Roofies

Flashback #15

F      U       N

11:37 p.m.

16 December 2015

The music pumped in her ears, hand on his chest, she swayed herself to the beat. A can of beer was gripped by the lanky boy as he wrapped his arm around the girl. Cropped brown hair decorated his face; eyes in shades of blue followed her moves with the stealth of a predator eyeing his prey. He knew the game she was playing, and he was more than willing to fulfill his part in them.

The fact that her heart didn't flutter the way it did when she was around Pretty Boy had lost her concern. She was immersed in the game she had begun, hoping to win in the end. The idea of being around something that didn't cause her wanton feelings to flare attracted her as a mouth to fire.

She was ready to be a part of this game. She needed to be a part.

Hands gripping the boy's hair, she brought his face to hers. He provided a good distraction with his charismatic smiles and talks; the fact that he was a good kisser had been an added bonus. She needed someone to forget the happenings of the previous day; to calm the uproar Pretty Boy and Z had left in her already shambled life.

He didn't have any demands, and she required that for one day. She had enough demands to last her for her life time with them in her life as it was.

The boy slowly drew away from her, a sly smile danced on his lips as he quietly suggested his plans of shifting their game to one of the bedrooms in this house. Pulling herself against him, Rory Sandsburg softly mumbled her agreement with a smirk on her lips.

Tugging onto the boy's hand, she led him upstairs, where she was sure to find a room, when she let herself slip in her dark and twisty memory lane. Her hands still holding tightly on the boy, Jackson she guessed, she recalled what had happened last night.

She recalled the frost weather of December of Manhattan that always left trails of goose bumps on her skin. The way she had seen Sebastian King all haphazard; the dark circles more prominent and hair wet with sweat. He had wanted to meet her right away after his gym classes or something, she couldn't remember it.

She could hear his voice ringing in her ears as he yelled at her for fucking her life up. The way he proceeded to explain that she had been trying so fucking hard to kill herself with her smoking and drinking habits. The way she had decided that everything shitty and messy in her life to be her top most priority.

She could almost feel the way he was trying to weasel into the workings of her life with his scathing manner  when he suddenly mentioned the cutting. The scars he had seen on her wrist a few days back. Remembered the way he angrily shoved the sleeves of her sweater back to display the said scars – scars she had been successfully hiding for years – for the world to see; for him to glare at.

She remembered how he told her categorically not to cut her arms. To stop trying to murder herself without listening to her pleas or thoughts about matters he shouldn't have been barging on.

She hated it all; hated every single bit of it.

So, she ran away to another one of her frat parties, where she could drink till she couldn't remember and forget everything. She was tired of his comments without knowing the big picture. She was distraught and upset, and the boy here was something she needed for her sanity than for fun.

Because if she didn't, she would end up believing that Pretty Boy was right about her having suicidal tendencies. After all, cutting her arms or smoking didn't mean she wanted to end herself, they just provided her the solace she sought for.

But she doubted that now.

"Are we doing this or not?" He tugged on her hand, pulling her by her waist towards him, consequently shattering her thoughts.

"Yeah," she hesitated for a second before reiterating her confirmation.

She let go of her inhibitions; of the demon prancing in her mind to the game.

To the        f       u        n       .