𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭

5 | sweet on the tongue

4 years ago

Hands.

There are so many of them, tiptoeing over sweaty skin like scavengers. The ghosts of fingertips past cloud Yates's skin as he wades through the oscillating crowd, a ringing in his ears. It's a tornado, destruction dancing alongside the crowd's path as they suck him in, trapping him in a web of sweaty bodies and wandering eyes. Red strobe lights slide down the walls, pooling on the floor like wavering blood, off and on. Music throbs through the building like a heartbeat, loud and constant and fast. This was all Dafne's fault, Yates tracking her down like a bloodhound, incredibly pissed. Tonight was supposed to be for them.

It was the day of The Sterling's debut. They were a small band, only four members: Dafne, Emina, Rayyan, and him. Their year of grueling training had ended a few weeks ago, the first album currently in production, and Dafne was already getting ahead of herself. The blonde had dragged them to this party to celebrate, although even Emina was against the idea. They were supposed to be watching a Pitch Perfect and gorging themselves on snacks from the gas station, but now Yates was stuck in tight pants and a random girl's embrace.

"Dafne, you whore!" he yelled out, glimpsing her blonde hair, terribly bleached and stringy. She turned, her eyes widening. She was draped against a girl in fishnets and sharp eyeliner, who promptly shoved her off as she saw Yates's livid expression, burrowing deeper into the crowd. Dafne pursed her lips, upset as she watched him stalk towards her. Yates shoved through the crowd with no mercy, shackling her hands together with his grip.

"What? Is Emina fucking someone behind my back?" she asks. Dafne blinks, a shower of eyeshadow dripping down her cheeks in pure, glittery, carnage.

"You broke up- that's not the point. Let's go."

Dafne shrugs herself out of his grip. "No!" She shakes her head, crossing her arms as she eyes the taller male. "It's Gwen, isn't it?" She comes in close, cupping Yate's face in her hands and resting her forehead on his. Their noses brush. "You've forgotten how to have fun, boo! Loosen up! The wretch can't touch you here." She pulls away, rapping on his temples. "Welcome to Dafne rehab, I'll be your therapist. Come on, lemme get you something." She tugged him along to a table of cups and assorted drinks. She poured him a sour smelling beer, pressing it into his hand. "It's good for the soul, baby."

"Says the bitch that's seventy percent alcohol and thirty redbull." He takes a gulp anyway, trying not to gag.

Dafne notices his expression twitch, laughing. "Oh my god, you've become a lightweight." He's about to retort when he holds a hand up. "Wait- baby, have you gotten used to that fancy champagne?"

Yates rolls his eyes. "The cham is silent."

The blonde takes a moment to process this, letting out a heave when she gets the joke. "You're so fucking dumb." Yates gives her an artificial grin. Dafne shakes her head. "Fine, let's go." She leads the brunette up a set of stairs. The house looked like it used to be nice, beneath the thin layers of vomit and sheen of sweat staining the curving banister. Silhouettes dance in corners, fleeting. Yates sees them run, and once he turns his head, there's nothing there but a man-made wind that nips at his clothes. "-and they're so rich. They're like..your kind of rich." Dafne rambles.

"This is what happens when you get hundreds of repressed, semi-famous twenties somethings in a single house."

She looks back at him, serious. "Yeah. Hell." Dafne tugs at the collar of her shirt as she walks. "Hot too."

"What are the others doing?"

"They chickened out way before you. I think Emina is crying- or Ray. I don't remember."