My eyes flutter open, and I let out a groan. The faint glow from the moon shines through the window into my eyes. The loud, thumping bass rips through the walls, flowing up through the floor below me. My throat is dry as shit, and my hand is pruned from falling asleep with it in my cum-filled pants. At least I got a few hours of sleep, though my head still buzzes with the leftover remnants of my earlier high.
I rip my hand from my boxers and wipe it across my jeans. I stumble out of bed towards the bathroom. The tile is covered in piss, and the counter has a leftover line of coke someone didn’t finish. What a waste. I push back the shower curtain and slam my fist against the pipes to clear the line before turning the shower on. Dirty water spews out of the showerhead onto the stained tiled walls and chipped porcelain tub. My fist connects with the pipes again. The water starts to run more of a milky brown opposed to the murky sludge. I strip out of my jeans and sweatshirt and let the icy water bead off my skin. Fuck knows how longI stand there letting the water slice through me like a knife. When I finally emerge from the shower, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My dark hair clings in a messy, wet heap over my eyes. Beads of water fall down my tattooed skin. The same insanity eats me from the inside out.
The voices start. My knuckles connect with my head.
Not now. Fuck off.
The voices echo in my psyche, refusing to relent.
Insane Zain. You’re worthless. Useless. Trash. A nobody.
“Shut up!” I scream into the chipped mirror.
The voices go silent.
I roll my neck and prepare myself.
Showtime, Zain.
The numberof times I glance over my shoulder to make sure I’m not being followed is insane. The walk to rehearsal was terrifying enough, but I swear someone was following me. Campus is safe here at Grimshaw Academy, but that doesn’t stop my mind from reeling with the possibility of a serial killer coming after me. I know it’s irrational. At least, I thought it was until I saw him—a dark, hooded figure in the back of the theater. I couldfeelhim. The moment the performance ended, I locked eyes with him. He took that as his cue to leave. You’d think he would have run, but instead he stalked off casually, without a care in the world.
I’m probably overreacting. He was most likely there to watch somebody else and enjoy our rehearsal. It’s not uncommon for other students to sit in between classes or after-hours. Or better yet, he could be a prospective student seeing what the music program is all about. At least that’s logical. A serial killer? Not so much. Instead, I’m being irrational. It was too dark to make out anything other than the shape of a tall person. Honestly, I’m probably just spooked because of the season.
Clara pulls me along the busy campus’s winding trails. The streetlights hardly offer any light, but there’s safety in numbers, right?
We round the corner and eventually find ourselves outside of the same run-down house. This time, though, I chose not to dress up. I’m awareI’ll stick out like a sore thumb, but it’s better than the alternative. The type of people at these parties are here for one thing. I’m not. Truthfully, I’m only here to keep an eye on Clara, especially after last night.This time when we make it to the door, someone’s there already waiting for us. It’s him.
Zain.
I crane my head back, drinking him in. This is the first time I’ve really gotten a good look at him up close. No hoodie concealing his face. No outlandish make up hiding him from me. He looks as insane as I imagined, rough even, but no less devilishly obsidian and delicious. His dark, swirling gray eyes are dead from years of abuse—how deep that runs, I don’t know. His inky, scraggly hair hangs over his eyes, clouding his vision. It’s still wet like he’s just taken a shower. He smells absolutely appetizing and looks like a beautiful mess. Oddly enough, he’s the type I’d never pursue, but something about him calls me. Clara shoulders past me to get inside. I didn’t realize I was standing there like an idiot. I hope I wasn’t drooling like a love-sick bimbo.
“Well, hello again,” Clara smiles. “I’m going to grab a drink.” She smirks, motioning to the kitchen before leaving me alone with him.
He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the door frame, blocking my path. He chews the edge of his hoodie string. “Well, what a surprise, little songbird.”
I nip at my inner cheek. He’s looking at me like I’m a piece of meat. “Are you gonna let me in? I don’t want Clara in there alone,” I admit, peering over his huge imposing body.
He cocks his head to the side, dissecting me. “We have a dress code,” he says as he scans over my jeans and oversize T-shirt.
I bristle and clutch the loose iron railing next to me. “Oh, I’m sorry. I—”
He cuts me off with a dark, throaty chuckle. “Relax, little bird, I’m kiddin’.” He steps aside, letting me pass. The usual smell of weed, cigarettes, and sex hits my nose as I step around his towering frame.Damn, he really is absolutelymassive. This guy is one you wouldn’t want to cross.
He snicks the door shut with his shoulder, forcing it closed. “Wanna drink?” my eyes shift over to Clara in the corner leaning against the counter. She lets out a deep laugh as Kieran cages her in. She’s wasting no time, I guess.
“Your friend is fine. With any luck, Kieran will move on next week,” he says nonchalantly.
I crinkle my nose and nibble my lip. “Okay,” I say meekly. All judgment has gone out the window. Zain wouldn’t openly drug me, would he? He doesn’t come across as that type. He’s equally deranged as Kieran, sure, but he seems almost…safer? I snort at the notion.
He returns a moment later with a can of Natty Light. “Drink up, little songbird.”
He guides me towards the living room through the mass of sweaty bodies. I must be wearing a look of disgust on my face, because after he settles down on the aged sofa, he smirks up at me. “Uncomfortable?” He gestures to the people openly having sex against the wall and on the coffee table, some are even on the opposing couch.
I stand awkwardly, unsure what to do with myself, so I crack open my beer. I lack confidence and really any social skills when it comes to parties and groups. “No, I’m fine,” I lie, taking a sip of the cheap drink before holding back a gag.
He sinks deeper into the couch, fanning out his body like an offering. He looks so unapproachable and downright sinful. A shiver falls over my body.
“Then have a seat, I won’t bite.” But the way he says it doesn’t sound sincere, instead it comes across wolfish. I have a feeling I’m the prey in this scenario.Reluctantly, I sink into the seat farthest away from him, leaving an open space between us. He chugs his beer in long, deep swallows and pops something in his mouth, not bothering to savor the flavor of his drink. Not that this is the kind you’d savor; it’s awful. It’s then I realize everyone is staring at us. Shifty eyes catch my gaze in every direction. I absolutely loathe being the center of attention. The better question iswhyam I the center of attention?
