It All Started with a Lie

Chapter 11.1

When the pleasure of him finally fades and I am left with the sounds of chants and squeals at the sight of the show we just performed, I get up from the table, and Klaus is nowhere to be found. The awkward boy, however, is hiding behind a girl who stares at him in utter confusion. He will not meet my eyes as I stare him down, silently berating him for leaving me in the hands of someone else. But then I think of the awkward boy's tongue on my skin and nearly gag and I am suddenly very thankful it had not been him. I brush past Emma and the rest of the girls, who are practically fuming at the stunt I just pulled. I might have saved Emma from public humiliation but I can not save her from the violence of those girls. I don't stay long enough to see who is next up on the table, I only know it is not Emma. She finds a spot in the back of the group to hide.

Rage filling my blood, I push my way through the crowd, partially hunting him down to release my anger on and partially ensuring I do not run into him, afraid of what I will do if I did. Who the hell does he think he is pulling a trick like that? I could have killed him for it. If he wasn't So her brother, I just might have. I hunt him down like a lioness hunts her prey. He is not hard to find, standing a head taller than most of the crowd. Getting to him, however, is a harder challenge. But with enough aggression, the crowd practically parts itself at the sight of my fury. Just as I am a few feet away from him, readying to pull the stick from his ass and beat him with it, I am reminded of his relationship to her, to Richard. I cannot berate him for this. I can not berate him for anything. One ill word on my name from him and she will question our entire friendship. She trusts him with every ounce of her being and will believe anything he says. I let out a long breath, lowering my hand which had been ready to gain his attention, and take a step back, heading in the opposite direction. He doesn't even realize just how close to death he was.

I down a shot I am handed without even so much as a second glance to whom it was coming from and I know it is a terrible idea and I can only thank the gods that it had been nothing more than just a shot of vodka. The thought only infuriates me more, that his actions can make me so livid I become foolish. I find the first person who is willing to make out with me, needing to get the reminder of his hands, of his lips, out of my mind. 

My victim is tall and eccentric and happy to be drinking more. He tastes of vodka and bad breath but he is attractive, and less boring than the man I'd danced with earlier, but his hands are not nearly as warm as Klaus's always seemed to be and he does not make my entire body yearn for his touch, but he will do.

Now, I am sure that had the President of ΒΣΞ said what she did at any other time, when I am not already contemplating murder, what she says would just brush off me. But she didn't pick another time, she picks right now. Her shoulder rams into me, knocking me back slightly, tearing me from the guy. He doesn't even try to catch my stumbling body. "Two guys in one night," she laughs. "What a whore." She scoffs under her breath like she hasn't been the one making her girls do body shots.

I lived this in high school, in middle school, my entire life, girls like her making fun of me for anything they could think of. Maybe it's the liquor going to head, maybe it's my anger, or maybe I'm just simply too fed up with her but I leap for her, ready to do whatever damage I can. I am yanked back by the man's arm as he finally decided to involve himself in the situation, holding me from clawing her eyes out and leaving her blind and defenseless. I am too disgusted—appalled—by his restraint that I nearly forget about the President. "Let go of me." The words are icy as they leave my throat in rough growl.

"There's no need to get too riled up, baby cakes." When I said I wanted a nickname, this is not what I meant. "She was just teasing." He clearly has never been a woman called a whore. There is no teasing about it.

I do not bother to struggle from his grip, baring my teeth like the wild animal he seemed to think I am. "Let me go."

He doesn't, signing away his life, and instead tries to kiss me again. I pull back from him but he catches my hands before I can slap him. I fight the rising panic that creeps its way from my wrist, where the sheer strength of his grip is enough to make them ache, to my throat where my words seemed to be stuck.