I watch my reflection swallow back the violet pills. The fluorescent light in the bathroom washes out my skin, hallows out my eyes, and makes the mane of auburn hair, tangled around my face, look dirty. Meeting the mirror's face, I wipe the blood out from under my nose, and exit stage right.
Just by opening the door, I enter another world. The party is loud. The room is vibrating and shaking with the sea of people crammed into it. There's dancing, and drinking, and smoking, and singing. I stand and observe. I see my fellow classmates and blurred faces swap spit, cigarettes, alcohol, and blunts. The room is dark, save for the blacklight in the back corner, by the stereo that's playing some god awful music. I decide to be a martyr no less, and join the crowd. I'm pushed and shoved, this way and that. The music switches, a better song thumps and moves through my body. I feel heavy hands on my slim hips, guiding me. The stench of vomit tinges the air, mixed with sweat, and the scent of my own blood.
"Wanna go upstairs?" a throaty voice says too loudly into my ear. I nod my head, feel his grimy hand wrap around my own, and steer me from the room.
See, what you don't know about me, is that I'm a puppet. Not to just one specific puppeteer, but to the world. Any psychologist would chalk it up to being an abandoned child, or having a chemical embalance in my mother's womb far before I was even born, so really, it's not my fault. But it is. I made myself this way.
"I think you're really pretty," the guy holding my hand said, turning his face to mine over his shoulder. I took him in. Scruffy face, tan skin, long black hair, a leather jacket. The protocall look for The Bad Boy, though it didn't phase me. I was used to his type. I was used to all the types.
I smiled, and squeezed his hand. His brown eyes were glazed and half open. He wouldn't know if he was holding his own mother's hand.
"So are you," my voice always sounded so strange. It wasn't high pitched or low, somewhere in between, with the forever-present twang of growing up in Lousianna did to it.
The hallway was more crowded than the last room I had been in. People were everywhere, all of them practically nude, or soon on the way to be. I followed the boy up the grand spiral staircase, and into an empty bedroom on the left. The lights were off, and they stayed that way as he tripped over the threshold, pulling me down with him. His wet, salty lips searched for mine as his cold hand traced my hip bone. A deep laugh at the back of his throat entered my mouth, along with his tongue, as he picked me up in one arm.
"I've been watching you all night," he groaned, tugging at the hem of my sleeveless shirt. "You're really cute."
"Watching me, have you? Should I be creeped out?" I teased, sliding over his leg, and crashing onto the soft bed. He fell down beside me, entangling his arms around my back.
"Take off your clothes, already, little whore," he sighed, gripping my arm. His face loomed closer and closer, burying it in my neck.
"Excuse me, but that's my arm," I deadpanned, pulling away from him and rolling off the bed. He tried to follow. His leg went limp and he snatched at the air. His eyes were furious as he slurred profanities.
There was a knock on the door. Taking that as my cue to run away. I bolted from the room, leaving the guy fumbling around on the floor, trying hard to come after me.
Contact. It was like hitting a stone wall. Tall, hard, and sturdy. Someone's back was to me, and I hit it.
"Good God," someone cursed, crouching down to me on the floor. I felt blood sliding down my nose, onto my lip. The damn thing. I tucked my feet underneath me, and regained my balance.
"Oh, hi,"
My eyes flicked open. And closed. I had to blink twice before setting my sights on him again. God, he was gorgeous. Bronzed hair pushed over his scalp, showing off a smooth lined, honey skinned face. Curious hazel eyes peered at me through long, thick, wet lashes. Water droplets dripped from his chin. I saw the plastic, now emtpy, red cup lying beside me. His red lips twitched into a sort of half smile, lopsided perfectly, smirking at me with white, straight teeth. The golden flecked eyes rested on my bleeding nose, and the grin vanished. Thick, shaped eyebrows furrowed. He outstretched his piano-playing perfect fingers to my skin.
"That was some spill," I mumbled, wiping my nose, and standing. He was much, much taller than I. Roughly eleven inches. I titled my face to his, and suddenly became aware of his friends, in the background, laughing at me.
"Cheap humor," I snapped at the blur of bodies to his back. The snickering stopped.
"Is your nose okay?" he asked, concerned. Nodding, I turned and tried running away from the smirking faces.
"Woah, wait up," he called rushing behind me as I slid through the bathroom door, again for the second night.
His slender body squeezed in after mine, closing and locking the door behind him. He brushed past me. Immediately, he went to the medicine cabinet, the one I looked like a corpse in, grabbed tissues and ran the faucet, checking for warm water before handing me the paper. His fingers were fast and graceful, brushing over the things that weren't necessary, and flitting through the air. Those dark red lips were being bit at with those white straight teeth. Breathing, finally, he took a seat on the closed toilet lid, and waited. I stood, stunned, with the tissue, when realizing he was helping instead of hurting me. I blotted the blood away from my face, embarrassed, and pathetically grinned.
"Well, thanks, doc,"
That beautiful face lit up with a smile. My breath caught in my throat. The hazel in his eyes gleamed, shining with his grin. The honey color of his skin warmed, smooth and perfect, even in the horrid fluorescent lighting.
