About a month ago. Maybe more. That doesn't matter. What matters is what happened. I'll keep it abridged for your sake.
My cousin was getting married for the second time. Her first marriage lasted a year and a half. She's 29. You'd think at that age she'd get a clue that crap ain't working out too well for her. Her name was Neela or Nora...some hipster s*** like that. Point is I hardly knew her. I don't think my parents did either. Hell, my little brother and I weren't even invited to the reception. But then again nobody under the age of 18 was.
I guess I can blame her for what happened...I guess. Who in their right mind would want to have a wedding in Florida, anyway. Maybe because it was her second wedding and the parents didn't see the point on having it some place nice. Florida...chrissake! I swear to god if I ever grow pruny enough to want to live in Florida, then shoot me, 'cause some evil force has taken me over.
I'll skip the wedding part of the story ‘cause that stuff bores me. What happened after is the important stuff really. They locked up all of us who weren't invited to the reception in this 3-room suite. There were ten of us: me (15), my little brother Tim (11), my cousin Audrey (8), my cousin Jess (16), my cousin Marguerite (12). On the grooms side there were 2 small boys. Twins I think. A tall boy named Jack (16) his sister Jackie (14) and their cousin Cayla (14).
None of them were particularly good looking. Cayla was kinda cute though. She was very short, with light brown hair and dark green eyes, and perky cheek bones. She seemed pretty cool too...at the time. But you always think someone's cool, until you talk to them.
We dumped the littler kids, with my brother and my cousin Marguerite. We told'em we'd only be gone for 25 minutes. Quite the lie that was.

And so there were five us. Jess, Jack, Jackie, Cayla, and, I.... Standing in the Ritz parking lot.
I'm not sure how they got the booze. But I wish they could have gotten something better. They had this big bottle of watermelon flavored vodka, but it tasted more like poison when it flowed down my gullet. Maybe that's 'cause I don't drink that often to be honest. It was just something to do on a slow night.
I don't think I did it because of peer pressure. But I wouldn't have done it if the other kids weren't there. My parents think that's the same thing. One thing that bugs me is when parents ask the question, "If everyone jumped off a cliff would you do it?" I wouldn't for two reasons: first, there would be nothing to do afterwards, second, I hate everyone anyway. I'm not pessimistic though. At least not as bad as my oldest brother, I swear that guy was born with a red hunting hat on his head. But, people annoy the hell outta me anyway. Maybe that's why I drank that night, they were all idiots in retrospect.
After about 40 minutes we went back into the hotel. We crashed in my cousins room. I had a pretty good buzz going, so I figured why not strike up a conversation with Cayla.
"So where are you from" I asked.
"Rhode Island"
"I'm from Jersey" what a place.
"How come you don't have an accent?"
"Cause I'm literate" what a dult she was. As if everyone from Jersey talked liked a gelled up d*bag. The sad part was that, that was about the peak of interest in that conversation. I swear to god it was. I don’t even remember what the rest of the conversation was like to be honest. I like to think its was because it was too dull, not ‘cause I was drunk. But I was pretty drunk.
The rest of them weren’t a lot smarter. I talked to Jack. He wouldn’t shut up about the girls he’s been with. That s*** bugs me. I bet the guys that brag about that kinda stuff are insecure about their sexuality. They need to assert their masculinity by declaring that they are the alpha-male in the room. I bet that jerk played lacrosse.
Somehow we got more alcohol. Two six packs of piss bad beer. After about two beers I realized I was not okay, but i had another for the hell of it.
Out of the whole bunch of ‘em Jess was the only cool one. She told me what happened the rest of that night. I didn’t (and still don’t) remember a thing. She could have made up the whole thing up. I guess I’d deserve that.
I don’t want to be a bummer, but I’m not going to tell you what happened because it’ll make blacking out seem like a fun activity bound to generate memorable stories. It wasn't in my experience. It was terrifying and shameful.
I came to with my face resting on a cold porcelain toilet. It wasn’t my bathroom. I could guess the vomit I smelled was mine though. I stood up for a second. I walked over to the mirror. To my horror I saw my aunt Gloria (Jess' mom) standing over in the mirror. She told me that she had been watching over me for an hour and that it was 4 in the morning.
"Do my parents know where I am?" I blurted out.
"Yes" she replied. I remember thinking I was screwed. To be fair I totally was.
Aunt Gloria let me crash on her couch for the night. My parents came by in the morning. I wasn't in the mood for a heart to heart with'em. I supposed it'd be better than a tongue lashing though.
They told me the generic crap. That they still love me, but they're disappointed in me. That I'm too young. Finally, about a week later they told I had to see a therapist for rehab. So that's why I'm here.
No offense doc but on the way over here I just kept thinking I don't belong here. I haven't even drank since that night. I blackout once and my parents say I need help. What kills me the most is that I know for a fact my that parents enjoyed their fair share of partying when they were young . I bet they were never made to go to rehab.
I swear adults forget what it's like to be a kid the second they put on a ring