Page 2 of Don't Watch Alone
Or maybe this is the punishment.
And it’s already begun.
Chapter one
Blaiz
October 31, 1984
Thecrimper’shissinglikeit’s alive, filling up my tiny, overheated apartment with that sharp little crackle, and somehow it matches the wild, surging feeling rising up in my chest. I stare at the mirror, tugging the ripped sweatshirt down off one shoulder, and there she is, almost—Alex Owens. Ripped and ready. I nailed it. I’m gonna be her tonight, that tough, steelworker-by-day, dancer-by-night badass who doesn’t take shit from anyone. Honestly, who wouldn’t want to be her? Even just for a few sweaty, neon-lit hours.
I drop the crimper, grab my teasing comb, and start going to town, lifting my hair up bigger and bigger, because bigger is better, and tonight I’m not half-assing anything. A fistful ofAqua Net later—coughing through the chemical fog like a damn champion—my hair’s a full-blown work of art. If art smelled like death and promised to hold through any powerful storm, anyway.
I scrambled to answer my phone as it rang from another room. I answer, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear while I fish around for my eyeliner in my purse.
“You ready for tonight?” my best friend Jade says, excessively happy, like she’s already bouncing in her seat.
“Fuck yeah,” I say, striking a stupid pose in front of the mirror like some inexpensive movie star.
She giggles—that troublemaking little laugh that means she’s up to something. “Maybe Derrick will be there,” she says playfully.
I snort. “He better be. Tony’s meeting me, and those two are attached at the damn hip.” Just saying Tony’s name is enough to kick my stomach into doing backflips like I’m thirteen again, which is fucking ridiculous, but whatever, I’m owning it.
“You wanna ride together?” she asks.
“Yeah, just gotta slap some makeup on this mess,” I say, dragging a hand across my forehead, which is already unexpectedly sweaty.
“I’m coming over. You better guess my costume!” she laughs loudly, and hangs up before I can even tell her to bring me some peach schnapps or something.
I hang up the phone next to the couch and wander into my bedroom, half-thinking about where the hell I put my eyeliner when I hear it—this quiet noise. Gentle. Wrong. Not the building settling. Human wrong.
My stomach drops right through the floor. I forgot to lock the fucking door.
“Hello?” My voice sounds small and pitiful.
Nothing.
Then something moves. Somethingbig. And then “BAM”, some asshole comes flying out from behind the couch, coming right at me.
I scream. Like, real horror movie scream. With hands up, backing away, ready to fight dirty.
“Boo!” the fucker yells.
It’s Tony.
Of course it’s Tony.
For a solid three seconds, I just stand there, trembling with utter murderous rage. Then I punch him. Hard. Right in the arm.
“You fucking asshole! You scared the shit out of me!” I yell, already getting ready for another hit.
He stumbles back, laughing but also flinching, trying to look sorry and failing miserably. “I’m sorry! Shit, I just… I just wanted to surprise you!” he says, dropping to his knees like some tragic idiot and grabbing my hands.
“Get the hell up,” I growl, snatching my hands away because I’m still halfway between punching him again and kissing him foolishly, and that’s not fair to me right now.
“Jade’s coming over,” I say, trying to pull myself back together, my pulse pounding against my neck like it’s trying to break out of jail. “Go pick up Derrick or something. She wants his dumbass there.”
Before I can even blink, Tony grins, that shit-eating grin that’s gottenhim out of more trouble than it ever should’ve, and he grabs me again, pulls me in, and kisses me—just a quick hit, soft and hot and over way too fast.
