Exotic

~ black out ~

content warning: this chapter contain overt physical violence. if this is triggering for you in any way, i have placed a * at the start, and another * where it's safe to read from :)

The best thing about being an overly familiar face at Crescendo was that the audio tech knew me, and that made it harder for him to ignore my requests for increasingly obscure punk-pop music seriously. Maybe he pitied me. All that mattered was he kept playing angry music for me, as I tested the potency of my wig glue with my uninhibited thrashing.

I go blonde when I'm sad

Blew motivation I had

To make my still beating-something

Not hurt that bad.

I wouldn't have thought the amount of alcohol I'd consumed would classify me as drunk, but I had always been a lightweight. I wasn't quite sure of the time, but Lyle was still serving me when I visited him, so I couldn't have been that plastered. And I had been visiting him quite a lot.

One last hurrah, before I have to start thinking like an adult.

I was currently dancing with a guy who was shorter than me in heels but made up for it with his enthusiasm. He also had the prettiest blue eyes. You're not so special, Caleb, I thought, and that had me thinking about him again, which in turn propelled me to the bar, where a man with bleached tips asked for my waist size. Which was a little weird, but I drunkenly let him make a guess with his groping hands as Lyle poured my next drink.

"You are beautiful," the man said against my neck, and while I normally wouldn't have entertained someone who took fashion inspiration from Guy Fieri, I lapped up the praise. Lyle was the one who shooed him away with the end of his tea towel.

"You doing alright, Seph?" the bartender asked, even as he handed me another shot. He seemed to do so reluctantly. But then again, he thought I was twenty-two and could handle myself. "Can I get you a bottle of water or something?"

"Or something," I straddled the barstool and lapped at my shot like a kitten, shuddering at the burn. "Have you ever fucked something up, Lyle? Something good?"

He cocked his head at me, smiling indulgently. "What a cliché. Although you might have chosen a quieter bar to mop about."

"I like being distracted," I countered.

Lyle took another order with a dismissive nod and turned back to me. "All I can suggest is don't make any phone calls the state you're in. And also, if he let you go, I'd say he's the one who fucked things up."

"Aw, Lyle," I purred. "Let me know if your marriage ever hits the rocks."

Lyle tapped my head with a plastic water bottle and moved to the other end of the bar. I took a sip before sliding off the stool, boneless, and swaying back into the mosh pit, eyes closed and shoulders jerking to the beat. Another pair of mostly unwelcomed hands found my hips, and I let it happen. The firm touch assured me that someone wanted to touch me tonight.

I was unceremoniously jerked around after a few seconds of half-hearted grinding and found myself crowded immediately by a mouth doing its best to join with mine. I let it find its target, half-heartedly moving against him with my eyes still firmly closed. He was tall enough to be my type, big shoulders, sharp jaw when I moved my hand up to caress it. A bit enthusiastic on the tongue, like a golden retriever. When I squeezed his arm to come up for air, my tongue was tingling. I tried to keep my eyes closed, but they fluttered open automatically.

My partner grinned at me in a way that should have been charming. He was cute but far from what my imagination had been building him up to be. He was blonde, with a wiry frame, wearing a neon bum bag and little else. When he spoke, asking my name, his voice was far lower than expected. Probably about twenty-five. Remembering what Grayson had said to me, I immediately felt guilty, and a little bit sick.