When Addison was fourteen, she was kidnapped. Life for her was never the same. After the passing of her mother, she bounces from foster home to foster home, until she is sent to Downright High, a guarded-school notorious for hosting the worst kids i...
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When I look at my hand, I see seven fingers.
I blink down at it, slowly moving them, watching my fingers multiply and sway through my blurry eyes. I thought I had only been sitting here for a minute, but when I check the time on my phone, an entire hour has passed. Swivelling my gaze back to my hand once more, I see it is back to normal.
An arm wraps around my waist and I am pulled to my feet by someone I met earlier in the night. He smiles down at me, his hot breath splashing across my face, long hair falling over his eyes. I can smell the alcohol on him. I wrinkle my nose.
"Want to come with me to the after party?" he questions with a flirtatious smirk and a deep dimple in his left cheek.
I watch the blur of people passing by. "Aren't we at the after party?"
He considers this, nodding.
"The after, after party," he amends.
When my arm presses against his chest, I hardly feel it. It is as if I am watching someone take possession of my body.
"Hey, where are you off to?" he curls his fingers around my wrist, tugging me back. "The car is this way."
I shake my head. I want to tell him to get lost, but my tongue feels glued to the roof of my mouth. He's pulling me with him. My feet drag on the ground.
"Piss off, Roger," a voice snaps, yanking my free arm back.
I stumble into the person, and they steady me with two hard hands.
The guy sneers at her but doesn't protest. He sends me one last look before he joins his friends.
"You're an idiot," she snaps at me. "I'm taking you home."
I try to open my eyes to see who it is, but they don't seem to open. Or they are open, but everything is dark. The girl continues to swear at me and I feel myself being pushed into a car. There is loud hollering and my ears ring. A plastic cup is pushed into my palm and I greedily gulp the contents, my throat screaming for hydration. I spit it back out when I taste straight vodka.
I sag into the door, my heated forehead pressing against the glass. The vibration of the car on the road makes my head buzz but I don't move. Everything is spinning.
The door opens sometime later and I fall out of it, my hands scraping the pavement. The girl wrenches me to my feet.
"You're a mess. I'm not dealing with this anymore."
I trip up the stairs to my porch. The girl fumbles in my pockets and pulls out my keys, dropping them into my palm.
"Next time, you're not invited," she growls at me.
