Brandon angled himself so he was right behind me and pulled me flush against his body. His arms encircled my waist in an oddly intimate gesture, thumbs stroking my stomach. Just as I was debating whether I should pull away and pretend nothing had happened, or tell him he was getting too touchy-feely, I felt the wetness of his lips on my neck.
I froze.
Either Brandon didn't notice I'd gone rigid or he was too drunk to care. He cuddled me tighter against him and his tongue flicked over my neck.
Luke's face flashed into my mind and I pulled away, fighting to get Brandon's hands off me. He stared at me, his face crumpled lines of hurt and confusion. He said something that I couldn't hear over the noise. I tried to tell him I was sorry, but the words wouldn't come out. Brandon tried to take my hand and I wrenched away, darting out of the crowd and out of the living room. I thought I heard Riley shouting something after me but I didn't turn back.
I made my way to the kitchen. What had just happened? Looking back, I realised how easy it had been for Brandon to misconstrue my willingness to dance with him as romantic interest. The memory of his lips on my neck made me shudder. I wasn't attracted to him but I'd known that when I agreed to dance. Riley would have said it was okay not to be attracted to him, just have a little drunken snog and enjoy myself. Phantom-Kiara would have done it without a second thought. So why couldn't I?
I knew the answer even though I didn't want to admit it to myself.
It was because of Luke.
I didn't know what there was between us, but when Brandon had touched me, it had felt weirdly like I was betraying Luke in some way. And that was ridiculous. I couldn't betray him if he wasn't even mine.
The punch bowl was a great red beacon in the middle of the kitchen table, beckoning me over. I made a beeline for it. Alcohol suddenly seemed like a really good way to clear the confusion out of my head.
I downed a glass of punch like it was fruit juice. Warmth pooled in my stomach but my head was still whirling. What did Luke have to do with my private life? Why would he care if I'd kissed Brandon? I tipped more punch down my throat, my eyes watering as the alcohol burned my throat. Why did I feel so guilty about what happened with Brandon? Another glass of punch and the confusion started to slide out of my head, replaced by a warm wooziness.
A figure broke away from the gaggle of girls congregating around the vodka jelly-shots and strode towards me. I blinked, recognising Georgia's curly black mane and perpetual scowl. She crossed her arms across her chest and looked me up and down. Her lip twisted in contempt, but something like envy flashed through her eyes.
I felt a little surge of triumph.
"Didn't really think this was your scene," Georgia sniffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
I shrugged, but my fingers curled a little tighter around my glass. Georgia hated me. I've never known why, but it occurred to me that I was alone right now, whereas Georgia had a giggling pack of friends hovering behind her. I felt cornered.
Adrenaline spiked my blood as my fighting instinct reared its head. I wasn't frightened of Georgia. She was petty and mean, but I didn't think she'd ever take an actual swing at me. And if she did, she'd live to regret it. What made me uneasy around her was reminding myself to hold back. I was supposed to keep my head down and not draw attention to myself. I figured breaking Georgia's nose was a sure-fire way of drawing attention to myself.
"What do you want, Georgia?" I sighed.
"I saw you in there with Brandon." Georgia jerked her head towards the living room.
"So?"
"I bet you think you're pretty special."
I stared at her, confused.
"You lead guys on, then you ditch them when you get bored," Georgia accused.
My mouth dropped open. "I have no idea what you're talking about -"
"I know you went on a date with Joel Benson, then ditched him halfway through when Luke showed his face. Who did you just ditch Brandon for?"
Slow anger crept through me. "What are you, spying on me?"
"Word spreads fast."
"You know, for someone who claims to hate me, you seem really interested in my private life," I said. The anger was burning down my arms and into my hands, making me flex my fingers.
Georgia sneered. "What can I say? Freaks fascinate me. You might think that a pretty dress and a makeover makes you God's gift to boys, but you'll never be anything but a freak." Venom dripped from her words.
I fought to remind myself that I absolutely could not punch her. Her words were vicious, but they were only words and they couldn't hurt me if I didn't let them. At least that's what I tried telling myself.
"Georgia," I said, my voice low and tight with barely controlled anger. "Leave me alone."
Maybe something of the fighter in me was showing on my face, the violence I was capable of shining in my eyes because Georgia took an abrupt step backwards. There was a look on her face that wasn't quite fear but it was close.
I turned away from her before I did something I'd regret. My hands were shaking slightly. It must be the alcohol messing with my restraint. Usually I could brush her insults off without wanting to slug her.
"Kiara." Riley bounded up behind me. "Are you okay?"
Quickly, I arranged my face into happier lines. "Fine. Why?"
"How come you rushed out of the living room like that?"
I shrugged, deciding to go with the truth. "Brandon was getting a bit intense."
"Are you surprised?" Riley grinned. "You look amazing tonight, K-girl. I'd be shocked if he could keep his hands off you."
Her words eased the tight knot of anger inside me, but I couldn't help wishing it was someone else saying them. This was probably the best I'd ever look and Luke wasn't here to see it. I wanted him to see it.
Riley slung an arm round my shoulders. I could smell the beer on her breath. "You're not looking happy, Kiara. We need to turn that frown upside down."
She dragged me over to the kitchen counters. On the faux-granite worktop, trays and trays of shots were laid out. Riley shoved a shot glass of clear liquid into my hand. "Get that down your throat, girl."
I should have said no. Going home drunk would probably get me banned from socialising for life. But for some reason I couldn't refuse. Tilting back my head, I drained the shot. Fiery aniseed scorched my throat and I gagged.
"Congrats on your first Sambuca," Riley laughed, seeing my expression. She shoved another shot into my hand and, like the idiot I was, I drank that too.
After that, everything started to get sort of blurry. Riley pulled me back into the living room, urging me into a frenzied dance. My head spun from the alcohol, but I didn't complain when a bottle of beer somehow found its way into my hand. Everything faded around me, colours sliding together. Several times I stumbled in my stupid heels, but there was always someone there to hold me up. Hands grabbed me in places I didn't want, but every time I swatted them away there were always more.
By the time I was on my third beer, I was starting to feel distinctly sick. The alcohol was a dead weight in my stomach, threatening to climb back up my throat. A thick fog suffocated my head as if my brain was wrapped in cotton-wool.
I had to get some fresh air.
Breaking away from the drunken crowd, I staggered towards the back door. My shoes felt like I was balancing on a pair of spikes, and when I was halfway through the kitchen, I tottered and nearly fell. The wall blocked my descent to the floor. I clutched the wall, willing my legs to straighten and keep walking towards the back door.
Someone snickered behind me. It was probably Georgia.
Somehow I made it to the door. Kids were clustered on the paved patio, smoking and laughing. The stench of cigarette smoke made my stomach heave. I staggered away from the house and into the back garden. It was a long strip of grass, flanked by high fences and thick hedges. At the bottom of the garden, a pair of thick oak trees stood guard on either side of a wooden bench.
I slumped down on the bench and willed the world to stop spinning.
No one seemed to have noticed me heading out, but suddenly my hunter instincts kicked in, piercing the fog in my head. Someone was watching me.
My head snapped up.
The garden around me was draped in shadows, various shades of black bleeding together in a blurry haze. I blinked and squinted, but it was like there was gauze across my eyes. I couldn't see clearly. My body swayed on the bench.
"Kiara?"
I knew the voice but it couldn't be him, not here. I swayed again. My elbow bashed against the side of the bench, but if it hurt I couldn't feel it.
A tall figure stood over me. I scrunched my eyes up and Luke's face swam into view, the gorgeous planes and angles creased with concern.
"What are you doing here?" I mumbled. My words slid together so it came out like 'Whaddaya dun here?'
Luke seemed to understand. He sat beside me on the bench. "I was hoping you'd be here. I would have come earlier but"- he broke off, looking sheepish - "I had to eat."
The world was completely off-kilter, everything leaning to one side. I lurched sideways, slumping against Luke's chest. He felt warm and solid.
"I think Imma a bit drunk," I slurred.
Luke laughed, but it was terse with worry. "Just a bit."
If I hadn't had so much to drink, I would have felt desperately embarrassed. I'd wished Luke would see me transformed into a girly girl, and now that he'd turned up, I was a drunken mess.
Luke plucked the sleeve of my dress. "Trying out another new look?"
"I wanted to look pretty tonight," I mumbled.
"Mission accomplished."
I tilted my head to look up at him. "You think I look pretty?"
"Kiara, I think you look stunning."
Now I really felt angry with myself. The moment I wanted was being ruined and I had no one to blame but myself. If I wasn't drunk I might have said something witty, maybe batted my eyelashes or blushed girlishly, but instead I gawped at him like an idiot. My eyelids fluttered up and down.
"Luke? I think there's someone watching me."
He scanned the garden, his silver-grey eyes absorbing every space and every corner. "There's no one there."
"No, I know there was." I struggled to sit up straight, but nausea swamped my head and I collapsed against Luke with a groan. My mouth felt fuzzy and sickly.
Luke swore under his breath. "Kiara, you're really not okay. I need to get you out of here."
"Can't . . . go . . . home." The words trickled out of my mouth. "Too . . . drunk."
A strong arm slid around my waist, supporting me as I lolled on the bench. "You can't stay here, Kiara, not in this state."
I heard his words but they weren't really sinking in. It was like the alcohol had formed a barrier around my head and Luke's words were bouncing off it. I lurched forward and only Luke's arms around my waist saved me from doing a face-plant on the ground.
"Okay, that's it. I'm getting you out of here."
I wanted to say something funny about him assuming the authority role, but my mouth couldn't quite remember how to shape words. The only sound I was capable of was a low moan. My stomach was roiling now, like a nest of snakes were fighting inside me. I'd drunk before, but I'd never been drunk, not like this. This was . . . horrible.
Luke stood up, pulling me with him. My knees buckled and I slid halfway down his body before he caught me and held me upright. My eyelids shuttered. I was tired, so very tired. All I wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep, anywhere, I didn't care. The ground looked pretty good.
I slumped against Luke's chest. He was so warm and safe and . . . he smelled good. I wanted to tell him that, but words were so far away. Everything . . . was so . . . far away.
My legs gave out. Luke lifted me into his arms as if I weighed nothing. My head was cradled against his shoulder; I could hear his heart beating. Somehow it soothed me. I blinked up at him, the straight line of his jaw, the tense set of his mouth. His eyes were stormy.
Cradled in his arms, I felt safe in a way I never had before. I wanted to tell him that too, but darkness rushed in. I flopped back in his arms, and let that merciful black tide of unconsciousness carry me away.