Page 162 of Satan's Spawn
“Make thata lotmore alcohol!” I yell to Hendrix, making her laugh.
“Dude, my mom is on her way, so I’ll be walking the same plank as you soon.”
We both pout, then get distracted by Archer returning with our drinks.
“I put a little special something in there.” He winks and hands us fancy glasses that are a recipe for disaster given the obnoxious teenagers in charge of holding them.
“We’re dancing!” Hendrix nods toward the dance floor, already pulling me and leaving me no chance to argue.
Archer doesn’t look like he’s going to either since he’s already broken out into the moonwalk, sliding backwards toward the DJ.
Some techno song is blaring through the speakers when we reach the main attraction, and Hendrix wastes no time bouncing to the beat.
I’m not a bad dancer, per se; Mom and I had several dance parties throughout the years in our living room, and man could she move.
My favorite was the slow songs her and Dad used to dance together to, swaying so close to each other they nearly kissed.
It was gross to me, then. Nostalgic to me now.
Especially as I think about all the times Dad would scoop me up and sandwich me between them, always needing to include his ‘little girl’ in their loving moments.
“Move it, Dawson!” Hendrix grips my hips, trying to sway them.
The memory of Dad turns to smoke as I blink it away.
I try to live in the moment, knowing my friends are doing their best to make sure I enjoy my birthday, so I give in and start dancing to what sounds like a Halsey remix.
Why anyone feels the need to turn a masterpiece into a disaster is beyond my comprehension.
But I continue vibing, hopping along to Hendrix and Archer’s excitement, spinning and bobbing my head with my hands in the air.
It does feel good to let loose, given how miserable I’ve been all week being ignored by Crayton, then threatened by him, just to be ignored all over again.
But there’s something eating at me, this idea I can’t curb, that there’s a reason he’s acting the way he is.
Some may say it’s naivety, but I’ve already made enough of a fool of myself to not give a shit if anyone thinks I’m in denial.
They didn’t see the Crayton I saw.
Hear the words he told me.
They were heavy, deep, very hard to pretend.
The way he breathed me in was so intense, as if he was trying to leave my carbon footprint on his lips.
You can fake a lot of things, but you can’t fake the chemistry we share.
Because it could set the world on fire.
Yes, what we had was flawed, and fleeting, but it was real. I can’t stop believing that without falling apart.
A few songs pass before my feet start to ache and I feel a presence at my side, swooping in as the distraction I didn’t realize I needed.
“Damn, gorgeous, look at you!” Saint grabs my hand and lifts my arm over my head, twirling me around. “Gahdamn!”
I can feel a blush heating my cheeks, and it worsens when I realize how strikingly handsome he looks.
Similar attire to Archer, only his tuxedo is black and white.
