Back to the matter at hand.
Half of me wishes now I had said something cutting before turning and leaving, or even said anything at all; the other half of me still thinks that it would have been a tremendous risk, although I cannot articulate exactly why, or how. But I did turn to leave — and got a nasty shock in surprise; the other people in the fraternity house had somehow quietly crept up the stairs behind me. They stood in the hallway, now giving me the same idly nihilistic expressions that Clark and Bob did.
It was not bravery but fear that propelled me forward to move past that crowd. To move seemed less dreadful than to stay, and be in the presence of whatever practices were going on inside the bathroom; and I privately vowed that, should one of these people touch me, I would throw myself through the window and take my chances with the ground below. But they moved to let me pass by, layering burden after greasy burden of tension on my shoulders that did not begin to lift until I heard the front door of the house shut behind me.
There were bushes still more or less unaffected by whatever hideous bacchanalia took place that weekend; I threw up over the closest convenient one, then almost fell to my knees as the vomit turned into a hacking coughing fit which ended with a bloody nose, and a taste of horror in my mouth. It took the entire bottle of water bought from a local convenience store to wash out that taste, and later three washings to fumigate my clothes before I gave up and simply threw them away. I gave serious consideration to shaving my head.
I never saw Clark and Bob again; neither did I see again their companion, whose name… eludes me. I certainly never went anywhere near that fraternity house, assuming that it is still even there. Even in my present circumstances I hear rumors which suggest that my staying away was wise.