The old church wasn’t particularly impressive in your opinion. It was broken down and inhospitable. No one would be spending time in it if it weren’t for them.  If it wasn’t for the promise of mild approval that they never give anyway. What was it about those four that brought out the worst of the residents in Thunder Bay? 

The breeze brushes against your bare legs and arms. Shivering as goosebumps rise from your skin, you quickly shrug the jacket back on. It was leather. It also wasn’t yours. 

An arm loops around yours suddenly and you startle, turning only to see your friend’s grinning face. She giggled at you, already tipsy from pregaming with your mother’s tequila and her own bottle. Something orange coloured and strong. How you found yourself friends with someone who downed two bottles of alcohol and still planning to drink more is beyond you. You couldn’t even bear the taste of wine most of the time. “Can you still stand?” You asked, but you knew she couldn’t because most of her weight was on you.

 You could smell the sharp stench of alcohol from her breath as she spoke, “Of course!” To prove her point she  pushed off you and tried to stand on her own. “Watch this,” she said. She wobbled and swayed but stayed standing. 

For about a second. 

Then, another breeze passes through and she tries to grab onto you only to miss. She starts to fall backwards, and you have half the mind to just let her, but your body makes a choice before your mind does. And you surge forward, pulling her steady. 

She heaves and you use your free hand to push her face away immediately. “If you puke on me, I’ll leave you for the coyotes to eat,” you threatened. She laughs, and you roll your eyes. Your heartbeat continues to be fast and a little unsteady, but it calms slightly when one of your other friends swoops in to save you. He takes her, one arm around her shoulders and while his other hand holds a bottle of beer. 

He motions for you to follow after them, as they move towards the crowded doors of St. Killian. You take a deep breath and follow. You’re afraid tonight. Of what might happen. Of what you might do. 

You clutch the jacket tighter around you, and step through the doors. 

~~~~~~~

Maybe you should’ve just done what you told your mother you'd be doing tonight. Watching a movie with friends, eating pizza and going to bed. But it’s sounding more like a distant dream now. 

You missed your bed. And you wish you were watching something more fun and lighthearted than what’s currently in front of you. If someone took a photo of it right now and told you it was from hell, you’d believe it. There were several people making out on the same wall you were up against. Some were even brave enough to do more than that. 

But was it really bravery if they were probably drunk and high out of their minds? 

Right across from you, people were playing beer pong. But it wasn’t beer in those cups. Not with the faces they keep making every time they make a shot. Just down the hall you could hear flesh hitting flesh. Were they having sex or fighting? The cheering makes you hope it’s the latter. Though, it could be either. 

Or both. 

Right in front of you, on a table, people were doing lines of something white. Pouring powder from a bag and lining them or smashing pills and forming a line. Smash. Pour. Line. Then, their head would go down for a second, and snap up and tilt back towards the ceiling. Eyes rolled back and an awed expression on their face. But you knew the look couldn’t properly show the euphoria they must be feeling. 

The music booms and overshadows the sound of your heart beating. The heavy drums beat like it’s your own heart instead, and you’ve since stopped hearing yourself think. 

Your friends were long gone, even though they promised to keep you company for the night. Your skin is sticky with humidity. Too many bodies sweating and rubbing up against each other.

 And your nose burns with the smell of sweat and perfume and alcohol and what seems like every scent in the world.

The lights flash above you. Purple, blue, red, and white. And some people were blowing smoke from the lit ends of their  cigarettes making the room stink and blur. 

You’d taken off the jacket you found about an hour ago, when the heat had first gotten to you. But it still felt like you were confined. In the clothes you still wore. 

In your skin. 

Someone bumps into you. Her arm is brushing against yours. Her skin also feels warm and sticky with sweat. She doesn’t mumble an apology. She doesn't even seem to notice you because she kept at it with whoever she’s with. She bumps into you again, and suddenly you're pushing past a set of doors and climbing down the steps. 

You sat down at the foot of the stairs. 

The air feels nice against your skin. Cool. But it still felt tight around you. Like wearing an itchy fabric you couldn’t shed. The air was a small reprieve. 

You breathed in and out. Shutting your eyes, and bringing your hands up to cover your ears to muffle the sounds. You felt like a child this way. Afraid and alone, wishing to be where your mom was. All the things your peers were doing tonight, and here you were covering your ears like a little kid.

 It’s silly.

You’re fine. You were fine. You were good. You were doing better than you expected. 

You’re fine. 

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

Your head snapped towards the noise. There, leaned against the wall with smoke curling from his lips and a cigarette caught between his fingers, Damon Torrance stood. He stared at you with a cold look. You stared back, forgetting to breathe. You haven’t looked into his eyes since freshman year. Once in your life.

Twice now. 

Your hands slowly fell from your ears. “Excuse me?” Your voice is quiet. Quieter than the music coming from the church. You were sure he didn’t hear you. Or that he would go on as if he didn’t. Like last time. “I’m fine,” you said. A little louder. 

“Yeah?” He asked, his eyebrow raised. His mask wasn’t on. Odd when he and his friends made a habit of  wearing masks during nights like these. You don’t actually get why they would. It wasn’t like people didn’t know who they were behind those masks. Nor were they ashamed of the acts they commit during these nights. They bragged about it. So why bother hiding your identity when you weren’t remorseful?

 You thought that if people were to do bad things, they should do it with their face in full sight. Face the consequence of every action. That’s what you would do.  It’s what you have to do when you’re not rich like they were. 

You raised your eyes up from where they had consciously lowered to the mask strapped to his hip. He was still looking at you like you. Staring you down like he knew what you were thinking. “This place isn’t for you,” he said. He pushes off the wall, tossing the cigarette he held, and you can’t bring yourself to stand up from where you sat at the steps. You sat still until he came to a stop right in front of you. His shadow looms over your entire body. You don’t look up. 

You keep your eyes casted down. “Aren’t these parties for everyone?” You asked. Even to you, it sounded outrageous. To accuse the horsemen of being all-inclusive. 

His shadow doesn’t move, but his voice sounds from above you. Low and raspy. A smoker’s voice. You knew that. You’ve watched him finish stick after stick these last few weeks. And you can smell it on him. It made your nose wrinkle. Having the stench so close to you. “No,” he said. 

You flinch when his hand reaches down to you. Fingers grabbing your chin and tilting your head up, so you would have to look at him. There’s a spark in his eyes. 

Alarm bells ring in your head. It was a dangerous look. It made his eyes darker somehow.

So dark it scared you; darkness was something easy to get lost in.

“It’s not for you,” he said. He uses his hold on your chin to coerce you into standing.

The step you stood on helped, but he was still standing over you. Your stare didn’t waver and neither did his. 

His thumb rubs against your bottom lip. Your lips part inadvertently with a sharp inhale. He presses his thumb harder down as if testing the softness. 

The music from inside suddenly cuts. Hollowing out the air between you. You turn your head to look back, but his hold on your chin tightens. Keeping your head still, forcing your attention back to him. “What’s going on?” You asked. The question had two answers. But Damon chooses not to give either one. He smirks. 

“Get ready.” 

Your heartbeat ticks up from its already elevated rate. “For what?” Your voice wavers. Fear. You could hear it. He could practically smell it. 

“It’s a simple game of tag, girls.” Grayson’s magnified voice carries from inside. You can see Damon’s eyes get darker, and his smirk get wider. Excitement? Restraint? 

“You run and we chase.” Grayson’s voice gets serious at the end. An even worse sign than Damon’s expression. 

“If you’re caught, it’s game over.” You felt your stomach drop. And your heart beats like a bird trying to kill itself against the walls. “Don’t let us catch you.” That was it. 

The lights from inside shut off, and for you the only light came from the moon. Immediately squeals and screams arise. Fear and excitement make an unholy mix. The music starts up again. You hear thunderous footsteps and giggles as girls flee the church into the forest. 

Staying would be worse than running. 

Running gives you a shot. One that Damon wouldn’t give. 

But still. “Damon,” you breathed. It was stupid to plead to him out of all of them. Were it Kai or Grayson, you might have a chance. But not Damon Torrance. Never him

He leans forward too close. Much too close. “Run.” He lets go of your chin.