Halloween House Party (1)

Chapter 1:

“I’m going to go get another drink” I say over the heavy punk music, my girl Cas curled in my arms, delicately painted black lips at her ear, hands resting on her hips. I feel her ass grinding up on me in the best way, skin hot and melty at the closeness.

“Hurry back” she says sensually, sliding a finger down my jaw as she hands me my empty cup with the other. The heat behind her eyes clear even beneath the dim neon lights circling the backyard. Biting my lip, I feel my heart picking up speed, the beat of the music pounding through me far from the source.

Slowly I trail kisses up the side of her throat, head bent for better access before planting a soft peck on her lips, the lightest smudge of black lipstick sticking to her green. Leaning over, I reaffirm my dominance between the pair of us. “Be a good girl and don’t rub these off, I want everyone to know who you belong to.” Catching her lobe between my teeth I nip at the skin, revelling in the sensation of her jolted surprise before dance-stepping my way out of the crowd huddled around the stage and making my way back to the house.

Hurrying my steps as I get closer, not wanting to be gone longer than I have to, I sneak my way into the side door, the kitchen vaguely illuminated just up ahead, a few straggling party people mulling about in the living room on the couches or walking up the steps waiting in the long ass line for the bathroom. But the main event is happening out in the backyard, and most are quick to rejoin, refusing to succumb to the feelings of FOMO.

Repositioning the black fluffy cat ears on the golden locks cascading down my back, I gaze about the counter, a plethora of alcoholic combinations to pick from but none calling my name. Skidding around the black marble slab I make my way over to the fridge, tugging on the door revealing just what I was craving. “There you are” I mutter, placing the reused cup on the edge before tugging out a large bottle of vodka, reaching further in the back to grab up the jug of orange juice.

Leaning back, the bottles tucked away safely in my arms I nudge the door shut with my knee losing my balance already three drinks in and feeling tipsy. Someone lays a hand on the small of my back to steady me, a shiver of a chill skating across my exposed skin.

“Of all the people to find crashing my party” I freeze, clenching my body tighter so as not to drop anything, spinning around to face him, stepping away from his touch “never in a million years would I have thought you would be on that list. You never were the party crashing, breaking rules type, were you Quinn?”

There he stands, smug and cocky as ever, a heavily tattooed hand rubbing at the hint of scruff along his sharp jaw while his stormy gaze tracks me from head to toe, my ex Sly. That’s just his stage name of course, needing to protect his identity from some of his more stalkerish fans but I’m sure you must have some idea of what you’re signing up for when you become the lead singer and closely associated front man for a band. Not that I give a shit what happens to him, he ruined my life, and I hate him every second of every day for it. Let one of his crazed stalkers murder his ass before I ever get the pleasure of doing the deed myself. Trust me, he’d be better off in their hands than mine any day.

“Of course this is your party” I remark beneath my breath, my luck always being some of the worst since he came into my life. He tries to step closer, but I place the bottle of vodka on his approaching chest, keeping the necessarily large distance between us. “Stop right there” I grind out angry, loud enough for him to catch the weight of my words despite the music pulsing from outside.

“What, no hug?” He stretches out his arms, putting on display his clearly-picked-out-last-minute-chosen costume of a plain black t-shirt, silver chain and ripped and baggy grey jeans. From the looks of it, I’d guess frat douche or some other type of generic asshole, in which case the outfit is his normal day wear attire. “Come on, we can leave the past behind and be friends. Can’t we?”

I put more pressure on the bottle, forcing him back further. “No, we can’t, and we fucking won’t. Fuck off Sly” I hiss, refusing to use his real name just to prove how far from friends we truly are. Arms falling at his sides; a slight definition of muscle showing through, painted and caressed in lines of tattoo ink, I can’t help rolling my eyes, his desperation to translate the I’m a bad boy vibe across to his fan base far more than pathetic.

One look at him, you think you’ve got him all figured out; the way he runs fingers through his white hair when he’s singing, like the words get to him on a deeper level, how he lets you feel the music through your core, like he’s singing just to you. Until you realise, he’s playing you just as easily and carelessly as any other boy with a heartbreaker reputation. He’s nothing but an ordinary asshole.

Bending down to grab at the cup with my teeth, my bottom lip touching my chin, staining the skin in black lipstick, I make my way around the opposite side of the counter, heading back towards the party ready to drink till I forget this unfortunate encounter every occurred. “Furrchiing affhole” I groan, hoping he hears me even if the words aren’t all that clear.

Moving right in front, blocking my way he smiles, two sharp fangs poking out revealing his so-called costume. “You’re not even going to hear what I have to say?” he asks, stepping closer, the bottles held securely beneath my arms and unable to be used as barriers anymore. With nothing to prevent him from encroaching on my space I back up with each step he takes closer, mine slow and hesitant not sure of what I might bump into.

Unexpectedly my ass hits the edge of the counter, lips parted open on a gasp as my teeth dig into the plastic rim of the cup, heart racing beneath my chest. Before I can protest, he drags his hands along my waist, gripping my hips tight hoisting me up on the black marble slab. I can’t move, the bottles refusing to shift only if I stay perfectly still, his devilish smirk and stare growing as he realises this too.

Hands securely gripped on each side of my body, dancing along the exposed skin through two cut outs right where my hourglass figure bends and sinches. Bile rising in my throat as I suddenly wish I wasn’t wearing something so revealing.

Slowly his eyes trail down, tugging the drinks free of my hold, he sets them off to the side, my shield of booze gone. Pulling the cup free, he leans over my legs, pouring the vodka into the cup, my eyes wide, staying on him as my chest heaves, nervous and afraid.

Standing at his full height, he hands the cup back to me, “to old friends” he remarks with smirk, eyes trailing left to right and back. One hand resting next to my thighs caging me in, thumb rubbing along what inches of skin are exposed.

Body reacting before my brain could catch up, I throw the drink in his face, eyes shutting closed at the list minute as alcohol drips down, smudging his guyliner, the fake blood along his lips dripping further down his chin.

“What the fuck” he shouts retracting quickly, sliding a hand down his face, further disfiguring his vampiric look.

Hopping off the counter I grab another cup laying it on top of the bottle of now open vodka, and tuck each into my arms making my way back to the party. “Asshole” I snarl hurrying my steps trying to put as much distance between us I can.

“I expected nothing less from you, little psycho.” My feet stop mid step, whole body skidding to a halt as his words sink in.