//Rafe Cameron\\
"You don't make deals with the devil, not unless you want to dance with him and maybe I did"
Lily Grant has spent her whole life slumming it with the pogues, being that she is one.
They're her day ones, her best friends. Life coul...
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I brush my fingers over my neck, happy to see the bruising has fully faded and even the ugly greenish after tones have disappeared too. They were almost fully gone before the party, enough to wear I could cover them with makeup to hide from Sarah and Kie but they are faded now.
The party is a blur..a vodka infused blur. I remember drinking, my memories dance with a coldness on my skin from the pool. Although I hardly remember swimming. I remember making out with Sarah and the rush of adrenaline that flooded through me. It wasn't the first time we've drunk kissed but it was the first time it set me on fire. Although it wasn't kissing her that did it..it was knowing Rafe was watching. It didn't anger him that I kissed her, but the people watching us did. My idea to climb up on the table only formed after I saw his reaction. He didn't like the attention that was on us. The eyes of the guys around us watching us like we were something to eat.
I could tell by heat in his gaze and the way the muscles in his jaw flexed as he clenched it. Knowing the attention I was drawing to us made him angry is what flickered the thought to climb up on the table and put myself right in the spot light. If he didn't want people watching me I would make sure they did.
I remember the fire burning on my skin and in my core, watching the red flare in his eyes as he told me to get down and I didn't listen, only continued to see just how far he'd let it go on. I had every intention to give into the shouts and chants and take my top off and I would have if he hadn't stopped me. I would still like to know what he'd done if I had taken it off.
The fire of pissing him off only erupts to my core as I remember. Remember grinding against his lap as he let me come, I can feel the warmth of his mouth on my neck just trying to recall it. It's all a spiraling blur, the memory of burning liquor on my tongue quickly turns into the sour taste of bitterness from throwing up. It gets splotchy from there, something about braiding hair. I woke up in his bed with my hair in a braid but I don't know if it was from the night before, it couldn't have been because I remember it sticking to my skin as I pushed it around, it falling in front of my eyes as I watched him grow angrier and angrier at me up on the table.
He was gone by the time I woke up. Only left me a note on the bedside table that said Get lost
I was in too much misery to even comprehend that he brought me to his room and let me sleep in his bed. But the second my hangover faded I racked and racked my brain over it. I only wish I wasn't so drunk so I could remember what exactly took place in between the blotches of blankness in my memory.
