Pranking the Bad Boy

What did I get myself into?

I pressed my hands tightly against my ears, trying to block out the insanely loud music thumping from the speakers. I looked around, my gray eyes scanning the crowded room for the green headed boy that was my best friend. I sighed, my tippy toes were aching from standing on them for too long in hopes that I would find the green haired idiot amongst the sweaty, dancing teenagers. I wanted to kill him, just to put it simply. I could've been at home, snuggled in bed, and binge watching shows till I fell asleep, but here I am, at a stupid party that Dylan forced me to go to, wasting a perfectly good Friday night. And in the end he just left me to fend for myself. The audacity.

I collected my messy brown hair into a bun at the top of my head with one of the emergency hair bands I always kept on my wrist, sick of it getting in my face and sticking at the back of my neck. I spun on my heals and pushed my way through the crowd, ignoring all the annoyed glares that I was receiving. I needed fresh air, and fast. I felt like I was suffocating. I hated crowds, and my anxiety was getting the best of me.

Breathe Freya, just breathe. And don't punch the dude that just touched you.

But his hand was sticky...Ew.

Don't think about it! You're almost there! 

Why am I talking to myself like that?

No, but seriously, why was his hand so sticky?

Stop thinking, just stop.

 I finally made it to the main door and hurriedly stepped outside, taking a huge gulp of fresh air, trying to calm down. I leaned against the smooth brick wall, and tried to ignore the couple that were swapping saliva near me.

Why couldn't I be at home blessing my eyes with pictures of the beautiful man that goes by the name Dylan O'Brien?

Oh yeah, Dylan (the green haired one), I can't wait to be able to wrap my hands around his ne-

"Freya! There you are!" A familiar voice screamed, interrupting me from my thoughts, and I was instantly drowning in a mess of black curls. I grabbed the girl's shoulders and tried to pull her away from me, begging to be released from her tight grip.

" Gina," I groaned,"I can't breathe." She finally pulled away and giggled, booping my nose, making me roll my eyes in amusement. She was drunk, I could tell from the silly smile plastered on her face.

" Dylan told me to get you so we could play truth or dare!" She exclaimed with a bit too much enthusiasm, and I raised my eyebrows at her. Before I could disagree, she grabbed my hand, and dragged me back into the party, staggering a bit in her drunken state, earning a groan of annoyance from me.

Oh, that's the dude with the sticky hand.

I willed myself to forget about the incident, and focused on all the ways I could torture Dylan.

Should I cut his dingaling into little pieces with a spoon and feed it to him? Or should I shove the pieces up his ass, along with the spoon?

 I tried my best to apologize to everyone I kept bumping into, but gave up after losing count. Gina kept her hand tightly wrapped around my wrist as she dragged me into a room with less people, and I breathed out a sigh of relief. 

I easily spotted a head of messy, slightly long, green hair, and pulled my hand away from Gina's tight grip, rubbing my wrist. Even when drunk, she still had a death grip.

I stomped my way over to Dylan, wanting nothing more than to give him a piece of my mind. He was sat crisscrossed in the middle of the room, with a beer bottle in his hand, and some of his friends around him, chatting casually, as if he didn't just leave his best friend to die in a crowd of drunk, horny teenagers.