Halloween House Party (3)

Chapter 3:

“Like Hell!” I scream through gritted teeth, my black nails clawing behind me, catching the skin on his cheek as he stumbles back, blood from my wounds spilling down the side of my neck. Putting pressure on the fang marks I spin to face my attacker grabbing one of the bottles off the counter with my nondominant hand, smacking him in the head as hard as I can manage. “Don’t you ever fucking touch me again! Don’t look at me” I hit him again, “don’t talk to me, don’t have anything to fucking do with me!” He slides back towards the sink, blood pooling from his head to match the sticky substance staining my skin and leotard.

“Quinn, I’m so sorry” he pleads holding a tattooed hand to his head. “It’s the booze, you know I would never hurt you.” Pausing for a beat, his chest heaving slowly he looks up with a kind smile. “I love you.”

My blood boils so hot I could steep a cuppa tea with it, as I step closer crouching to his level. Resting a hand over his head, caging him in the first way he did me, hypnotising and dangerous I tip his head up with the broken bottle, one slight movement and the jagged edges will slice open his jugular. He knows not to move, good boy. “You may have loved my body, and my presence but let’s get one thing straight” I tip his chin up higher. “You never loved me.”

He parts his lips to protest before I apply just a little more pressure shutting him up. “Shttt okkkay” he whimpers shutting his eyes, face twisted up in fear.

Leaning closer, with my lips at the shell of his ear I whisper darkly with a bite, “I never want to see you again, understood?”

Pushing back, I catch his grey stormy gaze, tears falling from the corners. “You won’t I swear” he quickly rushes out to promise, a slight whimper in his words. Pulling the broken bottle away I make as if I’m going to smash it before digging the jagged edges into the place between his legs, the pride of his manhood. “Quinn, please don’t” the tears streaming down now. “I’ll move out of state; I’ll make myself so scarce. Please don’t do this, not my dick” his baby-like blubbering grating against my nerves.

“Jeez Sly would you fucking relax. It’s just a joke” I roll my eyes tossing the bottle to the ground, shattered pieces scattering about the floor. “Fucking baby” I mutter stepping over his quivering and bleeding body, making my way back towards the party.

Only I divert my direction last minute, making for the line to the bathroom, charging my way through the throng of people ignoring their protests.

“Hey!”

“Fucking bitch!”

“What the Hell, you cut!”

“I’ve been waiting forever!”

The shouting goes on and on, an incessant pounding on the locked door as I fall to my knees and ball my eyes out. Pressing my back to the door I let my head hang between my crouched knees, curling up in the tightest ball as the shame washes over me. “Wet already, you filthy slut” his words surrounding me in shadows of disdain. I let it happen to me. I let him touch me, use me, make me his filthy whore, just like he said. Even if he didn’t fuck me—this time—the other times didn’t pan out so well. My stomach rolls at the thoughts, when he touched me, his beer coated breath on my neck, fangs sinking in deep.

Crawling as quick as I can, I empty the contents of my stomach in the toilet bowl, the slightest hint of porcelain barely ridding me of my nausea.

My body dry heaves a few times in the aftermath, stomach sore and slowly developing visible abs.

After a few minutes, my headache slowly dissipating I gain the ability to stand without finding myself hunched back over ridding my body of something else. Taking a few heavy deep breaths, flushing everything I wash my hands and splash some water on my face, the makeup dripping down, almost none of my cat look staying intact.

Braving a glance I nearly cry at the horrifying image of what’s staring back; eyes red, hair messy, my cat ears gone, leotard wet and out of sorts and that black stain of lipstick along my bottom lip.

Tipping my head to the side, I wet a cloth dabbing at the two punctures, the blood dried along the nape of my neck, my skin rubbed pink with the remnants of spilt blood. “Fuck” I groan, dark drips ruining my off-white leotard.

Rubbing off the black mark stained beneath my lower lip; I toss the cloth into the basin before stepping out into the hall ignoring the crowd of cranky and drunk people huddled around waiting for me to leave.

Hurrying down the steps and back out in the yard, I don’t even look in the direction of the damned kitchen, clenching my hands together as I pass by, the feeling of its presence setting my hair on end. Stepping onto the grass I search the sea of people for my girl, or rather her olive/grass green Poison Ivy costume, most of the party made up of something scary or slutty supposedly making my search easier.

“Hey, have you seen a girl who looks like Poison Ivy” I catch the first group of girls all dressed like Zombie Cheerleaders walking over to an outside bar as their friend in pink and half a missing limb makes her way back towards the house.

“I think she went inside” the one in a purple get up and fake blood running down her chin, one all white contact and one brown staring back at me says.

“Thanks” I offer quickly before making my way back to where I came from.

“Quinn” a voice says off to my right, eyes gazing that way to land on the olive/grass green of glued ivy on a corset. “There you are! I thought I was going to have to send out a search party for you” she laughs, holding two drinks.

“Sorry Cas” I mutter with a frown, pulling her close the delicious smell of cherries sending me into sensory overload, before I notice her neck smudged grey. “What happen—"

“Where’s your drink” she asks, cutting me off taking a sip of hers.

“Let’s just say I wasn’t feeling it after all.”

“Well, I got you one” she gives a sly smirk with a wink, pushing it into my hands.

“You’re a lifesaver” I smile as I tip back the cup, chugging whatever was in it hoping to get just as tipsy if not full on drunk again. “How much longer did you want to stay” I ask as she takes another light sip from hers hoping she catches the disappearance of my cheery attitude from a couple hours ago when we first arrived.

“We can leave now if you want, I’m pretty much partied out” she laughs as we cuddle together.

“Let’s go home” I declare, a kiss on her cheek, bare remnants of the black lipstick sticking to her cheek as we make our way towards the front of the house.

Just as I rest my head on top of hers there’s an ear-piercing scream coming from inside. “Someone call 911” the girl in the pink Zombie Cheerleader get-up shouts running back into the yard, her eyes wide and blood coating her one visible hand. “He’s dead, Sly’s dead!” Before anyone can make a move, her eyes roll back and she faints, and my skin grows deathly cold.