I never liked thunderstorms. They have always brought loud noises and memories of my father yelling at my mother and the smell of liquor filled breath. As the individual raindrops pitter-patter on the roof, my boyfriend wraps his arms around me. My head is tucked in the crook of his neck, and the first strike of lightning hits. As the thunder roars, his arms get tighter and I duck further into his neck.
There were three of us. Just me, my best friend, and her. It was New Years Eve and my boyfriend and I had broken up the night before, so I wanted to be home but not alone. They both were able to come to my little impromptu party, and over they came. A couple hours later my best friend had to go home.