End of the school year, 2009
(bowm bowm bee dum bom bom be dowm bowm)
It's the end of the school year. Finals are over, half her stuff is packed, and the only thing left to do is the rounds of end-of-the-year partying.
It's some upperclassman's house -- a friend of a friend -- and it's packed with people, mostly from Humanities as far as Nita can tell. Someone's iPod is plugged into a set of speakers on the windowsill, cycling through Lady Gaga and Beyonce and Rihanna and occasionally, to much controversy, Taylor Swift.
no more gas, in the red, can't even get it startedShe let Megan convince her to split a rum and coke (mostly coke), passing the cheap red tumbler back and forth while they dance like the ready-for-vacation spazzes they are. She feels a little like she's on loop herself, like the music: drink, dance, yell delightedly to an acquaintance I can't believe I'm a sophomore! and What are you doing this summer?, nod like the response is actually audible over the music, and repeat. But it's fun.
nothing heard, nothing said, can't even talk about itRight up until someone puts his hands on her hips from behind. She startles, whirling, and finds herself face to face with -- Luke, the sophomore from British Lit. He grins at her and pokes her ribs. "Hi!"
on my life, on my head, don't wanna think about it
She slaps at his poking hand before she can think. Her heart's pounding. He looks surprised, though, letting go of her, and she instantly feels like she overreacted. "You scared me!"
feels like I'm goin insane, yeah
"Sorry!" he yells over the music, grinning. "You look like you're having fun!"
it's a thief in the night to come and grab youShe makes herself grin back and nods. He points at her drink. "Want another? What is it?"
it can creep up inside you and consume you"Rum and coke," she yells back, and wouldn't you know it, the music cuts out right before the last word. It's so loud in the house that her accidental shout doesn't draw much attention, but she blushes anyway. Luke laughs. "But I'm fine," she adds hastily, at a normal volume. "I'm--"
a disease of the mind, it can control you"Let me get you another," Luke insists, and takes off for the kitchen.
it's too close for comfortNita looks at Megan, who glances over and grins, apparently oblivious to the whole scene. Nita's stomach feels weirdly tight; she squirms out of the group of dancers, giving Megan the rest of the drink, and tries to find the bathroom.
put on your pretty lies, you're in the city of wonderThere's a line, of course, or more accurately a clump. It's not entirely clear whether they're all waiting to use the bathroom, or if they've just congregated in available empty space. Feeling unsettled, Nita leans against the wall by the bathroom door and waits. A minute later, Luke pokes his head into the hall and grins.
ain't gon' play nice, watch out you just might go under"Hey."
better think twice, your train of thought will be altered"Hi."
so if you must falter be wise"Too loud for you down there?"
your mind's in disturbia"Yeah, my ears need a break."
it's like the darkness is light"What?" he teases, cupping a hand around his ear, then proffers a cup to her. "Here -- rum and coke, right?"
disturbia, am I scaring you tonight?"Oh -- no, seriously, Luke, I'm fine. But thanks."
disturbia, ain't used to what you like"C'mon, it's the end of the year. In a few days you're going home, right? And then no licentious behavior at all for three months." He grins, and Nita has to admit he's got a charming smile; he kind of reminds her of Puck, or Yrael.
disturbia, disturbia--Although she realizes, a moment later, that he might be reminding her of them because they're the only other people who have ever successfully bought her alcohol. Neither of them under particularly great circumstances.
put on your pretty lies, you're in the city of wonder"Hi?"
ain't gon' play nice, watch out you just might go underShe blinks, focusing on Luke again. "Sorry?"
better think twice, your train of thought will be alteredHe laughs. "Maybe you shouldn't drink any more, huh. How much have you had?"
so if you must falter be wise"Not that much," defensively.
your mind's in disturbiaa, it's like the darkness is lightAnother laugh. "C'mon, you wanna sit down, anyway?" He leans against the wall next to her and slides to the floor, depositing the drink next to him, and after a moment, Nita follows suit. "So what are you doing this summer?"
disturbia, am I scaring you tonight?The small talk is pleasant. Luke's got an internship, which Nita is properly enthusiastic about, and she has "work at home," she tells him, which is vague enough to cover both working for her dad and errantry. The only problem is that Luke keeps shifting, just a little, to get comfortable, and he always ends up a little farther into her personal space. Their shoulders brush, or elbows, or thighs, and she tries to be subtle about shifting away from him. She feels like she's being backed into a corner by a snail.
disturbia, ain't used to what you like"Hey, can I ask you something?" Luke says.
release me from this curse I'm in"Sure."
trying to maintain but I'm strugglingBefore she can think -- maybe the rum's not helping -- he reaches out and turns her wrist over, exposing her forearm and her scars. "Where'd you get these? I'm . . ."
if you can't goHe keeps talking, but she can't hear it for the way her heart is suddenly pounding in her chest.
(Let me see. They're beautiful. You wear them with such grace.)
She can hear the words and feel cool fingertips on her skin and she swears she can almost, almost see the bastard's face--
I think I'm gonnaThen Luke touches the inside of her elbow, and the face in the shadows is suddenly Ishamael's, the hands are his.
(Now, let's try this again. Kiss me.)
She snatches her arm away from Luke, scrambling sideways.
"Don't!"
"Woah--" He sits up, nearly upsetting the drink next to him. "Shit!" The clump of people in front of the bathroom stop talking to stare. "I'm sorry, do they hurt or--"
"Don't touch me," she snaps. "Just don't."
"Christ." He holds up his hands, like he's surrendering. "Not touching, geez."
She swallows. Everyone's looking at her. "Don't. Touch me," she repeats, for some reason unable to come up with anything more eloquent. "I -- I'm sorry, I, I have to go--"
She gets to her feet and pushes past the crowd. Considering the way she just freaked out, they all try and move aside for her, but she inevitably has to brush against a couple people, a chest and a stomach and a shoulder. Her cheeks are hot; she must be red all the way down to her chest. She can't remember ever feeling this embarrassed, this ashamed, this panicked, and she just wants to get out and get away and get someplace where nobody will be looking at her like a freak because she can't handle a little attention from a guy.
She'd like to get someplace safe, but it gets harder and harder to believe that such a place exists.
But she gets out.