Sloane
We sat in silence against that wall for what felt like an eternity. In reality, though, it was only fifteen minutes until some guy came to grab Van to finish the set. Erick, I think he said his name was. Erick was panicking when he found us and said that Van needed to follow him. Erick said something about Sabel being ready to rip out Van’s asshole. I shivered at the mere mention of her name. Van looked over at me for a brief second before he stood and followed Erick.
I’m still sitting against the wall. A security guard came by to grab Brandon, who was still unresponsive from being choked.Choked.Brandon found me on the dance floor during that surprisingly sensual song. Brandon was nice enough, I guess. I mean, hewasgetting kind of grabby, but it’s not like he was physically trying to harm me or anything. I’m not exactly sure what I had in mind when I accepted Brandon’s offer to bring meback to his place. That probably wasn’t one of my finer decisions. But for once, those stupid quarreling lunatics in my brain were quiet, and Ineededthe quiet.
I needed to get those words from that text message out of my head. They’ve been playing on repeat ever since I read them. A text message, not even a call. A freakingtext message. Was I worth nothing more than that? So yes, I needed an escape.
“You mean, a distraction from the professor, right?”The one with the halo is back. Well, so much forquiet.
I stand, pushing off the wall, and make my way back to the dance floor to find Lydia. I spot Lydia in the middle of the crowd, dancing solo with her hands in the air. She’s swaying to the rhythm of the music, her face tilted upward, and her eyes closed. She’s so beautiful, and soherself. No one around her dares to touch her. It’s as if she commands the room to do as she wishes. I look around at the crowd and notice that everyone seems to be under a sort ofcarnalinfluence. Sweaty bodies grind against others, couples in twos and threes are making out, and everyone looks entranced by it.
Yep, that’s our cue. I’ve never been a fan of orgies.
I make it to Lydia, reaching out to touch her shoulder. “Hey, Lyd. I think we should go.” She continues swaying, opening her eyes lazily to see where my voice is coming from. She puts her arms down, grabs my wrist, and forces me to sway with her.
“Go?” She smiles drunkenly. “No, silly. I don’t think we should go. Let’sdance. Dancing is justso fun. Come on, Lo, dance with me.” She places my arms over her shoulders and moves hers to either side of my waist. She starts to sway like we’re young lovers at senior prom. I can’t help but smile at her, but I also need to get out of this place. Something isn’t right. I’m not influenced by whatever this is, and if Sabel catches me …
“Yes, yes, so fun. Stay with her. Feel the music.”The one with the pitchfork has also returned,yay.
Just as I’m about to protest my two inner voicesandLydia, the song finishes. Lydia releases me and starts jumping up and down, cheering. I look around to make sure that I don’t see Sabel anywhere, and Van announces that the concert is over. His voice soundsoff.Something feels wrong. It seems like Van is trying to get away as fast as he can.
I glance up and find that he’s already looking in my direction. Something inside of me buzzes with need, and I don’t know if it’s the need to run away from him or toward him. He stands motionless, staring for a moment longer. Then, he leaves the stage. Lydia is too afflicted by the frequency to even notice the exchange.
“That wassogood,” Lydia says, staring longingly at the empty stage.
“Mhmm. Sure was,” I say back, unsure she can even hear my response. “Look, Lyd, it’s time to go. Okay?”
“Go. Yes. Time to go,” she says, her voice robotic. Her eyes remain on the stage. I sigh, pulling out my phone to get a driver here to bring us home.
“Come on,” I say, grabbing her forearm to pull her away from the stage and toward the exit. One second, she’s a lost puppet, and like at the concert and the meet and greet, she snaps right out of it.
“Sloane. Geez, ease up on the grip. Will ya?” she says, shaking out of my grasp.
“Sorry, Lyd.” I offer an apologetic, half smile. “The driver is almost here.” We make our way to the exit and to the parking lot as the driver pulls up. I look at the car, then at Lydia, whose eyes are now crystal clear, then back to the building entrance. I don’t know what comes over me as I help Lydia into the car, close the door behind her, and mouth “sorry” before turning around and walking right back into the building.
I’m not even sure what I’m doing. My legs are moving, and my feet keep taking steps, but my brain seems to be on autopilot. Something inside of me is urging me forward and forward, and forward … until I’m smacking right into the solid chest of Van.
“Sloane,” he rumbles, stunned. Van places his hands on either of my shoulders and pushes me back to look at my face. He’s wearing his off-stage mask.
“What are you doing?” Van asks.
“Um, I … don’t know?” I say, questioning my intentions. I laugh, nervous. “I was leaving. And then, I was walking back in. And then, I ran into you. And—” I’m rambling like an idiot.
“Sloane. Look at me. Breathe.” His words sound more like an order, and I find myself obeying without question.
“That’s it.Good,” he praises, coaching me to take deep breaths. “Now, do you want to maybe go somewhere and talk about it?” He saysitlike he knows whatitis any more than I do.
“Yeah.” I nod. “Yeah, that sounds good. Um, where are we going?” I ask, still trying to catch my bearings.
“Come,” he says, grabbing my arm and leading me down the same hallway where he just assaulted a man.
“Hold on a second. I need to let the guys know I’ll be heading out without them,” he says, breaking me from the memory of Brandon dangling from the ground by his throat.
“Mhm,” I respond. Van peeks his head into a door off to the right to let the guys know he’s “calling it an early night,” because he “needs to sort some shit out.” I hear a “yeah, man,” and a “do what you need to do and let me know if you need me” before we’re walking down the hall again.
We walk out of a back door and through the parking lot, walking up to a ‘67 GT. His car, I’m guessing.
“Get in,” he orders, opening my door and walking over to his side. I climb in and close the door, pulling my seat belt across my chest to buckle it. This is a nice car, nostalgic like mine. Hefastens his seat belt and takes off without another word. The drive to wherever we are going is silent, and the tension in the air is palpable. He grips the steering wheel with his left hand and the shifter with his right. I can’t see his face, but I know that if I could, I’d probably see the muscles in his jaw flexing.
