(FEATURED)
Months after her older sister's life was ripped away from her by some friends, Kimie Sato, sixteen, angry and revenge-hungry, decides she's done watching her sister lose the most important time of her life. So she goes after every single...
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I could feel my chest rising and falling at regular intervals as I stepped out of the club. The breeze was warm, much more refreshing than I expected, but there was this internal heat I felt.
All I could think about was how West knew where I was.
The volume of the music was lower now, but the voices of people talking outside didn't allow the thrumming in my ears to stop or even take a break. Their words bumped into each other, creating a weird mixture with the warm air.
I was creeped out, and at the same time, I was scared. Creeped out because, somehow, West knew about this date. Scared because he was waiting for me and I had no idea what he was going to say to me—or what I was going to say to him.
I looked around for him, ignoring the guys ogling me, and after a few seconds, my phone buzzed again. When I looked down at it, I realized that my hands were trembling.
Look to your right.
Following that order wasn't a hard thing to do.
West's eyes were on me as he leaned against the driver's door of his car, and the way his head was tilted in my direction screamed trouble. He pushed the hoodie off his head and placed an arm on the roof of his car, and I drew in a deep breath before starting the walk to him. I didn't want to talk to him right now, I was sure, but there was something about his aura tonight. It was magnetic, something that I couldn't ignore.
As I moved closer to him, his eyes left my face and trailed down my body, but not in the same way those guys' eyes did. It wasn't a hungry look, but it made me slightly uncomfortable, nevertheless. I couldn't imagine what was going through his mind.
When I stopped in front of him, I folded my arms over my chest to keep myself steady, but my head had plans of its own, swaying back a little. It still felt light, like there was nothing—not even the tiniest piece of a brain—in it.
West studied me in (choking) silence for a few seconds, his expression far from happy. Then he said, "You've been drinking." He said it with a final kind of tone—a tone that said I couldn't deny it.
"So?" I asked. "A lot of people do it."
His eyes moved to the building as he released a short facetious laugh, and I could now feel the bass of the music beneath my feet.
"Do you even hear yourself right now?" he asked angrily, looking back at me, every trace of laughter gone from his face. "What are you doing here?"
"No, what are you doing here? Are you stalking me or something?"
"Why the heck would I stalk you?"
"You tell me."
I wasn't sure I came here to argue with him, but I couldn't help myself. I was only trying to keep my emotions under control, that was why I was talking to him like this. I was still feeling creeped out.
