Page 18 of Shamed
Scratching my arm, I stand, watching everyone for another minute before internally shaking my head.
Get it together.Tryto have some fun.
My lungs feel tight as I attempt sucking in a fortifying breath, but I force the air in, regardless. I could really use a drink right now—water, not alcohol—but I don’t know if that’s even an option here. I guess there’s only one way to find out.
Finally moving from the spot I’ve occupied since stepping through the door, I go in search of the kitchen.
Slipping between people, I make my way in the direction of the light I can see on the other side of the apartment.
Witches, guys in Scream masks, Freddy Kreuger, and many other costumes pass by in a blur, some trying to get my attentionby touching me. I flinch away from their hands and ignore them all.
The kitchen is less packed than the rest of the place, but still a few people linger, pouring drinks or chatting. I look around in search of a bottle of water, but I come up empty. Even the sink is filled to the brim with ice and drinks, so you can’t maneuver a cup under the tap.
Sighing, I lean my hip against the counter, making sure to avoid the sticky areas from spilled drinks.
“Look at what the pirate ship dragged in. Haven’t seen you around much lately.”
Somewhere between the beats of the song, the chatting and laughing, and the general chaos inside this apartment, I recognize that voice.
Head swinging to the right, my gaze lands on none other than Dylan. You’d think I’d be relieved to see a familiar face—especially with him working with my father a lot—but the feeling never comes. My shoulders never loosen, and my guard stays up.
He’s wearing a clown suit with nothing but a creepy red smile painted on. I step back and give a small wave since I don’t want to be close to him.
Dylan’s arm is wrapped around the waist of a clearly drunk girl dressed as a ladybug, with glazed-over eyes and a lopsided smile. I wonder if she even knows what she’s doing.
His eyes run over me as if he were inspecting my outfit, only it feels wrong, gross. “Pants. Smart move . . . less easy access.”
A choked breath escapes me, and I feel myself leaning further away, my nails stabbing into my palms.
With his free hand, Dylan lifts a red solo cup, offering it to me with a glint in his eyes. “You look like you need a drink.”
My skin prickles again as I stare at the thing with dread, like the cup itself is evil. I shake my head immediately. The last time I drank out of a cup like that . . .
“It’s just a drin—”
“I don’t want it.”
Dylan, not seeming to care the least bit about what he might be triggering just shrugs. “Whatever.” Then he starts walking away, guiding his stumbling girl to what I suspect is the hallway to some bedrooms.
A full body shiver runs over me, and I realize my hands are shaking.
Swallowing, I look back at the crowd. I don’t see the girls anywhere.
God, I don’t want to be here. I feel uncomfortable. On edge. Seconds away from losing it.
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath to try to calm myself. But that same breath is knocked out of my lungs in the next second when a hard body boulders into me, spilling liquid all over my chest.
“Aw, fuuuck. I’m sorry,” the guy slurs. “Let me get that for you.” He reaches for my chest with his bare hand, as if it can somehow soak it up, but I step back, terrified. “What’s your p-problem. I was juss tryna help you.”
Another guy joins him, and together, they stand in front of me, looking formidable. “What the fuck’s going on?”
“She was being a bissch.”
Ears ringing, I curl inwards. The space around me shrinks, the lights too bright, the noise too loud.
Trapped.I’m trapped. Helpless. Alone.
Without a second thought, I push past the two guys and everyone else in my path to race to the front door, shoving it open once I reach it.
