Fated to Break | ✓

t w e n t y ~ n i n e

Rowan

       Halloween is a interesting holiday. That's the only word I can think of that can describe it accurately. I can't say I hate it because some of my fondest memories involved ridiculous costumes and perverted jack o' lanterns with dicks carved into them, but I can't say I love it because the nights either ended with a foggy memory or a bed with regret coincidentally shaped like a woman in a sexy bunny costume...or a nurse. Something stereotypical you'd see in a teen romcom.

I can only hope against the halloween gods that tonight ends in anything other than regret.

I'll admit one thing though. I let myself judge every historical figure, famous person, fictional character, and animal since I walked in and I do not regret it a bit. Some people are creative with their costumes and some are lazy. Lazy falls into two categories. One being half assed costumes that are simple enough to tell what they are from across the room and the other is lingerie with a headband and calling yourself a cat.

This party has a good mix of both types. I've been here half an hour and everyone seems to be having a good time. Especially Bronson.

He is breaking down with laughter beside me, his face turning red and nasty hacking noises spraying from his mouth. I look at Charlie with faked deadpan seriousness. "How drunk is he? What did you give him?" I ask, the early 2000s R&B almost drowning out my voice.

He chuckles and shrugs, "When he drinks he thinks the dumbest shit is the funniest thing in the world." Which is true because the whole reason Bronson started laughing is because he saw a girl dressed up as a bar of soap.

I shove his shoulders and point in the direction of the boxy soap girl, "I think there's a fluffy pink loofah following her around."

His ears perch up like an excited dog as his eyes flick around the room in a frenzy. I can tell when he spots them because a wobbly smile brightens the tall jock's face and he darts off in the direction of the poor couple he's about to bother.

"Oops," I drawl, not at all feeling bad. You don't wear that kind of getup expecting zero attention.

"At least he'll be gone for the next hour or so before he gets affectionate," Charlie's body shakes with a shiver, the same memories staining his mind from all the times Bronson got drunk. First comes laughter, then confusion, sadness, then something of a mix between sadness and love. He always ends the night professing his love and appreciation to someone, his arms wrapped around them and lips pressed to their cheek. It's not a pleasant thing to have a six foot five footballer crushing you in his drunken embrace as he leaks salty tears. When he's sober he declares his next victim with an eerie smile on his face. If I didn't know any better I'd say he was completely aware of his actions but thankfully it's all subconscious. Or I would've decked him a long time ago.

I spot a large updo of meticulously placed curls bounce through the crowd towards the kitchen and stand from my leaning position on the wall. "Gotta go. Don't let your guard down, Bronson's quick on his feet and lithe like a cockroach," I warn, Charlie's laugh fading as I turn and weave my body through the crowd.

The crowd falls away and the purple lights of the kitchen cast a neon glow on any bright color. The most distracting piece of her outfit draws my eyes before I have the chance to reach her. The tight black pants stretch perfectly over her ass like they were tailored directly onto her body. How she got into them is a mystery. The off the shoulder black top reveals the delicate lines of her back and a peek of the bottom of her nape. My veins sizzle with appreciation and settle in the base of my feet as I approach her further. The bright red of the converse are but a dim brown in the blacklight but as memory serves my chest expanded when she walked out of her apartment in them instead of the open toed pumps that originally go with the outfit. When I asked why she said heels are uncomfortable and I wanted us to match. Which in my opinion, thinking we wouldn't match was a ridiculous thing to worry about.