Page 18 of Alamort

“Uh… yeah, it’s…” I dab at my mouth, looking for a word to not make me seem brazen. “It’s definitely different.” Translate to, ‘I’d rather be anywhere else’. I’d rather read a book, take a walk, focus on homework… drown in my sorrows, sleep my pain away, contemplate my death. Not surrounded by people who only give a fuck about themselves.

He raises his eyebrow, obviously reading into what I mean. Perceptive as well. It’s good to know he’s not just a pretty face.

“I’m Priya.”

“I know.” He smirks. I suppose everyone knows of the new senior that transferred this year. “Do you want to dance?”

I refrain from making the same face I gave River when she asked a few songs ago. I frown and shake my head.

“I don’t like dancing.”

He’s wearing more clothing than his partygoers, the same as the twins. What a way to go down. Too bad this is the third Demon. A Demon with the looks and body of an Angel.

“What did you say your name was again?”

“I didn’t. I’m Saint D’Angelo.” The way he says who he is, isn’t as cocky as Bennett seemed to be earlier. It seems almost normal.

“I’m good, thank you. I’ll probably get going soon.” Attempting to excuse myself in a polite way. At least I hope it comes off as polite.

“So, not a good different then?” He asks, referring to my earlier statement about the party.

He was reading into my answers. He is more than a pretty face. Something about this situation doesn’t sit wellwith me. Why is he talking to me? Why didn’t he just stop the conversation there? There’s always an ulterior motive with people and not knowing his makes me feel off centered. Cue the word vomit from nervousness.

“Honestly, we’ll probably never talk again, so…” The likelihood of associating with the ‘popular’ group is slim to none. “No. Not a good different. I’ve only ever been forced to go to parties by my parents and it’s never a good time.” It’s always ended up with my father’s fists from some fuck up I did that night in his or my mother’s eyes. “This is no better, just less clothing, more drugs and loud music. And I don’t like people. 9 times out of 10, I don’t get along with anyone, anyway.” I say it aloofly, like the loneliness doesn’t affect me, when it’s quite the opposite. “The expectations are never ending and extend here as well. The end.”

His eyes light up with amusement while his lips tilt in a half smirk. “The end?”

“Yeah, I’m done with my story.” Trying to brush off the fact I’m not good with people and most people don’t tell people when they’re done talking.

He looks about 5 seconds from laughing. Then unexpectedly I land face first into Saints chest as a fight breaks out behind us. His arms come around to catch me around the waist while shoving the guy away from me and into the guy who pushed him. He swiftly regains his balance while cocking his fist back to punch him. Blood gushes from his nose, pouring onto the ground. More people jump in, some trying to break it up, while others just want a piece of the chaos. The original guys are swallowed into the crowd of people fighting for absolutely no reason. This is what I imagine a mosh pit looks like. I’ve never seen one, but from what I heard, they’re crazy dangerous.

Saint grabs my hand while I’m distracted and pulls me to the glass doors toward the back, away from the fight ensuing.

“Sorry, duty calls as host and all. I’ll catch up with you in a few?” I nod once to brush off the commitment, because I fully plan on leaving before he finds me again. With a flash of his dimples, he disappears into the crowd. I lean against the cool glass when a flash of neon yellow catches the corner of my eye in the Demons’ corner. The freshman that was dancing with River when we first got here is now in Bennett’s lap, kissing her way up his neck. His hand traces the swell of her ass, up her spine when yet another voice comes to interrupt me.

“Hey New Girl, I came to see if you were all right. I saw you were in the middle of …all that. I couldn’t get to you fast enough. But I figure I’d see for myself. I’m Oscar, by the way.” His curly dark hair, perfect white smile. He’s completely shirtless, showing off his abs followed by the arrogance radiating off of him.

Scoffing, “Of course you are.” I mutter. It’s always like this, “new girl this” or “new girl that”. Who can get in her pants first? He must have seen my lips moving because he responds with a “Huh?” I toss him a fake smile, “I said, ‘It’s nice to meet you, I’mPriya.’” I lie, trying the emphasize my name so we can just skip the ‘new girl’ phase.

“Wanna step outside? It’s quieter out there.” He tosses me what I’m assuming is usually a panty dropping smile, tugging me along with him. He reeks of alcohol and weed, and that never is a good combination for a partying teen. I shoot a brief look over my shoulder so I can throw an SOS out to River, but I don’t spot her quick enough before the chilly September air meets me. I stand awkwardly on a porch that covers the whole back end of the barn. My body posture should read “uncomfortable” but he’s either dense or drunk. He closes the distance while stumbling to playing with the ends of my hair much like Bennett did earlier. Only, it doesn’t even come close to the same effect as Bennett’s touch. I shy away from the unwanted contact as his hand settlesright above my ass and pulls me flush to his front. He’s ignoring every obvious cue I’m giving. Uncomfortable laughter, subtly backing up towards the party. Does anyone know how to read body language? Or did that die along with chivalry, too?

Grinding my teeth against the feeling of hands on my body, I realize he’s the guy who’s going to need more than a “No.”

I’m on my own here, there’s a couple people outside but not close enough to overhear me. The beginning of one of my favorite songs, “Swim” by Chase Atlantic. Whoever is in charge of this playlist is hitting all the right feels. This is perfect. I smile mainly to myself. I never said I couldn’t dance, just that I don’t like to.

Taking both of my hands, I gradually trace the length of each of his arms, leaving us skin to skin. He shudders from the welcome contact. Trailing my fingers lightly up his shoulder, and softly intertwine my fingers in the hair at the base of his skull. I sensually sway my hips slowly to the beat of the song. When his hands wrap around me, grabbing a hand full of my ass, I yank his head back with the fist-full of hair I now have. While pushing my breasts up against his chest, getting close to his ear to whisper.

“The last man who touched me without my permission… I set him on fire.” Instantly, his arms drop from around me with a huge step back, eyes wide at the confession. The satisfaction of not being touched, accompanied by how horrified he looks, sends delicious chills down my spine. Before he can respond, the music fades as the grating voice of Amber Astor reaches my ears. I’m ready to go back to my dorm for the night. With that in mind, I head inside to tell River she can stay if she wants, but I’m over it. My people watching hasn’t gone the way I wanted it to and I blame it on being new here, drawing curiosity and wanting to test my boundaries.

“Can all the fresh-meat make their way up to the front, please?” It comes out more like a demand than a question. About30 students in neon colors stand in two single file lines facing the crowd.

“Perfect!” Fake cheeriness in her voice as she ushers other partygoers up with her. She hands one black permanent marker to each of the girls beside her that aren’t wearing neon colors, then one to Ember and tells them to get started. Coincidently, Amber stands in front of the girl that was all over Bennett, whispering something in her ear and the girl’s eyes well with tears.

The music is low, allowing only the bass of the song to be heard, while everyone forms a circle around the entertainment for the evening. Amber leads the way by removing the marker cap with her teeth before putting it on the end of the marker. The purpose of the girls’ tiny outfits is quickly revealed as the body shaming begins. Arrows on her belly, thighs, legs front and back. There isn’t a spot without markings leaving the freshmen looking ready for plastic surgery.

People around are laughing and cheering them on. Amber finishes up her disgusting display of pissing on Bennett’s leg. Permanent marker everywhere, the girl is more marked than any of the other freshman. “Whore” is written across her forehead. I feel sorry for her. That’s quickly forgotten when Amber turns around.

“We’re just missing… one person.” She stares at me, along with many other eyes. The discomfort sets in.

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