Doubt

3.

I jumped into the shower and washed my hair and body quickly. I blow-dried my hair and put on a pair of simple black jeans and a big grey sweater that hung on one shoulder, put some glitter on my cheeks and a black velvet choker, put on my coat and a pair of black plateaus and went out.

I had no idea what bars or clubs where available here, but I stopped by a pulsing club that seemed crowded. Contrary to what I first had believed in my teens, I had noticed stuffed clubs were perfect for me because nobody looked at you there. I went in, and was immediately struck by the humid air and the smell of sweaty bodies, all mixed in a purple light. The club was three floors, each with a crowded dance floor and a bar. I went to the top and ordered a vodka shot, which I took with me to an empty table. I sat down on the sofa and took my phone out to fiddle with it, and downed the vodka in one go. I actually enjoyed the taste of various shots and was sometimes teased for how I sipped shots like they were drinks, but now I wanted that rapid effect it gave me when I took it as an actual shot. And that effect came almost immediately.

Whoa, I thought as my head started to swim. I fiddled with my phone for only a couple of minutes before I noticed I couldn't read it anymore because exactly everything was swimming before my eyes. Shit, I'm out of practice. When I was twenty, I could do three of these and still be all right.

Everything swirled pleasantly around me. My shot glass seemed to slide across the table, and I reached my hand to grab it before it fell off... Before I realised it wasn't sliding at all, that it was just my drunken mind making everything slide this way and that. Of course, I missed the shot glass by a good bit and grabbed empty air. People at nearby tables were looking at me and sniggering. Shit, that's embarrassing.

And that's when I saw him.

He was standing at the bar, wearing an amazing-looking olive shirt that accentuated his skin tone nicely, and skinny black jeans. His hair was in a high ponytail, baring his long, tanned neck. Fuck, he looks good. I put my arms on the table, rested my chin on my underarms and stared, completely unaware of myself in my drunken state. He was standing with a group of friends, and between them were an endless amount of empty glasses, showing they were used to drinking, much more so than I was. He held a glass of red wine in one hand, slowly twirling the edge with the finger of his other hand. Fuck me, that looked sexy. I wasn't sure, as I couldn't be sure of anything what with the current state of my mind, but he looked like he kind of didn't want to be there.

Suddenly, one of his friends nudged him and pointed towards me.

Oh no...

He turned round, and when he caught sight of me, his entire demeanour changed.

Oooooh no...

He looked shocked and straightened his back. I saw him turn to his friend and say something. It was impossible to hear what in the pulsing music.

Then he started walking towards me, wineglass in hand.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

What do I do now?

What in the WORLD do I do now?

Hashirama.

My mate Christopher nudged me in the ribs with his elbows, then pointed towards me.

"Dracula is staring. You think he has had his blood yet?"

And there he sat.

The boy I couldn't stop fantasising about.

He was huddled together in his huge, grey sweatshirt, his chin on his arms that in turn were resting on the table. He looked adorable. And by the way he stared at me with glassy eyes, he was clearly drunk. 

I felt my heart flutter, a fire catching in my gut. What have you done to deserve all the cruel comments you get?

I turned to Christopher. "Go fuck yourself", I said. There was no amicability in my voice, and judging by his shocked face, he realised that, too.

Then I turned and started walking towards him.

Madara:

"What's your name?" he asked. I was unable to speak. He smiled warmly.  "You don't seem like someone who drinks." Suddenly, he looked flustered. "Sorry, that was very rude of me. It's just my prejudice. I'm sorry."

"You're right, though", I said. He seemed surprised by the fact that I could talk. I was, too. "I don't usually drink. At least not anymore. That's why..." I lifted my shot glass. "This is enough. I'm out of practice."

And he did the most unexpected thing.

He took a huge step and straddled me.

Straddled me.

He sat down in my lap, one leg on either side, and put his finger under my chin, tilting it up so I faced him. I just stared, mouth slightly parted.

"I can practice with you, if you like..." he breathed against my lips. His breath smelled of peppermint and wine. I wondered what it tasted like. "With you, I could practice all night."

And with that, he bent down and kissed me.

The kiss was rough, open-mouthed, hungry. He connected not only our lips, but our mouths, fondling my tongue with his.

"Mmmmm..." I moaned.

I felt him press his groin closer to mine, and my hands, as if on autopilots, begun to remember some things and snaked up to grab hold of his waist, while he put one hand behind my head, pressing me closer to him so he could kiss me deeper, the other hand still being under my chin.

He broke free, and we were both panting, our breaths coming out in heated puffs, mixing with the pulsing lights and the loud music.

"What's your name?" he purred.

"Madara", I whimpered.

"Madara..."

His mouth had tasted of peppermint and wine.