Unroyal

Eyes

Dahlia

How did I end up here?

In a dress that was too short for my liking and hair done up way too fancy.

Apparently, this school had a work hard, play hard policy. Ragers, when they happen are in school, known to all faculty and even the principal a they turn a blind eye,  as long as you keep your grades up you wouldn't be kicked out.

I can't help but notice the skin on my thighs, and the fat on my arms. I feel as if something uncontrollable was protruding out of me as if I was on pins and needles. As the noise turns up louder, my skin starts prickling, burning up, hotter, and hotter. I don't think I did Colette's glamorous dress justice, no matter how much she reassured me. It was as if it was a second skin sticking to me, entirely out of place.

I steal a glance at smiling Colette and a small sting of disappointment surges through me.

I unconsciously look her up and down. At her long legs. Blonde hair. Not a single strand out of place. Bone structure. Blue eyes. Her heels doing nothing but make her look taller and even more goddess-like.

I wish I looked like that. Had her confidence. Had her everything, actually.

Don't say that. Other people have it worse.

I scratch the goosebumps on my arm until small spots of blood surface and all I feel is a burning sensation.

The abandoned classroom and dark courtyard is filled with a bustling crowd of excited students. pools of wine on the floor, music blasting through the room, and purple lights filtering out my vision. I walk in with Colette and suddenly I feel all eyes on me.

I feel guilty when I think about how eyes might be on me. Don't flatter yourself. It was as if my dad was here with me, unescapable even miles away.

Colette goes of and meanders her way out of our crowd and deeper into the party, and I'm greeted with a not-so-familiar face. Two budding students weasel their way through the crowd and perch at her side, instantly making conversation.

He walks away in stride from Colette and comes to face me.  Good-looking, can't  deny. Maybe a year or two older than me, olive skin and green eyes.

He looks nice.

But something about my gut told me something wasn't quite right. I ignore my sick intuition, you have to make friends.

"Luca." He introduces, leaning back leisurely onto the bar table, hair slick back and slender fingers holding onto a drink loosely.

"I-uh," Don't mess this up. "Dahlia." Phew.

"Ilikeyourhair."

What. Why. Whatwhywhenwhereno.

He chuckles, "I like your eyes."

"New?"

"Yeah! I transferred from this other school near the village. Not nearly as posh, scholarship student." I say with a smile.

"Must be smart then. I like my girls smart. Beauty and brains, huh." He says smoothly. Even with the loud ear-straining music, all I can hear is the smooth low timbre of his voice.

"How'd you know that I was new?" I quip.

"Nah, pretty girl likes you?" he takes a sip of his drink, "Around these halls? I'd know who you were immediately"

Does he think I'm pretty? I find the inner child in me pouncing in my chest and bouncing off the walls. Red seeps into my face when he says that.

An unstoppable embarrassment fills me to the brim again, face burning so much I pray the dark lighting covers it. He wraps a muscled arm around my waist and pulls me against his chest. I gasp and almost slip off the barstool into a small pool of alcohol.