the one where someone dies / grady&zeke&killer

He avoids Maverick on his way back to the kitchen, stumbles over Stella's brother instead and tries to ignore him by chugging the closest open drink. He walks into the counter and slams his hand in the fridge, spills vodka on cashmere and then finally spins around to stare at Zeke, about to ask him something stupid, something about his own weird hand that he won't even remember tomorrow so it doesn't matter.

It's not like it's the only elephant in the room. Between Zeke and Mav, Zeke's always been the preferred roommate and isn't that sad.

It's like a game of Plinko - the way the little chain of names falls through his skull. Maverick and Zeke and Zeke and Stella and Stella and Benji and Benji and Parker and

Parker's still got that damning polaroid. Wicked little thing. Insane little psychopathic rat obsessed with ruining Grady's life all because of what? An inferiority complex? A grudge?

Stella'd drag his body behind a hot pink porsche if she ever found out. Not that she'd ever believe Parker over Grady. He's already got a cover story brewing, a teeny little escape clause just incase she decides to do something stupid like lose her mind and bring the photo to Stella. That'd be the day.

He'd laugh if he could get his face to remember how.

Everything's coated in something soothing, blurred, like a camera lens covered in vaseline. Miraculously, the tequila's still cold. Benji had tasted like blueberries and Mav had felt like an old bruise, now there's just a burn and the motion sickness that comes from watching the pattern shift in the marble. There's a point above his left eyebrow that goes numb and he jabs at it, misses and ends up with a finger in his eye.

"My girlfriend's dead." He tells a slotted spoon on the table and he realizes he might've hated Cleo a little bit.

Funny how that happens.

The spoon just sits there, judgemental, like a judgemental little spoon. Like a fork.

He’s meant to marry a beautiful rich girl and have three beautiful children and be miserable for the rest of his beautiful life. Wanting anything more than that is selfish. Wanting another drink is selfish but he does it anyways. It'd be a lot easier to be a spoon.

There'd been a commotion earlier, something happened back at school and people had scattered - or maybe they hadn't, maybe nothing had happened, the room was swimming too much for him to tell for sure. Zeke would probably know. He seems like the kind of person who might know things. Boring things maybe, but still things.

The room does a tilt-a-whirl trick.

"Provence-" He starts,

and then the lights go out.

And he doesn't shriek. He doesn't.

But he does put up a fuss about being left behind in the dark. He digs his heels in and pretends like it's the end of the world. He trips over something in the hall more than once, nearly falls down the stairs and nearly twists his ankle on the landing. He tells Zeke that the house is probably haunted and out to get them and then giggles about it, cuts himself off abruptly and starts up again.

Lightweight, Stella always liked to titter at him. Like she wasn't just as bad.

Grady makes her brother help him across the yard and then pushes him away, arm flying out - "Hey, I'm taken." He spits it out, and then sees the blood red of Cleo's nails.

The glass walls swell like bubbles do right before they pop.

"M'gonna be sick-" right into a petunia pot.

He groans against the terracotta, palms flat against the ground even though his elbow keeps buckling. The petunias wink at him and then wilt down, starting to die in real time.