"You want me to do what?"
Disbelief coated every syllable dripping from your lax mouth. Your best friend
and confidante since you two were teens, Mikey, smirked at you from across
the table. A bit of whip cream specked the side of his mouth from the
mountain of strawberries and sugar sitting in between your tense bodies.
"I want you to attend a Bonten party."
A frown wormed its way to your lips, and you eyed him skeptically. "You mean
your fucking cult, Manjiro?"
You've always known your best friend was an odd one. Mikey walked to the
beat of his own drum and never took shit from anyone. It was partly why you
admired him and another reason why you thought he was sometimes bat-shit
insane. From the glint in his eye, you had to scratch that. He was always bat-
shit insane.
Mikey chortled and swiped off the cream from the side of his mouth and stuck
his thumb into his mouth, humming lowly. His fall of platinum bangs and
creased eyes heavy with dark circles should've spoke volumes of his mental
state. But, throughout the years, you decided to give him the benefit of the
doubt.
He was a good friend. Always there for you whenever you needed a shoulder to
cry, a bearer of your deepest secrets and someone you could rely on-there
was not much that could scare you away from the enigmatic man.
But this.... this took the fucking cake.
According to your friend, Bonten was created with the sole purpose of banding
a bunch of misfits together for them to find a home. It also had a reputation of
being a hive-mind, led by no other than Sano Manjiro. To hear that he was
giving you an invite to the elusive event boggled your thoughts.
Surely, he was pulling your leg.
"And what about it?" He asked in a far too casual tone. "Bonten is not a cult. Y/
N. It's a club."
"And Charles Manson was a homeschool teacher," you snorted. "Are you sure
you're not going to like--sacrifice me, or something?"
Mikey chortled, shaking his head, the glint in his eye playful.
"Why would I do that? You're a friend. Plus, I'm pretty sure you're not a virgin."
Your face warmed and you puffed your cheeks. "Who says I couldn't be one! Is
it because of the hair? Y*know, yours is dyed too, right."
A whisper of a laugh gusted from between his lips. "Yeah, yeah. So, you coming
or what? We've got booze."
Throughout your life, you were guided by one principle and one principle only:
to seek pleasure wherever you could. From the tattoos, to the hair to the
piercings, and the daily benders running high on illegal substances and alcholic
fumes, not much bases were left for you touch on.
Except this one.
You squirmed in your seat, tugging the hem of your short skirt down. Mikey's
words flashed in your mind, and you thought it over. While the topic of a
woman's virginity was a touchy one, it did not bode well that someone could
casually remark on it. Even if that person was your friend.
Mikey sensed your mood souring, and from the jut of your chin and he knew
you what you were going to say before you said it.
"Yeah, fine." You stuck out your tongue and swiped at a stray piece of
strawberry from his sundae, squishing the sweet fruit between your teeth.
Ruby red juice trickled down your chin, and you were too busy chewing to
notice how Mikey's onyx eyes darkened.
"Do I have to abide by some stupid
dress code or something?"
Mikey leaned back, arm perched on the dessert shop's head rest, a smirk
quirking his thin lips.
"Sexy. That's the dress code. Think you can handle that?"
/Alouyivou hate ls Ivekino
you seem to really be er
You were going to make Mikey eat his words.
The moon played hide and seek tonight, releasing its breath in the pattering of
tiny drops that reminded you of static from an empty television. A world on the
precipice of slipping into an unending darkness.
Head to toe, you were wrapped in a leather bodycon dress, the likes of which
would've made a nun clutch her rosary if you breezed past. Dousing yourself in
a musky, jasmine fragrance, you fluffed up your hair and took one good look at
yourself in the mirror. Despite the chill and the sudden uneasiness of tonight,
you had to admit this one undeniable fact.
Damn, I look fucking hot. You turned your body slightly to catch the rise of
your ass, smiling in self-satisfaction how your panty line was clearly visible. So
was the stiffening of your nipples behind the buttery, black material. You
looked like sin incarnate, and there was no way Mikey could say you were not
putting in an effort if you turned up like this.
Hailing a cab, you tried to ignore how the driver's eyes were on you the whole
time. Your red-stained lips pursed into a defiant pout, willing for him to stop
the car and try. You've got your pepper spray with you and a host of other self-
defence tools. Let's see if that slimy bastard could drive with one eye gouged
out from your Swiss Army knife.
The address Mikey gave you was somewhere in the outskirts of the city, pretty
close to the mountains and far away enough from civilisation.
"A cold night, isn't it?"
You snapped back from your reverie to glance at the old man's eyes from the
rearview mirror.
"Huh?"
"Coldest night in Autumn, he nudged his head towards the blackened streets,
illuminated eeriely by orange streetlamps. It seemed as if you two were the
only living souls in sight. "Some say its when the veil between the dead and the
living becomes the thinnest."
You cracked a smile, though with your painted red lips, it came off as a sneer.
"Don't tell me you actually believe in all that crap.
The driver chuckled at your bold statement. "My dear, when you've lived as
long as I did on the road, shuffling people back and forth, you start to realise
that these legends have a grain of truth to them."*
The Yürei were tales told by mothers to keep their kids in line. Anyone who
believed them after the age of five was just plain weird.
