Stacy’s smile lifts into a wicked grin, seeming very pleased with herself. It makes her look demonic, which is very on brand, considering she’s cosplaying as a fucking murder victim.
I work to keep my face smooth as I meet Dread’s eyes again. They look like frosted ice glimmering beneath moonlight—darkened, cold, and sparkling with mirth.
“Let’s go, man!” one of his opponents calls, splaying his arms out. I jump, almost having forgotten we’re in the middle of a party. “Your balls shriveling up under pressure? I got a vacuum if you need help sucking them back out again.”
Dread slowly slides his stare from mine to meet his opponent’s. Without a word, he holds the ball to Stacy’s lips again. She kisses it. He shoots…
Obviously, he makes it.
Bystanders explode in celebration, and a few even run up and practically body-slam him while obnoxiously cheering.
I roll my eyes. They all act like he just slayed a dragon and saved the world. Too bad the dickheadisthe dragon.
Even Stacy squeals, jumping up and down on her feet, completely forgetting about me.
At least I thought so, until she levels a smug glance my way then turns back to Dread, leaping in his arms. He barely catches her, his arm banding underneath her butt, but she’s already wrapping her arms around his neck and planting a kiss right on his lips.
Black strands fall over eyes that instantly find mine, my heart fluttering in response. Then, he parts his lips and dives his tongue into her mouth. She moves her hands to tangle in his hair, clutching it tightly as she deepens the kiss. All the while, he watches me watch him,something dark and insidious swirling in his gaze.
I force myself to swallow down the disgust burning a path up my throat, but I don't bother to stop my upper lip from curling. If either of them expect me to be jealous, I’d be happy to vomit in both of their mouths to prove otherwise.
Truthfully, I pity her.
I, personally, would hate to stick my tongue in something so rotten.
Regardless, the game's over, which means once he’s done making out with Stacy, he’ll likely turn the spotlight back on me somehow, and I’d prefer to avoid that at all costs.
I break free from his stare and turn to make my way back through the kitchen before he can untangle his tongue from hers. I’m sure it’ll take at least a few minutes to undo that knot.
“Since when did you start fuckin’ brunettes?” someone calls loudly from behind me. Someone who sounds exactly like Rogue, but I pay him no mind.
I reenter the living room, only to stop short for a second time.
On the couch are two girls in the same ensemble as Stacy. Bloody necks, but with different dates written across their white T-shirts.
09/04/09.Eleanor Lamb.
02/27/10.Johanna Rivers.
They weren’t sitting there when I passed through the first time, which means there are likely more girls around wearing the same shit.
The bitter taste of ash coats my tongue, and I swallow down my revulsion. The two women aren't even aware of me, too concerned with drinking from their Solo cups and chattering to the people surrounding them, oblivious to the absolute punch to the gut they’ve just delivered without even noticing.
They wouldn’t care, anyway.
I don’t know if they understand why they’re dressed the way they are, what those dates mean, or if they’re just following orders simply because Dread demanded it. Either way, it’s fucking sick.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket, instantly sending a shot of adrenaline through my bloodstream. My heart thuds heavily as I slip it out, unlock the screen, and view the new message from Dread.
The Antichrist: Don’t run too far, darling. I’d hate to give you a reason to come crawling back.
My upper lip curls again, hatred compounding in my veins. Refusing to spare the two girls another glance, I tuck my phone into my back pocket again and charge toward an entryway on the other side of the living room. It opens to another staircase against the wall and a long hallway to my right. Past the staircase, several doors sit on either side of it, but one on the left has a long line outside of it—I assume a bathroom. Men and women lean against the wall, waiting for their turn, though most of them are speaking animatedly, resulting in several people hanging outside the line and in my fucking way.
I shoulder my way through until it dead ends into another hallway. Down the left side are a few more doors, one cracked open at the very end, offering a partial view of a bed. Based on the way it’s methodically thumping against the wall, I would hazard a guess two people are fucking on it.
To my right is another entryway leading to a large dining room. I’m now on the opposite side of the kitchen, the staircase in the middle separating the two areas. Which means if Dread is still playing beer pong, he’s right on the other side of the steps.
Before me, more students use the dining table for a different game. They’re all circled around it, their respective drinks in their hands, watching one person spin a quarter on the wooden surface before hurriedly chugging a drink. I’m not sure what exactly they’re playing, but an array of cans and Solo cups litter the table in sporadic places, and I think I hear someone say something about a landmine.
