Darkness blankets everywhere.

The world is black as I slide out of my sheets, my outfit consisting of my regular dark shirt and jeans, letting me melt into the night.

It's always eerily quiet. I raise my phone into the air, checking the time.

11 PM.

Not too late, this time round. So, I slip out of my room, letting the door close behind me with a soft thud. 

The hallways seem insanely wide at this time at night, not like they're not spacious in the mornings. But right now, the darkness makes the halls seem to go one forever. They seem endless.

Slipping through the hallway, I make sure to practically float across the floors. I know the steps by heart. After all, it's something I've done time and time again. So many times that every movement is etched into my mind.

I've learned from 13-year-old Jason's mistakes. By now, I've memorized the floorboards that are creaky, the doors with unoiled hinges, the best passageway to the back door, the quiet breathing to go unnoticed.

The staircase materializes in front of me, and I let a hand rest on the railing, my feather-light touch letting me move down the stairs, letting out silent curses every time a floorboard creaks, every time Ms. Willis lets out a sporadic snore from somewhere in the house.

Once I'm at the ground floor, I purse my lips, sliding over to the backdoor, opening the door with the carefullest twist of the handle, slipping through where my car is waiting for me, all in its full dark glory.

With that, the door's shutting behind me, and I'm sliding into my car, pulling out of the garage, a smirk tugging at my lips.

Once I'm out onto the road, speeding down the highway at a speed that's a little bit faster than the limit says it should be— I let out a whistle, then a howl, cackles filling my small, dark car, because I'm home free.

I pull into a different driveway after a few moments. The school's resident, redheaded crackhead—David— is throwing a party. And once I filter out onto his lawn, it's more than clear. Cups litter the floor, people press against each other, yells fill the air. Everything reeks of instability and pure discord.

I love it.

Wandering into the house, I glance about the chaotic room. People are downing cups of whatever it is David's conjured today. I'm guessing it's spiked with something equally as sketchy, and I make a mental note to avoid the punch tonight. Games are being played, across tables, over counters.

Everyone seems extremely sweaty. Not like it's surprising, of course. It's a hot night. And even though the air inside the house is chilly, the feverish dancing— if we can even call it that— and sides pressed against each other are bound to make everything a million times hotter.

My eyes catch onto a taller figure towards the mid back. Black curls, green-hazel eyes, gigantica figure and lanky yet toned body.

Amir Karim. 

It's how I always spot the group, to be honest. If you see one head that's sticking out from the crowd of short-asses, you can immediately know that it's most likely Amir. I let out an amused breath. It's a very effective strategy.

Sure enough, the group stands in front of me. I've managed to push past the throng of teenagers, and my friends are finally in my line of sight.

Once I meet their eyes, I shuffle over to them, leaning against the wall next to Amir, Riya and Daniella across from us.

"Snuck out again?" Amir asks, taking a drink out of whatever it is he's drinking. Water, I'm guessing, because this is Amir we're talking about.

"When have I not?" I ask, scanning the entire space, eyes taking in the chaotic scenes in front of me.

"It's steamy around here," Riya's voice comes out in a song-like tone, eyebrows raised at the couples who are pressed against each other, no qualms about anything else going around them. Lips on lips, flesh on flesh. Thin clothes being the only border.

"The place looks like chaos." Daniella says, elbow looping into Amir's. "I'd be surprised if David's parents don't skin him alive once this is all over."

The space is messy, cups littering the floor, throw pillows all along the carpets, mystery stains dominating walls and curtains.

"Speaking of David—?" I ask, eyebrows raised as I scout the space for the host of the whole thing.

Riya coughs, jutting a finger in said host's direction. Once my eyes follow her finger, David appears in my line of sight.

At least, part of him.

He's pressed against the back wall, hands gripping another senior— Amelia Wesley's— waist. Their lips are on each other's in a way that causes my eyebrows to fly upwards. And of course, David's hands are wandering a lot.

"He's a little...preoccupied at the moment." Daniella says, doe brown eyes finding mine, her arms wrapping around her cropped top, bellybutton piercing standing out against warm skin.

And it's not just David. A good half of the party population is preoccupied.

"Yeah, this is kind of gross." Amir hums, adjusting the dark jacket hanging from his torso, eyes on the varying couples, both eyebrows arched.

I let out a scoff alongside an easy chuckle, nudging the taller guy in the side. My tongue runs over my lips as I glance up at him. "I want in on some of that tonight."

"Couldn't be me," Amir sends me a glance, eyes teasing, practically stating:  I deadass can't see the appeal. I exhale a laugh. It's clear that's what's running through my best friend's head.

Either that, or something equally as asexual. He might as well be waving the black, gray, white, and purple flag in the background as he speaks. The fact that we're totally opposites in that regard has never not been funny.

I'm a self-proclaimed sex addict while Amir Karim has a self-proclaimed allergy to the whole concept. 

Before I can quirk out an equally horny reply, maybe decorated with a slight flirt to annoy him— the door to David's house slides open again.

Except this time, in walk the GSA.

I blink a few times.

Because they never struck me as the type of kids to show up at this type of event. Horny, thirst, busy and occupied. The music? Extremely loud. And the people are way too rowdy, out of control with no one to rein them in. My eyes stay on them as they enter the room, holding a cherry-red cup in my hand as I observe them.

Avery walks in, all in her full whimsical glory. Sequined top, pink maxi skirt. Next to her is Peter Hyun, his arm slung around her shoulders, decked out in a plain shirt, fitted jeans. Monday there too—in a white sweater that only leaves the tips of their finger visible— and they're smiling, elbows linked on Avery's other side.

Then, Ellie's at the entrance, summer dress clinging to her figure. Finally, in walks Lucas Garcia.

He's glancing around slightly, hair perfectly messy, wavy and curly all at once. The lights illuminate his skin, hazel eyes flickering from person to person. He still has one of those plain type of dress-shirts, with some navy blue and white pattern making it up. It's still tucked into his signature fitted jeans. Ripped, too.

The group disperses around the party, and I down another cup of Mystery Punch, eyes peering over at them.

By the time Lucas Garcia's eyes meet mine, I'm done with my third cup, on my fourth. With Ellie by his side, the two of them make their way over to me, coming to a halt once we're a few feet apart.

Casual greetings are exchanged between my friends and the two of them. I bite my bottom lip as Lucas takes another step forward, meeting my eyes.

"Hey," Lucas says, lips lifting into a half grin, eyes cautiously watching as I take a long sip out of my drink. In a few seconds, that one's drained, too.

"You're drinking a lot." He says, head tilted to the side. "Might want to slow it down."

I let a passerby fill my fifth cup, and I shake it slightly, meeting Lucas' eyes with something like a challenge.

"I'll be okay, mom." I shoot back, shaking the solo cup for a few more seconds.

Lucas lets out a breath, lips pursing.

"Trust me," Amir says, offering Lucas a semi-apologetic grin. "He doesn't listen to shit."

Riya gestures between the three of them. "We're here to clean up after his drunken ass."

Ellie Evans lets out a slight snort, and I flip Riya off. Although I have to try a few other fingers before my middle one, the sight slightly blurring in front of my eyes.

Lucas' eyes still rest easily on mine, following my movements.

"See something you like?" I tease, words gently melting into each other as I take a few steps closer, still a safe few feet away.

"Not really," Lucas replies, eyebrows raised as Amir lets out an amused whistle.

"You wound me." I say, hand rising to my chest. Before I can say anything else, a guy materializes against the fridge.

He's leaning against it, messy dark hair glinting underneath the lighting. He's semi-muscular, too. Fit. Sharp eyes.

Wandering away from the group, I make my way over to the cooler. By now, I've lost count of how many cups I've already had. I like it that way. So, as I pour some more Mystery Punch into the cup. 

My hand-to-eye coordination has started to fail me at this point. Especially given the fact that I've drunk to the point where things are blurry, and my movements are almost elastic. I take another drink of my liquid courage— or my I-need-to-forget-tonight drink.

Tonight, I'm going all out.

Which is a million times better given the fact that I don't have anything to lose. I can't really remember a time that I did. I'm sure Lucas Garcia is concernedly watching me from the opposite end of the area, but I push that out of my mind.

I came here for one primary reason. Forget, forget, forget. Drink until I don't know my own name anymore.

I can't see straight by the time I rise to my unsteady feet, making my way over to the mystery guy.

Once I approach, he meets my eyes. A smirk flits to his lips. He radiates one of those up-there auras. He knows what he's doing, where he stands, how hot he is. No one needs to tell him.

Even with my blurring vision—courtesy of one too many drinks— it's clear that he's sporting that typical look. Just a guy. An exceedingly attractive one at that.

"Can I help you?" He asks, arms crossed over a shirt that doesn't fit the Typical Straight™ criteria.

"You tell me," I say, leaning forward, voice slipping out like honey. It's not rigid, not awkward. In fact, I don't think twice. I haven't been laid in a whole two months. 

But I've still got it.

"Oh." He says, eyes dropping to me, letting out one of those haughty laughs that piss me off yet draw me in all the same.

Our eyes meet. He smirks again. Smirks like someone who's used to getting whatever he wants whenever he wants. Smirks like he knows what's going to happen. Smirks like this is a game that he's already winning.

"What if we—?" I start, close enough for his smirk to widen, his eyes still smug.

But before I can say anything else, a voice chirps from behind us.

"Hey, can we grab Jason for a second?" 

It's Daniella, Amir by her side, his eyes tracing over Nameless Guy with subtle suspicion. Maybe even dislike.

Her voice is insanely sweet, and I can practically hear the french-cream icing and velvet cupcake coating it.

"Sure, babe." Nameless Guy's voice comes out just as confident as his aura, low and flirtatious.

Then—against my will, by the way— my two friends are pulling me off to the side.

"Why did you do that?" My voice comes out kind of whiny, but I'm too far gone to care.

"Alright," Daniella says, grabbing me by the shoulders, shaking me slightly. "Listen to me." She gestures towards Nameless Guy, who's talking to some girl at the moment. "That guy over there? He turned eighteen last month or so."

"So, what?" I ask, eyebrows raised, trying to see where she's getting at with all this. If she's talking about an age gap, I highly doubt a few months would make a dent.

"And look at you," She says, gesturing towards me, a hand rising to my forehead. "You're drunk, you're not thinking straight."

"Exactly," Amir nods, Daniella pushing onwards.

"You're not in the right state of mind to be screwing around with him."

"Dani," I whine again. "When do I ever think straight?" A smirk. "I'd like to think of it as my greatest quality." I wink, Dani sighs.

"He fucks around with people's emotions," Dani says, trying to find my eyes, shaking my shoulders again.

"And you're drunk off of your ass right now." Amir adds, lips pursed into slight frustration.

"I want you to make a really well-thought out decision," Dani says. "Because he'll fuck around with you. Do you want that? When you're not even sober?"

He seems like the type, really. It's in his whole aura, maybe even his brand. Someone who goes through people like dirty laundry. For fun. Like some game. And maybe I know the weight of it all. Maybe I just don't care.

But all I do remember is the fact that I came here for one reason: to forget. Because if I forget, Will McClain doesn't matter, my foster parents don't, Ms. Willis doesn't. And my goal—as it always has been— is to get drunk and get laid.

He'll fuck around with you.

"I'd like to be fucked around with." A smirk curves onto my lips, and I let my shoulders fall into an easy shrug, arms outstretched.

Dani's shoulders sag, eyebrows scrunching. She reaches out for me, Amir shaking his head, but I've already turned my back on them, right back into the direction of Nameless Guy. Because I do love my friends, know they care.

What they don't get is that I don't care about much anymore. And tonight is another night when I'll let loose, make mistakes, maybe even have regrets.

And maybe I'm self destructive, but at this moment, I can't find it in me to care.

"Sorry about that," I say, back in front of the guy who's still leaning against the fridge, arms folded.

"Took you long enough," He lets out low laughter, lips curving into a smirk.

"Yeah?" I ask, shifting closer, so that our chests are barely grazing. "You were waiting?"

"Let's go with that," He laughs again, running a hand through his hair in the signature douchebag way.

"Oh," I glance up at him. "A confident one."

He shrugs. "We're not all that different then."

"Really?" I bite my bottom lip, chewing on it, eyes flickering up to his.

He licks his lips, eyes finding mine. "Yeah."

I feel like all my words are off of a script. A script I know so well that it rolls off of my tongue like butter. I wonder if it should be that way.

After all, with Lucas, it's far more awkward. Because I actually let everything come out of my lips without a filter. And it's awkward, but it's real, maybe even genuine.

But now? I'm reciting the script, so easily I'm sure it's nauseating. But it's that script that gets Nameless Guy telling me that I'd probably look better without my clothes on. It's that script that causes him to pull me into the nearest room. It's that script that doesn't stop me from realizing that this is nothing but a good fuck to him.

I can slip into so many different masks it's easy. Up until now, I never realized how much I did it. The door shuts behind us. He pushes me onto the bed, hands pressing into my torso, smirk wild.

He's already on me in seconds, and his lips are so fucking rough on mine, but I let it happen. More and more and more. Clothes come off, and I'm not thinking. I usually don't.

But once we're at this moment where everything is about to start, and he's over me, I realize that I'm remembering, I'm questioning the script.

This is the moment when I let myself go. Let the script take over.

But I can't.

"Wait," I say, and Nameless Guy's eyebrows scrunch, slight irritation crawling up his features.

"I'm just going to get another drink." I say. Nameless Guy offers me a half-smirk.

"Go get one." He winks from the bed as I rise to my feet, tugging my shirt back on. "Or two."

I slip through the door, heading over to the fridge, blanking out the rest of the world as I pour another cup for myself. 

Will would've stopped me. Nameless Guy doesn't, though.

I stare down into the swirly clear depths of the drink, almost as if I'm debating everything and anything. After all, I've been warned multiple times. But this isn't the first time, probably won't be the last. 

So, I down the drink. I'm swaying by the time I reach it to the room.

"There you are." Nameless Guy says, smirk curling onto his lips as I sway slightly, falling onto the bed, his hands quick to remove my shirt. "Feeling better?"

The script lines come out of my voice in a slur, as I let the darkness and his overeager hands consume me.

"Feeling great." I recite, and the rest goes all according to the script.

***

wow look at me with my 2900+ word chapters i'm so proud

anyways this chapter is a little bit sad bc what jason does is pretty unhealthy :0