The Degenerates - Under Edit

t h r e e

"You're following me," he said in a low voice.

Neijla paused, "No."

His face was stone as she pushed past, suddenly very aware of his eyes on her. Eventually, she turned back around to see him still standing there. "Who are you?

He didn't answer, so she fixed her jacket. She felt suddenly embarrassed; he was watching her.

Neijla shifted uncomfortably, "What?"

A series of sudden, loud explosions rang through the room, and Neijla looked over the staircase to a wide window on the next floor up. Fireworks. Neijla suddenly ascended the stairs, wanting to see them, and she rested her palms on the windowsill as the fireworks exploded into a colourful crescendo in the night sky.

She suddenly remembered seeing the boys' carrying boxes around the side of the house.

At the same time, she was acutely aware that he must have followed her up the stairs. Without turning around, she said; "Now you're following me."

"You smell like cheap vodka."

Neijla threw herself around, forgetting the fireworks and noticed him standing in the corner of the landing, half his body shadowed. Now, she was angry. Before she could respond, he stepped out of the shadow and into fuller light, illuminating his face, which had a scar through his dark left eyebrow.

"There's a cabinet on the third floor. That's where they hide the better stuff."

Neijla didn't know whether she was being insulted or not as she ran a hand up her forearm. He jutted his head up the stairway, "There's a window with a better view."

Without question, Neijla followed as if she was entranced. Normally she hated being told what to do, but it was as if her legs had minds of their own.

"Do you live here?" she asked.

He shook his head, "No."

He wasn't lying when Neijla arrived on the third floor. There was a wall made entirely of glass that faced the mountains. Rows and rows of trees lined the surface, and Neijla could only imagine what it looked like in the daytime. She approached the window and let her eyes be captivated by the finishing lot of fireworks.

Neijla and her new acquaintance were silent for several minutes, and Neijla wondered if Sasha got home okay.

"Who are you?" she asked again.

His voice was as dark as the clothes he wore, "Who are you?"

Neijla turned to face him as he half smiled. For a second, his harsh face wasn't so harsh anymore. His eyes met hers and Neijla felt impatient, "Fine,"

He didn't reply and she grew tiresome of his blank persona, as well as the noise of this party. "I've got to go," she said, and she turned away from the window approaching the staircase for the millionth time this evening.

"What's your name?"

Neija stopped, turning her head to the side, and he had moved to the doorway. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

This time, he answered. "Trey,"

She bit her lip. "Neijla."

Neijla had gotten him to answer and it was a small win, but the familiar tingle of impending thrill trickled through her mind like hot lava running down the mountain side.

She hopped off the last step without looking back. Neijla emerged from the rowdy bunch of students and made it out the door. It hasn't rained, against all odds, but the ground was still dewy and slippery. It was dead quiet outside, most likely because the noise from the house took most of the attention. As she walked further away, the noise started to drown out a little.