apprehension / hemmings

(2) irises

I was out of the house five minutes later, Brandon by my side, rambling on about the party we were heading towards. He kept referring to it as the party of the year, but he did that with every party we went to. Rain poured from the skies above, still, and my peacoat didn't do me much good in keeping my body dry.

By the time we reached the large, uphill house, my hair was damp, my shoulders were wet, and the sky was black, which let us know it was night. Presumably, 7.

The house, as I said, was tall and wide, and built uphill. On the gravel of the front, cars were parked, teenagers were conversing, and smoke spilled from their mouths, into the London air. Bass music pumped from the inside of the house, and lights flashed not only randomly, but brightly. 

Literally, the moment that Brandon and I stepped foot into the house, Brandon was pulled into the wave of people that filled the house's capacity. I knew that going to the party wasn't a good idea in the first place, but now, I'm left alone, being given dirty looks, and unsure as to what to do.

Inside of the house, the decoration was sophisticated. Sophisticated enough that you could tell one of the Abbey teenagers lived here, and that their parents knew that this part was occurring. The only reason that they probably let them throw the party is because there is a high chance that the owners of the home have a maid. But, hey, this was only an assumption. 

The carpeted floor had mud tracks seeping through it, and its walls were doused in glow in the dark paint. The flashing lights I'd seen were still going on, and god, was it irritating. 

Then, there was me. Standing in the center of the house's entrance, wearing a rain soaked peacoat, and sporting a really damp and ruined honey coloured quiff. Once recognizable, the looks I began to receive were priceless, and pretty nerve wrecking, to be honest. I had no clue what to do.  

Situations like these aren't good for apprehensive kids with social anxiety, and kids who were once accused of murdering their supposedly goody two shoes girlfriend. Before someone could make their way over to me, though, and create false accusations, I thudded on up the first set of stairs in sight.

Up the stairs, there were plenty of open spaces, all of which were furnished with a seat or two, and leading towards bedrooms. This wasn't the place for me, either, but I was here for all of 5 minutes, and I couldn't ditch Brandon just yet.

"Are you Lucas Emerson?"

The voice that I heard made me jump out of my own skin, from such sudden surprise. I didn't presume that I was recognizable, due to the fact that I was wearing a peacoat for the very first time, and my signature honey coloured quiff was a honey disaster. 

"Yes?" My entire figure gyrated to where the sound came from, only for me to see a petite, girl. Her lips were microscopic, and her hair was a platinum blonde bob. You could tell that she soaked herself in expensive perfume before coming to the party. She basically resembled a Barbie doll, only, Barbies had bigger lips than she did. 

"You're a killer."

The remark made me cringe. It was words and names like killer that made my stomach burn with depression and anger. It messed with my state of mind, it made me clench my fists, it made my temples throb in irritation. It was something that even though I dreaded it with every single ounce of me, I had no option but to face it, every single day.

The words spat from the girl's lips, spewing with hatred. Her accent was posh, and it was kind of funny, because she had the appeal of a 12 year old.

I replied to her ignorant comment with a chuckle, to try and show her that it didn't bother me, even though it did. "I'm not a killer."

Then, I regret making it seem like it didn't bother me, because what if she thought it made me seem proud of killing Eva, even though I didn't? That'd suck, a lot.

"Yes, you are." The blonde huffed. Her skinny arms folded over her flat chest, and she looked me from my knocks to my dampened quiff. "You killed Eva."

"You say her name like you knew her, but I'd know if you did." There was attitude in my blatant disregard to her words. I yanked the peacoat off of my body, and sat myself in a single recliner seat.

"Doesn't matter, murdering killer. Would you have killed me too, huh? Hm."

I couldn't help but laugh this time, because the girl had downright proved her idiocy with the words she'd just spoken.

"Murderer and killer are the same thing."

"No. Like, there's a difference between taking the life of an animal and a human."

"Nope," I shook my head. "I'd be a murderer if I killed an animal, just like I'd be a murderer if I killed a human. But, I haven't. Don't you believe in animal rights, Barbie?"

With another huff, out of what I can only imagine was aggravation, the blonde stared at me, her body language shifting. "I have a name, you know. It's Genesis."

"Doesn't matter, Blondie."

And, with my words, Genesis stomped downstairs, into the same wave Brandon had entered.

After about an hour's worth of flashy insults, decrepit glares, and constant buzz about me being at a party where I don't belong, I went on a search for Brandon.

It didn't take me long to find the dark haired boy; he was in the center of the vast and packed living room, grinding himself into the cleft of a smaller male's arse. His lips were trailing sloppy kisses down the skin of the smaller boy's neck, and Brandon dragged him my way, probably trying to get an open bedroom with him, but I quickly stopped that.

"Brandon, you're cheating on me?!" I asked jokingly as the pair walked past. Clearly, they didn't notice me, because they were too eager with each other, but the moment I spoke, the younger male's head perked up and he gave a rough glare to Brandon. "I thought we had something special..."

The whole time, I was joking. Never had I sufficed romantic feelings for my best friend, nor would I, due to my sexual preference, and the fact that he's my closest friend. I just wanted him to myself for the moment, hoping I could convince him to leave with me.

Quickly, the smaller boy darted into the crowd, and Brandon laughed it off at me. "Good one, did you come up with that one on the spot?"

"Nah. Can we crumble, though? I'm getting some serious anxiety."

"One more dance. If I see you on the floor, we can crumble." With a large smirk, Brandon nodded his head once, before he again disappeared into the wave of people.

I didn't go onto the dance floor, in fear of actually suffering from an anxiety attack. But, I did watch the figures that were roaming the dance floor.

Brandon consoled the boy he was near fucking, obviously he'd told him the truth of what had gone on, and they were soon dancing again. Some couples were showing their love to each other in the rhythm of their grinding hips, and others who had just met on this night were showing their lust and hormonal status in the angst filled movements of their sexual dances. Even when Eva and I were like this, I never understand or felt what everyone else did. Maybe it was because I no longer held feelings for her after our first two months, or maybe it was because there was never anything there in the first place. But, there was one thing in particular that caught my eye — more like one girl.

In the middle of the floor, one nervous girl began to spin around. Feathers dropped from the ceiling of the massive room, and the black haired girl danced around in them. She spun, a grin on her face, and I think that the only reason the beauty was doing this was to rid herself of anxiety, like I should have been doing.

She was gorgeous. From what I could see, she had eyes the colour of sapphire stones, that had sparks of lavender flickering through the irises. Her body wasn't too slim or model thin like every other girl here, either, but just the most beautifully carved figure I'd seen. Her lips were plump and makeup free, and sported a large smile. But, as I stared, her beautiful orbs of colour met my own, and that moment was absolutely priceless.

- fem trash ( n o v a )