Dark Dreams

RUM AND TEARS

I was struggling to know what to say, or rather, what to do. Now dozens of photos had been taken. I saw Jay in the crowd. He was near Dickson and, between sips of their cocktails, they couldn't hold back their laughter.

"Stop..." I said softly.

The laughter became ever louder.

"I hate you!" I screamed, fleeing in tears.

I ran like lightening down the hallway that led to the front door, which closed forcefully behind me once I'd left the hell that fate had created for me - both literally and figuratively, given my costume.

I dragged my feet over the gravel that covered the ground, trying to get my body as far as possible from the door. The continuous howling and the long, threatening branches of the trees in the forest surrounding the house made me change my mind.

I opted for the back of the house, which overlooked the lake. I threw myself like a dead weight onto the damp grass, facing the lake, which was illuminated by the yellow and blue lights of a gangway that led to a floating bungalow.

Of all the costumes of the world, I had to choose a devil in red leather? A nun or a clown would have been a less lamentable choice. I was already imagining my photo on social networks and as a fixed post on the wall of "Union Hills Buzz", the Facebook page for school gossip.

I let myself slide backwards, stretching out on the grass. The big black clouds in the sky reflected my mood. The temperature was dropping and, in addition to giving me an annoying itch, my costume wasn't warm at all. I would have put on the clothes I was wearing when I left home, but I had given them to the clerk, since they didn't fit in the bag.

What a great move!

But that was the last of my problems. My plan hadn't worked. Instead of making friends with someone I'd managed to become an even greater laughing stock.

What was the point of going home?

Knowing my bad luck, my mother would be aware of the photos and, at the very least, would make me move to another city.

"Hey, Daisy. What are you doing on the ground?"

My view of the sky was obscured by Dickson's head.

I sat up while he watched me, amused.

"And where should someone be like me?" I asked, drying my tears.

"Come on, don't be a drama queen," he said, sipping liquid from the large bottle that he had in one hand, while the other held a white Dior bag.

"Don't be a drama queen?!" I yelled, putting my hands in my hair. "Have you seen how I'm dressed?! I should have known that Katrina has eyes everywhere. I always said she was a witch. Maybe she's spying on us right now!"

"Of course, you don't have my dress sense," he said, looking down at his black made-to-measure suit, paired with a lightweight gray turtleneck sweater, "but I wouldn't insult a red leather bodysuit. Even if you're missing something..."

"What?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"A pitchfork! What kind of devil are you?!" He scolded me, shrugging.

"Don't make me laugh," I said, secretly scratching my thigh.

I really wanted to take off the stupid costume, which was irritating my skin like a patch of nettles.

"I wasn't trying to make you laugh. I was criticizing you. If you do something... at least do it well," he said, running a hand through his hair, which was as dark as the night that enveloped us. "How did you get the password?"