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I eye myself in the mirror. Up. Down. And back again. It’s so strange what a change in clothing can do for someone.
Tasha sees me checking myself out and smiles. “Girl, if you don’t walk out of that party with at least three cocks trying to poke you, then those bastards are blind and their penises are broken.”
I giggle. Her words are crude, but also make me feel like the young college student I’m supposed to be. Tasha does my makeup and hair, curling the ends slightly. By the time she’s done, I feel like a completely different person.
I stare at my reflection. My parents would never approve of the woman I am right now. They’d never approve of the clothes, the makeup, or the hair, and this fact alone leaves me feeling guilty.
It’s hard to leave old habits when they’ve been your structure of life forever. But that guilt dissipates when my thoughts turn to Hero. What would he think if he saw me?
“If you’re done drooling over your own reflection, can we go?”
I roll my eyes as a bubble of laughter escapes my red painted lips. “Yes, Tasha, we can go. God forbid the dicks get there before you do.”
Tasha gasps as her hand clutches her chest. “Did you just say dicks? Sweet baby Jesus, I’ve officially corrupted you!”
Her words earn her another eye-roll as we head out of the dorm toward the frat houses on University Street.
Music blasts through the speakers as we walk into the “football” house. According to Tasha, it’s where all the football players live, and from the looks of it, I believe her. The place smells of beer and sweat, but that could just be all the bodies and beer sloshing around. Tasha pulls me through the crowd toward the kitchen. There are bottles of liquor everywhere, beer cans, and red solo cups.
Breathe, Elyse. It’s just a party.
Forcing air into my lungs, I watch as Tasha tells some guy manning the drinks what we want.
He scoffs at her, but winks at me when my eyes lift to his.
He’s cute enough, but he’s not Hero. I shake the thought away. I don’t even know him. He could be a mass murderer.
The guy in front of me hands me a cup filled with red liquid. My nose wrinkles as I smell the drink before taking a sip of it. As soon as I taste it, I want more. The flavor explodes against my tongue. I’ve never tasted something so delicious before. But I don’t even get a moment to enjoy the rest of my drink because a hand comes out of nowhere, slapping my cup from my grasp.
The colorful, fruity liquid spills all over my clothes and the floor.
“Are you fucking stupid?”
I don’t even need to turn around to see where that hand or voice came from. The hair stands up on the back of my neck and goosebumps spread out all over my skin.
It’s him.
I stare down at my empty hand, still forming a half circle as if the glass hadn’t vanished.
What just happened?
“I asked you a question. Are you stupid? Don’t you know you never drink anything a guy hands you at a party?” he snarls.
I lift my gaze to his. His eyes are dark and look almost black as his eyebrows pull together in anger. He looks past me, scanning the room for something.
Confusion settles into my brain. A second later, he finds whatever or whoever, because his eyes go from dark to midnight black as he steps past me, zeroing in on the guy who made my drink.
Like a wild animal on the hunt, he walks over to him.
The guy turns, and his eyes fill with pure fear as Hero wraps his hand wrapped around his throat.
“Please, man,” he begs, his voice nothing more than a wheeze.
Hero swings back his free arm and his fist connects with the guy’s cheekbone at full force. I’m halfway across the room, but I swear I can hear the bone crunch.
The guy’s eyes roll back, and his whole body goes limp. With a loud thud, he hits the floor.
The room goes quiet, and all eyes are on Hero. My mouth is still hanging wide open as Hero makes his way back toward me.
Fear is a real emotion, and one I’m feeling it to the core. I take a small step back for every one of his large strides, like I would have a chance to get away. It’s such a silly thought, but one I’d consider if my eyes would remain focused for less than half a second.
A moment later, his hands are around my arms. He’s ushering me through a door and outside.
My feet can barely keep up with his rushed pace. If it weren’t for his strong hold on me, I would have fallen on my face by now. “What was wrong with the drink and where are you taking me?” I ask, when I realize he’s walking in the opposite direction of my dorm.
