The sun had disappeared, and in the moonlight, the building looked like a haunted house surrounded by woods. The steps to the front door actually creaked under the weight of our bodies. Trish didn’t bother knocking; she just pushed open the door. I expected loud music and bodies everywhere, but the music was faint, and I vaguely heard people’s voices. That’s when I realized there were only a few cars outside.
I stopped walking, and Trish turned around to glare at me. “Don’t be such a baby. It’s fine. This is an exclusive gathering.” The corner of her pouty pink lips turned up in a smirk. I shook my head but let her pull me farther inside.
The house wasn’t as run‐down as I’d thought, but it definitely could stand a new coat of pain and a heavy cleaning.
“In here,” a deep voice called out, and we walked through the entryway into the living room.
The walls were a deep olive, and there were two matching green couches along the walls.
“We’re ready to party.” Trish released my hand as she walked over to one of the couches and sat between two college‐age guys. One leaned back and put his arm behind her then stretched out his long legs. I glanced at the love seat, which had only one guy sitting on it. My heart sped up double time as I took in his dirty‐blond hair and light stubble over his jaw. He patted the cushion next to him, and I reluctantly walked over and took a seat alongside him, careful to keep my leg from touching his.
I recognized one of the guys who sat next to Trish; he was in my lit class. His name was Adam, and he was built like a football player, his hair dark and thick but cut short. The boy who had his arm around Trish was a stranger to me, as was the guy I sat next to.
“I won’t bite,” the guy next to me said, and I realized I was practically clinging to the arm of the love seat to keep my distance. I relaxed back in my seat, but I didn’t feel comfortable in this situation.
“So you got us in your rape den. Where’s the goods?” Trish obviously wasn’t worried about these guys.
Adam chuckled as he leaned back and dug into his jeans pocket. He pulled out a small medicine bottle, unscrewed the child‐safety cap, and dumped the contents into his hand. Trish eagerly held out her palm, with an anxious grin plastered on her plastic face. I wished I were back at our apartment. I’d only known her about a year, and she’d gotten me into more sticky situations than I could count—the worst of which being the time she’d passed out in the middle of the library, and I had to lie to a teacher’s aide to help me get her to her car. I was rewarded by Trish vomiting on me in front of everyone. The good thing about Trish was that she didn’t care about my past—who I was or why I needed to be someone else. All she cared about was herself, which was both sad and relieving. Picking at my thumbnail, I sank back into my seat as guy number one fed his drugs to Trish and the other two guys as if they were baby birds.
The guy next to me reached to the small stand beside the love seat and grabbed a mint tin. The back of his hand bumped my leg, and he motioned with his chin for me to follow him. I was the dumb blonde in every scary movie I’d ever seen, but I stood from the couch and followed him around the corner and up a flight of stairs.
“You didn’t look like you wanted to party,” he said, as he glanced over his shoulder. His teeth flashed brilliantly white against his sun‐kissed skin. No killer could be that beautiful, so I followed. Some people never learn.
“Not really my scene,” I mumbled, as we made our way into a small empty room. I immediately went to the window, where the moonlight poured in.
“Mine either.”
“Then why are you here?” I turned back to look at him. He leaned against the wall as he pulled something out of the tin and dug around in his pocket.
“Why are you here?” he asked, as he put a joint between his lips and held the lighter to the end. It glowed hot orange, and shadows danced against his skin.
“Nowhere else to be.”
He nodded as if he understood as smoke drifted from around his lips. It was mesmerizing. He held the joint out to me, and I stepped closer to him and took it between my fingers as he exhaled, engulfing me in a white cloud.
“We traded one drug for another?” I raised an eyebrow, and he grinned, his eyelids heavy.
“Pot isn’t a drug.” He chuckled as he ran his fingers through his messy, dirty‐blond hair.
“What is this place?” I asked, as I held the joint to my lips and inhaled, filling my lungs.
“It’s nowhere.” His reddening eyes locked on mine as he threw my words back at me. I grinned as I let the smoke expel from my lungs and instantly felt lighter.