The boys sitting around stood up. I think they were trying to intimidate me, but really I just pitied them for being the lackeys that they were.

"He should have watched himself. No one fucking laughs at me. Hope he fucking dies, doesn't matter now anyway," he sneered.

Something snapped in me at that moment. Years of my complaints about Keith being ignored, because he was a hard man, or because he was family finally boiled over. My face was burning white hot and my vision blurred. I lost it. I punched Keith square in the nose, with as much force as I could.

His friends hopped up and I saw a few of them pulled out switchblades, so I turned and ran without thinking. I could just about hear Keith howling in pain as my eyes caught a glimpse of the ring I was wearing. The gemstone in it was coated in blood- I must have gashed him pretty badly, and I hope I broke his nose, but I didn't get a good look.

Thankfully I'd left the door to the living room open, so I dipped through it and into the crowd, hoping to lose them until I could get to the door and run home. I made a break for the stairs, hoping that they wouldn't look up there while everyone else was downstairs. I don't know why I thought that would work- they spotted me, and started shoving their way through the crowd to get to me. I ran up the stairs as fast as I possibly could, heart pounding a mile a minute, and spotted my saving grace- a bathroom door, hanging ajar. I ran inside and locked it behind me.

I got lucky. Keith's lackeys started pounding on it only a second or two after I locked it. I sank to the floor, breathing heavily. I didn't want to think too hard, but I couldn't avoid it. This was it. This was how I'd spend the last night of my life, cowering on a bathroom floor. Everything I'd ever done had led to this.

"What a waste," I muttered to myself, as the tears started to flow.