RISK & REWARD ✔️

91 | 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯' 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨

good day folks. sorry for the delay; if u aren't following me on instagram (which, what the fuck?) im back in class and trying to live the full university experience. u know. do stupid shit responsibly and all. also i keep getting sick and it's fucking ridiculous. anyways enjoy + u should totally dm me on the gram if u want to hear about my reality tv show ass experiences currently.

SLADE IS VERY UNSTEADY. She is also, currently, very belligerent.

I actually have to grab her arm as she shoves past me, all bared teeth and flashing eyes. It's a good thing that she's unsteady, because that's the only reason I'm able to successfully stop her; her head remains twisted towards where the guy had disappeared, but her body swings around and bumps into me.

"Slade!"

"Put your fuckin' hands on her again an' I'll fuck you up, I'll fuck you up so fuckin' bad they won't be able to identify you!" Her voice is loud; she's practically shouting. "Come back an' put your fuckin' hands..."

"Slade! Slade!" I grab her hair, tugging at a handful of frizzy white curls. "I'm fine, it's fine, let's just go—"

"No! It's not fine!" Abruptly, Slade grabs the back of my head and shoves me into her chest. My nose mashes into the little valley between her tits, and for a brief moment all I can smell is masculine perfume and alcohol and a slight edge of sweat. From here, her voice seems to rumble deep in her bones. "Touch my fuckin' girlfriend again! Touch her fuckin' again!"

I say her name, but I'm pressed so hard into her chest that I can barely hear my own voice. Instead, I reach up and bang on her shoulder, grabbing on like a useless deadweight as she tries to practically walk gthrough me. It's not much use; I paw at the ground and hold onto her and after several staggering steps and me practically swinging off of her neck, I manage to get her to stop.

She's furious. She's absolutely fucking furious. Part of it is the alcohol, probably, but she's burning up and she's breathing hard and when she looks at me...God, when she looks at me, I see a haunting glare in her eyes. She looks at me and if a gaze could kill then Slade would have millions out for her arrest, because she looks ready to murder.

"Did he fuckin' hurt you?" Her Chicago accent is thick. Thick. Her voice is rough beyond belief and sort of hoarse as she grabs me by the shoulders and holds me back like I'm an unruly child being scolded. "The fuck did he do?"

"No. No! He didn't. I'm fine, Slade, really." I grab her arm, clinging onto her wrist. "He was just drunk and asking if I danced. That was—!"

When I mention what the guy was asking about, I swear Slade's eyes turn black. She whirls around and, apparently indifferent to the two dozen pairs of eyes now on the tall angry chick with the split dye, proceeds to scan the heads of the crowd like a predator. She drags me up against her body; her nails dig into my back and nape.

"Point 'im out." Her voice is a low growl. "Point 'im out and I'll rip his fuckin' lungs out."

"Slade, no. No. Hey? Look at me. Okay?" I paddle at her neck. "I'm fine. See? I'm fine. He didn't do anything."

"He wants to." She shoves my head into her chest again, only this time my ear goes flat against her heart. "He wants t' watch you dance an' oh, ohhh, that muh'fucker isn't gonna, he isn't gonna."

"Yeah, no shit! I'm not a dancer!" I manage a short laugh. "He's not gonna watch me, Slade. Promise."

"Yeah, yeah. 'M not worried about you dancin' for him. I'm worried about him."

"Slade. Please. Deep breath. Easy. Okay? Just calm down, it's not—!"

"He's fuckin' hittin' an' touchin' on my girlfriend!"