Istand in front of my rusted bathroom sink, switchblade in hand, dissecting the reflection staring back at me. The same old scraggly black hair and clouded gray eyes.
Emotionless.
Void.
Hazy.
Dark charcoal masks my face. Tonight is the Halloween party—Kieran’s idea. I roll my shoulders, bracing myself for this shit. My six-foot-six frame leans over the dripping sink. I’ve been a massive fucker since high school. It helps that I look like a deranged psychopath, it keeps the fake fucks away. I’m not exactly a social fucking butterfly. Ink snakes up my arms and continues down under my black T-shirt and baggy dark jeans. My kitchen-table tattoos and scarred-up body help my cause. That’s how I got the nickname Insane Zain.
I swirl and twist the blade against the pads of my fingers, feeling its sharpness prick against my skin. I’m addicted to the rush, the danger. It belonged to my biological father, though I never did meetthe guy since I was adopted as a young kid. Black residue from my costume makeup dusts the porcelain sink as I twist the broken faucet handle and the sludgy, murky water swirls down into the drain. A loud bang reverberates against the bathroom door, jarring me. A rattle of the door handle follows suit. I fumble the blade, and it goes spiraling into the sink with a clank. A few drops of blood drip into the bowl mixing with the brown sludge masquerading as water.
“Hurry the fuck up, Zain, Nyla brought party favors to share,” Kieran’s baritone shouts through the door. He’s never been a patient fucker. He’s the dean’s son, so he’s used to getting what he wants. The bass booms from the first floor making the cold tile beneath my feet vibrate.
“I’m coming,” I hiss, licking the blood off of my fingertips. The coppery tang hits my taste buds, and I savor the taste on my tongue.
I slosh the grimy water over my face to wake up and wash away the dusky charcoal, but all it does is spread it over my face in a smudged mess. Now I really do look insane. I’ve been up for thirty-six hours now and counting. Sleep is something I avoid at all costs. This is what I do. Chase the high to feel something other than listening to the voices in my head.
Every time I close my eyes, the demons come crawling through my mind until I lose myself to my deranged thoughts. Anxious, psychotic, unhinged thoughts—what a fucking combo. Managing the demons is a whole other ball game. Gotta be normal. Can’t let on that I’m fucked up. Pretty sure it’s obvious though. When you grow up the way I did, everyone has something to ease the ache of their shit-ass life. In my case, it was weed, cigarettes, and the occasional molly and Adderall, but I’ve done it all. You mix that shit, you’re in for a wild ride. On this side ofthe tracks, rich mommies and daddies know exactly what little Jimmy is snorting but turn a blind eye to keep up appearances. They’re too busy indulging in their sick curiosities to give a fuck.
Not me, I won’t play pretend. Mom couldn’t handle me. They adopted the wrong kid. The drugs, the psychotic behavior—it was all too fucking much. So, fuck it. I left, despite my father’s reluctance. She left me with a nice trust after she died. Dad and I don’t talk because fuck him. Doesn’t stop him from blowing up my phone. Bought this house and blew my money on drugs. Still plenty of money left though. The least I can do is finish college so I can keep up with my habits. Grimshaw Academy would never fail me. Money talks, and so does family name and status. I can fuck off as much as I want. Half the time, I don’t show up. My father has a tight grip on Grimshaw Academy. Might as well use that to my advantage.
“Z!” another shout resounds through the cheap, hollow door.
I growl and grab the door handle with my bloody hand, ripping it open. “I said give me a fucking minute!” I snarl, now standing toe to toe with my best friend, Kieran.
He backs up against the dirty white wall in the hallway. The paint is peeling and discolored from cigarette smoke and water damage. He throws his hands up, shielding himself from my wrath. “Fuck, Z. You good, man?” he laughs. A low rumble of amusement leaves his chest.
Kieran knows I’m unpredictable but still sticks around; always has. We’ve been friends since grade school. He’s just as fucked as I am, maybe more. Where I’m deranged and psychotic, he’s obsessive and impulsive.
A sinister accordion smile grows on my face. “I will be.” I lick the last remnants of dried blood from my fingers and shuffle past his large,tatted body. I shoulder check him against the wall but don’t say shit. He knows his place. With my short fuse, I’m always a hair away from exploding. Never know what’s gonna make me go boom.
He pulls at his loose T-shirt and lifts his hellhound mask up revealing his tattooed face. He rights himself before following me down the staircase. The stained tan carpet is so old it’s turned to an ashy gray. Once I reach the bottom a sea of people erupts before me.
All eyes land on me and my deranged half-washed-off makeup. I slip over to the corner to escape the burning gazes. I plop down on the broken ‘80s-style brown-and-orange floral couch and sink into the cushions. It’s marred with cigarette burns and rips. I flip my switchblade methodically through my fingertips while scanning the crowd. Your typical useless fucking people in basic slutty costumes.
Kieran shuffles through the crowd to the kitchen, where he pours us both beers. He stalks over to hand me one. I watch, observe. Drunk half-naked women grind on whoever they can get their claws into, hoping for their next fuck and fix. The same guys, week after week, fucking the next female in line without thought. Nameless faces.
Nobodys.
I dig in my loose pocket for a smoke and flip open my cheap gas station lighter to get my nicotine buzz. I scoff. Night after night of this same shit is driving me to insanity.
Kieran tells me I need to get laid, but I wouldn’t fuck these bitches with a pole.A knife, maybe. All I can imagine is a body bound and gagged while being suspended. Atmymercy. I like when they cry and their oversize false lashes and dark makeup runs down their fake faces. No, there’s no fun in their desperate, needy bullshit. I need them begging.
I take a sip of the cheap beer, then take a deep inhale of my cigarette. The skunky flavor slides down my throat in four large gulps. The Marlboro washes out the shitty aftertaste. He raises a brow at me and leans against the sofa arm.
He finishes off his beer and crumples up his cup, tossing it on the floor where it joins the other discarded trash. “I hope the incoming freshmen are hot. I haven’t had a proper fuck in too damn long.” He scans over the women, watching them dance in their skimpy, trashy outfits.
I snigger and flick ash on the floor. “A long time being twenty-four hours? Get some. Half these bitches have diseases, but hey, it isn’t my cock.”
He smirks and lowers his hellhound mask back over his face before disappearing into the sea of bodies. I struggle sitting another minute with these people. If I’m to survive the night, I’ll need a heavy dose of molly in my system until I go numb and feel either euphoria or nothingness. Either is acceptable. But being sober, dealing with the world around me is a nightmare. I slam my knife into the armrest and slip some molly out from my hoodie and under my tongue. Time to wait for my songbird.
Itwist my French braid neatly over my shoulder before doing the same with the opposite side. I tuck my dark tendrils behind my ear and run my hands down my long braid. The deep ombre red looks as perfect as I imagined. Red on black, iconic. Clara did an excellent job weaving the extensions into my natural hair.
“Your hair really did come out amazing, Vesp,” Clara gushes. She brushes her long, straight blonde hair. She sits across from me on the adjacent dorm bed. I couldn’t have asked for a better bunkmate for freshman year. I spin on my stool and put my hands under my chin. I give her a cheesy grin. She giggles and tosses her hairbrush at me. I dodge it, and we break out in a fit of laughter.
“Soooo, we’re college girls now! Parties, boys, dick,” she draws out excitedly.
I roll my eyes. “We’re here to study, remember? Get our degrees,” I remind her, making my way towards my bed.
