Defile Me

thirteen: invitation

IVY

"REMIND ME WHY we're passing out these envelopes again?"

I smiled, handing off another white envelope, stamped off with a perfect rose gold wax seal. "Because.. they're for Cole's party."

She hummed, the circle closing in, the crowd of students itching for an invitation to — unbeknownst to their knowledge — Cole's birthday party. "A party for..?"

I ticked my tongue. "Don't play dumb, his birthday is this weekend. I'm throwing a surprise party for him."

"Ah.. yes and nothing screams surprise more than publicly handing out invitations to his party at a school which he attends."

Her daily constructive criticism may sometimes be right but not this time. I had been sure of keeping everything under wraps; and yes, I know it's faulty for me to pass out invitations here but no one would peep a word.

If someone were to just inadvertently say something then they might regret it with the threat of their little reputation on the line.

"He won't find out, he isn't even here. He goes for a run every Wednesday morning."

"Why are you throwing this dickwad a party anyways?"

My lip tugged at the usage of words, "Well, that 'dickwad' happens to be my boyfriend. And it's his 18th birthday, it has to be special."

Lane didn't have a vendetta against Cole as much as it seemed. She just had her suspicions. But she was with that way with everyone, she had her suspicions about Melanie; and most times, I believe she still does.

"Special my ass."

I flared my eyes before handing off one last invitation to the person in front of me as the rest of the crowd dissipated into disappointment. "Guess that's all of them."

"You still got one invitation left, should we—"

I held my hands up, "No, no. That one is for you."

She looked at it for some time before shaking her head. "I'm good."

"What?"

"You know parties aren't typically my scene. Especially if it's one for that dickwad you call a boyfriend."

Her mind couldn't be changed. If she was set on something, there was no point in trying to convince her to change it. So, I didn't bother. "Fine, fine. But if you ever change your mind then—"

"I'll let you know. Yeah."

I squinted before walking off and rushed down the hall, I had meant to see my teacher — Ms. Dickson — about a grade in her class.

It was a B.

She was very strict and serious about our work. If we had made one little mistake, she would cut off 5 points.

As I kept up a speedy pace down the hall, something tightened around my arm within an instant; I was pulled into what I deduced was a janitor's closet — the room was filled with the smell of bleach — not a light in view.

My reflexes had given me the chance to lift my knee in an attempt to hit whoever had pulled me into this janitor's closet.

My feeble attempts were futile; easily blocked. I didn't stop with trying to kick them with my knee, I continued to defend myself against the anonymous person, my knuckle connecting with their face, a groan resulting in return.