Page 17 of Alamort

“Stop it right now. You look amazing! I don’t know what you could possibly say to make me think otherwise.” She spinsme around until I face her, her hands steady on my shoulders. “We’ve known each other for two days. Does it seem like I’d do something like that?” Hurt flashes in her eyes as her lips twist. Arms crossed over her chest, “Say three nice things about yourself.”

Taken aback, I don’t think I’ve ever said one nice thing about myself. I study her. Her makeup is dark, with a thick winged eyeliner. She pairs her combat boots with a short leather skirt and a top that has silver studs forming X’s over her breasts. Looking like an unapproachable bad ass dominatrix. She’s just missing the mask and whip.

Looking around, unable to maintain eye contact. I start with what I know is true, “My eye makeup you did looks amazing, almost natural. Perfectly me. My hair looks like it’s a silky wave in the ocean.” My usual curly hair is tamed perfectly in big waves down my back, extra thanks to many hair products to help it hold. It conceals my bite mark from the other night. I look… good. The bags underneath my eyes are fully covered and my contour is on point. I think hard about something else nice to say about myself and come up short.

“And I’m lucky to have met you.” I look in her cocoa-colored eyes once again, not able to convey my feelings into words, instead bottling it up. She rolls her eyes with a big smile.

“Fine, those were indirectly about you and the last one, not at all. But I’ll take it. Next time will be better.” She touches up her dark purple lipstick before handing me a light lip gloss, which I’m thankful for. Makeup isn’t my thing.

Speaking of brown eyes… “Hey… on my way here, I saw a sign for a girl that went missing. Did she go here?”

She pauses in the mirror, straightening up to her full height, fidgeting with her outfit, her discomfort noticeable.

“Mm yeah, Megan.” She leaves it at that, making herself busy in the mirror.

“What happened?” I inquire.

“She was here and then she wasn’t.”

All right, that wasn’t vague at all. Why wouldn’t the media or student be talking about a girl who went missing? Someone who went to this school, has a well-known family, or at least a wealthy one. The fact she doesn’t want to talk about it makes it more important. I decide to push for more on a later date.

“Now let’s go party and get fucked up!” Her enthusiasm is infectious, and the excitement flutters in my stomach. I may not like partying, but I like people watching. It makes spotting the sadness in their smiles easier. Maybe the fairness in their laugh. There’s always something leaking through the cracks when someone thinks no one is watching.

Walking up to the metal barndominium, from what River explained, is a barn that’s been fully renovated and furnished like a house. It was done her freshman year for the Demons to live comfortably for the next couple of years.

The barn has a white paint job, and the two massive barn doors are rolled open, exposing three large glass doors for entry, allowing partygoers to come and go. The party is in full swing, different colored lights illuminating different areas of the main rooms, and music filling the air even before we approach the doors. Money Longer by Lil Uzi Vert is blasting through the speakers. Entering through the doors, a majority of people scream the chorus.

I suppress a laugh because I’m sure almost everyone here has a mansion from their parents’ money and nice ass cars that were bought for them. At least I’m not so far out of place. If anything,I’m overly dressed. Most girls are wearing little to no clothing at all. This must be a school thing they do because there’s no way our parents would allow us to be seen like this anywhere. River is shaking her hips as she grabs and pulls me into the kitchen which, is easily seen in the open floor plan. An enormous island sits in the middle, littered with all sorts of bottles of alcohol. Fairy lights hang all over the metal beams that hold up the barn. I’ve been to countless mansions, but the idea that this used to be a barn has my mind going in circles.

“Drink?” a freshman girl wearing a neon yellow tube top and mini skirt asks. Is this what all freshmen are going to have to do? Taking another look around, I notice the bright color easily picked out in the sea of people all catering to needs. All the freshmen guys are in skintight speedos.

Grimacing, I avert my eyes to the girl in front of us. Everyone would know what they’re packing, or not. Since it leaves nothing to the imagination. The cold outside wouldn’t help their predicament. I stick with bottled water. While River is asking for a mixed drink along with a shot. Go big or go home, right? Because I’m ready to go home.

“Are you going to dance with me?” She screams over the music that switched to The Weeknd, a song about how he can’t feel his face. Which seems pretty on par with the people doing lines of coke in the corner. The horror on my face must be evident because she laughs, twirling around a freshman girl and grinding against her to the beat of the music. I keep my post by the edge of the island to take in the scene. I count all the exits in case of an emergency. An automatic compulsion, courtesy of my lovely father. Aside from the way we came in, there’s an exact replica toward the other end of the house where all the “fun” is. Drugs, topless girls and make out sessions are in full swing. My nose scrunches as I shudder with the thought of who’s going to be cleaning the aftermath of this house party.

The cliques are seemingly spread out, not too much of one group sticking together. I’ve only been to the parties that require my parents to put on a good show. Champagne, hor d’oeuvre’s, making connections to get in people’s good graces, but nothing more. Never any dancing or good music, maybe drugs behind the scenes, but not out in the open like this. Oh, and everyone is wearing clothes.

One girl is in the corner by herself, swaying off beat to the music touching herself sensually, inhibitions lost in her own world. Whatever she’s on… I wouldn’t be opposed to trying.

I look back over to check on River to see she’s switched up dancing partners to two girls that are wearing bralettes with some shorts that show their ovaries. She’s smiling and singing to the song while waving her hands in the air. So unbothered that it brings a small smile to my face.

Continuing to scan the crowd, I stop when I spot one of the twins. The one who never smiles and fakes his emotions, plastering on false indifference. Probably because he feels everything tenfold, instead acting like nothing matters.

He’s intently staring at me. Arms and legs spread to take up as much room as possible. A warning. “Don’t come near me”. That clearly tailored button-up shirt kisses the outline of his muscles perfectly, showing off how built he is underneath. The button up seems a little out of place here compared to the amount of skin showing everywhere else, but who am I to say anything? It’s his house.

Accidentally, I make eye contact and pull back. That indifference I was talking about before is replaced with a twisted sneer. Making a poor attempt to hide the fact he gave a reaction, his jaw rigid from clenching that he could break his teeth if he did it any harder. The hostility startles me, wiping the smile off of my face from watching River dance. I redirect my attentionnext to him to distract myself from the heaviness in my stomach. Instead, I stop short at his womanizing brother.

Not concerned to conceal the disgust written on my face to see he has a girl in his lap that isn’t Amber. His arms lay across the back of the black leather couch, holding a blunt. The girl throws her head back giggling at something he said while running a hand up his thigh, up to his fully unbuttoned shirt. This will not end well when his girlfriend gets here. That thought brings a smile back to my face. Karma at her finest. What comes around, goes around.

Where’s that third little demon? Analyzing River to guesstimate how intoxicated she is, only to see she’s still dancing her little heart away. Am I the only one who gets nervous and feels like I have to be responsible for the people I’m with? In charge of monitoring their well-being and making sure they’re okay. Is it normal?

A hand reaches out and touches my arm, causing me to jump. I wrap my arm around myself before spinning around to see who is in my personal bubble.

One of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen. His blonde wavy hair falls into his eyes. My fingers twitch to brush it away to see the matching sapphire blue eyes so light it almost looks white. The freckles on his tan skin, show he’s been in the sun a lot this summer. Probably from whatever adventures his family paid for. Let’s hope he doesn’t think I want to hear about them. Two wicked dimples that deepen as he smiles and talks. Along with two silver hoop piercings that hug his full lips, don’t get me started on the neck tattoo that goes against his surfer aura.

“Huh?” His lips stop moving. I realize he’s talking to me. My face heats. I halt my wandering thoughts and obvious eye fucking. He laughs like I said something funny. It’s forced, faked. Who knows, maybe he thinks the reaction he draws from girls is amusing or possibly annoyingly repetitive.

“I asked how you like the party and if you’re enjoying yourself so far.” His voice is rich, smooth. Good enough to listen to in an audiobook and orgasm from it alone. He’s wearing a white shirt with dark jeans that hugs him in the right places. Who says girls can’t appreciate a male figure? I’m pretty sure I’m drooling.

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