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I looked around the space and saw Luna standing in a corner with some guy, giggling like an idiot. Mustering up my breath, I went up to her, and tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around, her red lips falling into a line.
“Hey, sorry to bother you,” I said in thesweetestvoice I could, “haveyou seen Eric around?”
She nodded to the kitchen, then turned her back to me without a word.
“Okay, thanks!” I peeped, turning around. Bitch.
So he was in the kitchen. I pushed my way out of the living room, almost getting caught in the middle of a pillow fight. When I poked my head into the kitchen, it was empty except for a girl gagging in the sink with the supervision of her friend.
“Jesus,” I muttered under my breath, reaching for my phone. “Whereisthis motherfucker?”
Hey,I texted Eric.Where are you?
I sank down against the kitchen doorframe, staring at the screen for two, three,thenfive minutes. Nothing.
Sorry I pushed you away,I tried. Another couple minutes, and no response.
I looked up at the mass of bodies swaying, jumping, colliding and falling against one another, and got to my feet. Before I knew it, I was back at the punch bowl, serving myself a clean sixteen ounces of fruity liver damage.
“Fuck it,” I muttered, and knocked it back.
It came flying back out my mouth.
I bent over the floor, raking the nasty taste off my tongue with my teeth and slammed the cup back on the table. Picking strands of hair out of my mouth, I straightened back up, and headed toward the staircase.
Should’ve heeded Jason’s gag as a warning.
I clutched the rail of the staircase and started climbing to the second floor. I’d already come all the way to this shitty party—the least I could do to make it up to myself was check the upstairs for the one who got away.
The music became a muffled merge of synths and screams as I stepped into the narrow hallway. There were only four doors, and one of them had to be a bathroom. More of the frat guys must’ve lived in the basement.
The first door to my left was open a crack. I moved toward it and peeked through.
The closer my face came to the wood, the clearer it became to me that someone was getting a little too lucky. Rolling my eyes, I pulled away from the door, and was about to head back downstairs when I heard a voice.
“Fuck, Vivian.” I froze.
It wasn’t.
It couldn’t be him.
Something sick inside me—envy—caused me to crouch back down next to the door and steal a glance through the crack.
It was him.
Eric.
His body rose and fell over bed covers that weren’t his, in a girl that wasn’t me. Her stream of hair quivered over the mattress edge. His grunts were punctuated by her gasps, that high as fuck voice that only blonde sluts could fake.
Purple’s my favorite color.
Bastard.
I ripped myself away from the door and dashed down the stairs. I wasn’t shocked, to be honest. She was his type, and he was hers.
As tears filled my eyes, all I saw was his face, green eyes, stark white skin, jaw sculpted like a statue’s. Elliot, Eric—they were too good for me. They were always too good for me.
Tearing my ponytail loose, I pushed my way through the crowd and onto the porch, desperate for air. Before I could slam my back against the wall again, tears rushed down my cheeks, sharp against my skin like hot iron.
