Under the Streetlight - Newtmas

N i n e t e e n

Newt:
"Thomas!" I shouted, over and over again, but it was impossible, I doubted my voice could be heard more than a few meters away from me, and judging upon that fact, Thomas wasn't anywhere near.

It wasn't like I couldn't enjoy partying by myself, but, in my defense, I didn't know anyone! I was constantly being approached by girls being absolutely, pissed out of their minds, and being touched all over by them. Apparently Sonya had spread the voice, and now everyone knew I was British, which had been one of my most embarrassing experiences in a while.

"Will you say something to me in British? Anything Newt!" Called a brown-haired girl, looking no older than 16 years old, and dressed like she had shift in a strip club after that party.

"Oh piss off, will you? I'm trying to find Thomas," I spat, almost yelling over the music, she stared at me with big, glassy eyes. I frowned at her, confused, her expression was truly... unreadable. "Do you know him? Thomas, he's here... somewhere." I looked around, supporting my statement, but she just dissolved in giggles, covering her mouth with her hands, adorned with insanely long red nails.

"Have I mentioned I love your accent?" She grinned, if I hadn't been absolutely gay, she probably would've managed to pick me, since she had great, sweet smile, and deep brown eyes. Though, all of that sudden artistic appreciation came to an end when she grabbed my arm and hopefully, accidentally, scratched it with her horrific nails. Another reason I didn't like girls.

"Woah there!" I snatched my arm from her hands, the small scratch dripping scarlet red blood, it looked weirdly unsettling under the colored lights, which made that red turn into a deep black, like I was some kind of zombie. "You're gonna slash my arm off with those claws of a nail... Jesus," I nagged, wiping the minimal wound to avoid it staining my pants, which I had conveniently decided to use for the first time tonight... what a bloody waste.

"Oh, I'm sorry..." she scrunched her eyebrows, reaching for my scratch, but I quickly flinched, fearing her claws.

"It's alright, just, let me... I can deal with it myself, okay? I'm going to the bathroom," I squinted, shocking my head in frustration. Feeling her concerned eyes on me, I decided to give her an apologetic smile to calm her down, and once she returned it, I pursed my lips, walking away.

I pushed the sweltering crowd out of my way clutching my arm to avoid any further damage, till I reached my destination, which thankfully was exactly where I thought it would be: at the end of the hallway, to the right. I clutched the door handle, and locked myself in the thick aired cubicle of a bathroom, and as I turned on the lights, the whiteness of them burned my eyes. I shut them closed and massaged the bridge of my nose, feeling migraines forming between my eyes. The faint smell of vomit and the muffled sound of the techno music only added to the stunning of my senses, I hated going to the bathroom in parties, it probably resembled the worst case of a psychological torture.

Once I got accustomed to the lights, I could finally check my forearm: the cut was deeper than it had firstly appeared, but not enough to actually hurt, though it was bleeding pretty badly. I washed it with water and soap, hoping she didn't have much crap under her claws... Goodness, just thinking about those monstrous things being attached to my hands made me shiver in disgust. Girls were really one of a kind, any man should bother on understanding them, really... hell of a creature those gals.

After fixing my hair, which had been molested by my new fans, I exited the bathroom. Careful of not going through the same passage I had taken before, I explored the back of the house, which was pretty much empty, except for a few couples doing shameless stuff —which I won't bother to describe. After breaking in some strange looking doors, which both resulted to be cupboards —it's worth mentioning they perfectly resembled Harry Potter's old 'room'—, I followed the long, dark hall, till it obliged me to turn to the left, leaving on the other side of the living room, right in the bullseye.