Style // 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙇𝙚𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙧𝙘

12.

Friday/Saturday

The dance floor is packed, you can't catch a glimpse of the illuminated floor before someone stomps on the patch you saw. Not a single person looks glum as the beat of the music takes over, controlling us like a bunch of voodoo dolls. We could do this all night long, and I'll repay for it tomorrow morning when the dull ache in my heels and toes burst.

I feel like the centre of attention, like a disco ball. High up on Elliot's steady shoulders, the stars are at my fingertips. Other boyfriends are given no choice but to lift their girlfriends into the air as soon as their eyes land on me. The girl in the white silky dress, the skirt around her hips and the guy with a beaming smile on his face.

The guy, that has no interest in her. The girl, that has no interest in him.

What idiots, the pair of us! Dancing like no one is watching, when all eyes are. Both wearing white, acting like we're made of money, looking like the perfect couple. You could stick a wedding band on our fingers and people would assume we've been together for life. You wouldn't be able to tell that we only met a few hours ago, when we weren't so intoxicated that nothing holds you back. When we weren't so drunk that the mere painfulness of awkward silence could lead to pure embarrassment.

Elliot brings me down as the song ends, his hands holding my thighs to steady our balance. The simple touch scalds, my heart faltering for that split second. However, my thoughts and emotions are grounded the second I my heels touch floor, that spark dying quicker than it ignited.

A new song starts, a seductive beat that catches hold of whatever joy you have and turns it to lust. With my back already to Elliot, I push back further so there's no gap between us. I look up over my shoulder at him, the pair of us giggling like children just a few inches apart. My hips move and sway in my dress, every curve on me being magnified by the tight fabric and the flashing lights. Elliot moves with me, moulding like playdoh as his hands find the dips of my waist. I follow his lead, wrapping my fingertips into his man-bun and pulling the band out. His locks gracefully fall to his shoulders, framing his face and releasing a looser side to him.

Elliot leans down towards my ear, the tip of his button nose brushing my hair. "Where's Mark and Stella?"

I simply shrug, unbothered about their lack of presence. They could be anywhere, from in the jumble of drunken lunatics to snogging in a dark corner outside. Knowing Stella, it's probably the latter of those two options. I can't tell who's more wrapped up in the other with Mark and Stella, but I can see them both getting tangled into something long-termed. Finally. That woman needs a man to go batshit crazy with, not to tame her.

The crowd shifts for a split second, creating a break in the crowd for me to look straight down. Eye contact. Hues of green that have locked onto me. Something in me changed, yet my body keeps moving. Nerves. Or, adrenaline. Mischief. The need to be a right f*cking pain in the ass.

Charles' eyes observe every movement me and Elliot take. Every hip sway, every grind, even when the slightest movement of Elliot's hands accidentally tugs the skirt of my dress. Nothing about the sight in from of his eyes is what he wants to see. The guy I told him I have no feelings for- and still don't- dancing with me. Behind me. Intimately, without me pushing him away.

"Hey, I'm just going to the bathroom!"

I break our gaze to look up at Elliot, whose smile could light up the room. His hands leave my waist, the gentlemanly manner completely contradicting our actions.

"You're breaking the seal!" I gasp, disconnecting our bodies to turn and face him. "I'm going to get a drink, do you want one?"

"Yeah, whatever you're having!" Elliot nods, giving me a small wave before he turns his back to me.

I glance back over my shoulder, praying that Charles hasn't seen Elliot leave my side. He's not there. Where did he go? I look around like a young child that's lost their mother in a crowd, frantic eyes searching through every gap they can find. The last place I want to be is in the middle of a dance floor alone; my feet swiftly move like a man on a mission towards the private lounge, where not a soul apart from the bartender is stood. Is that a good hiding space, hiding in plain sight?

I sort out my dress as I approach the bar, the kind bartender giving me a soft smile. I've been a bartender before, those sweet and approachable eyes are hiding the tired, sarcastic, judgmental thoughts going on inside their head. Hopefully I don't look horrendous, otherwise I'll be the topic of their conversation tonight.

"What can I get you?" She asks, her long, straight ponytail swooshing as she tilts her head.

"Can I have a piña colada and-" I can't give Elliot a cocktail, he definitely would not appreciate it. "And a manly drink?"

"A manly drink?" The girl giggles, raising her sculpted eyebrows at me.

I might've been a bartender, but I didn't link drinks to genders very well.

"Yeah, like a pint or something?" I shrug, making it obvious I'm clueless. "Do you remember the guy from the party, the one with the man-bun?"

"Your boyfriend?" She asks, still looking rather entertained. "Yeah, would you like a repeat of his order?"

I don't even bother to retaliate her comment. "Yeah, but only what he had, thank you!"

As I turn to face the dance floor raving behind me, my view is abruptly cut off. I jump as I look up from this random chest that's appeared right in front of me, only to face Charles. How the fuck did he find me?

"You scared the living-"

"He's nuts, we're just friends, right?" He fiercely quotes my exact phrase from earlier, his eyebrows tugged together. "He's in on-off relationships, we were just making a joke about it, right?"

Besides the slight sense of guilt intoxicating the bubbling sense of excitement and craze inside me, I am truly amazed that he can remember my exact words! I said that a good few hours ago, before we drank! My eyes feel like they're glowing, urging Charles to carry on this random rant. I am speechless, a rare occasion!

"What the fuck was that?" Charles jabs a finger towards the dance floor.

"We were just having fun!" I explain, giving a very valid excuse. "I'm not doing anything with him?"

"That's not what the entire place saw when you were on his shoulders!"

I can't help but smirk, semi-impressed with myself for making the man- who has everything- jealous. I try to cover it with my hand, like I had a cough, but there was no escaping his hunter-like gaze. I didn't think his anger could get worse, but seeing my amusement in our situation has burst another bubble.

"Where is he?" Charles asks, his hands balling into fists.

"What-?"

"Where is he?" Charles repeats more firmly, raising his eyebrows.

"He's in the bathroom?" I mumble, slightly worried. "Don't even think about hurting him-"

"I'm not hurting him, I'm taking you out of here before you cause any more shit."

Charles grabs my hand, such a caring gesture taken so possessively, and drags me out the lounge. I can barely keep up with him in my heels, too focussed on staying on my feet rather than trying to stop him. I desperately glance over my shoulder, praying to get a glimpse of someone- anyone- from tonight's party. Nothing. No one I can just say 'goodbye' to rather than scream at for help.

The cool air outside hits like a brick being thrown directly at me. There's nobody out here either, not a single smoker or lost girlfriend wandering about. No one.

Great.