“Reducing me to parts, eh? I feel objectified.”
“Good.” She tilts back her head like she’s looking at the stars, but her eyes are closed, hair swinging in time. “It’s about time you were knocked down a peg or two.”
“By telling me I could be a rock star?” She giggles and our shoulders brush. “You’d have to stick with me. Be my manager.”
“Producer.”
“Do it all. Manager. Producer. Head groupie. I don’t want anyone else meddling in my fantasy career. Only you.”
We stay like that for what seems like hours, the music a constant backbeat. At one point, a guy comes past selling bottled water and I buy one, passing it back and forth between swigs.
Ophelia relaxes completely. She leans closer, almost like she’s going in for a kiss, and I jump down to avoid her.
“Come on,” I say, clapping my hands together. “That’s enough talk for one night. Back to the dancing throng.”
I guide her through the tussock grass, the noise hitting just as loud the second time.
Song after song plays in whirling pulses of energy, and I’m growing tired when whispers start near the DJ booth and ripple through the crowd.
Police raid.
Someone knows someone who texted a warning.
I grab Ophelia’s wrist and pull her towards the exit before the panic sets in properly, and the surge of bodies tramples anyone stupid enough to freeze.
“What’s happening?” She stumbles against me, disoriented by the sudden movement.
“Time to go.” I navigate us through the crush, shouldering past people already scattered and wild-eyed.
Outside, car engines roar to life, headlights cutting through the darkness as the rave dissipates into the surrounding roads.
I help Ophelia into the passenger seat, her chest heaving, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. The silver dress clings and I force my focus away, reversing out of the makeshift parking area before we’re boxed in.
Flashing lights illuminate the dark harbour waves, blinking in and out of view with each sharp turn along the hillside.
A siren’s wail catches me off guard, forcing me onto a back road, where I exchange asphalt for a rough gravel track and the judder of cattle grids.
Once the rush of police has passed, I pull over near a stand of pine trees. The forest stretches dark and deep to our left, the trees close enough their lower branches scrape the roof of my car.
“Wait here,” I say, cutting the engine. “Lock the doors. I’ll be back in a bit. Maybe half an hour.”
Ophelia’s brow furrows. “But… where are you going?”
“Since you’re off limits, I’m going to find someone to fuck.” I deliver the words casually, checking my phone. “Don’t worry. With the number of girls there tonight, it shouldn’t take long to find a grateful stray.”
The animation drains from her face, and her fingers clutch hold of the seatbelt across her chest. “What?”
“You heard me.” I pocket my phone and reach for the door handle. “I’m horny and you’re off limits tonight, so—”
“You can’t just—” Her voice cracks. “You brought me here. You can’t just abandon me in the car while you go off and do whatever with whoever.”
The distress in her voice fills me with secret delight. She’s jealous. Actually jealous.
“Why not?” I turn back to her, studying her face. “It’s not like you’re my girlfriend.”
“Of course, not,” she bites. “You have Chelsea for that.”
“I wouldn’t touch Chelsea with someone else’s cock.” My words pour forth, unfiltered, laced with disgust. “She’d never come to a place like this.”
