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Silas's POV:
Music blaring, the thumps of kids my age range, or so I think, swaying along to the beat. Something so powerful about the intoxicating crowd that relishes into each other's mind, creates a sense of amenability.
I slouch back against the couch, my eyelids hazy with the ethanol that swims through my veins, poisoning my mind, my heart, my bones. The ability to move freely without care wafts me up like a blanket. Two strangers sit on either side of me, in the same predicament.
All night long, I've been sitting in a mass of despondency, hoping for some company seeing as it's my third day in this unaccustomed town. But nothing seemed to arrive for me. No deliverance of success paints my mood, only a solemn deprivation that crawls its way through, until she arrived.
Beautiful long legs, striking hazel eyes, slender build, hair that wisped down to her neck in captivating curls. But no. She was way out of my league, way too secured, I could already tell. She leaned against the wall as soon as she walked in the door, a casual demeanor, but also one that tolerated zero disrespect.
I was shameless in the way I gawked at her like a creep, it didn't matter, because right now she wasn't paying attention to me, only staring at the light that illuminated her facial features from her phone. I didn't want her to be mindful of me, but at the same time I suddenly craved that, wanted it with no indignity. But it was out of my reach, she seemed far away, billions of barriers slashed her from me.
Her head lifted, her strong gaze took in the scenery around her, salvaged in it. It was moderately obvious that she didn't want to be here, probably refused the offer to come one too many times, the visualization of her dead set on saying no easy to imagine, but here she was.
I wonder who convinced her to come. They must be someone close, someone she admired maybe. So many questions, little explanations. I wonder if I look like an absolute varlet just staring at her like this, pondering the company that aligned in her life.
She started to walk, my posture straightened, aware of her moves and actions. She wandered into the kitchen, closed off where I couldn't gaze any longer. I marvel if I should chase after her, that's what I always do anyways. It's funny. Even under the influence of alcohol, a drunken mess, I was still able to think straight for her, about her.
Fuck it. I stumbled upwards, the environment of sweat, sex, and drugs clouded my senses, surrounded it like an army from battle. But I moved through, navigated my way towards that kitchen even if my legs felt like they were going to give out on me, even if I saw maybe one or two individuals ask if I was alright. Not being able to hear them, but the movement of their mouth and their watchful gazes full of concern enough said.
I arrived, my sweaty palms gripping onto the entrance wall of the kitchen, a trickle of perspiration slid down my forehead. I was already working up a sweat for her, what had she done to me.
