Style // 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙇𝙚𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙧𝙘

10.

A/N: The photo above felt suitable for this chapter and made me giggle. Apologies for the lack of aesthetic, I hope you can understand.

Much love x

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Friday

I can't believe what I'm seeing. All the drunk whackos and half naked dancers patrolling the room disappear. The music dulls, it's like someone shoved cotton in my ear. My mouth opens, my lips barely apart; do I say something, or shut my mouth back up? In slow motion, he joins the DJ behind the stand, fist pumping him whilst taking a pair of chunky headphones. They fit just right over his ears, muting out the rest of the squealing and screaming eliciting from the crowd that's turned invisible in my peripheral vision. He gives a dazed wave to the crowd, then looks down at the array of colourful buttons he has no clue how to use.

I gasp a little as I come back to reality. It felt like my conscience left me for a minute. To my side, Stella is furious. Fumes whistle out her ears, her eyes preying on Charles like a hawk. She hates  that the man she despises the most lives in the same country, and now he's in the same club as her. Her grip around her glass tightens, I expect it to start cracking under pressure. The muscles in her jaw tense, evil thoughts fogging her intellect.

"Mark-!" Stella suddenly calls, grabbing my free hand and pulling me away from the bar. "Mark, where's Elliot?!"

"Stella-" I try to argue.

"No." She interrupts, pointing a finger at me with the hand that's holding her glass. "I am not letting some go-kart driver ruin your night!"

Burn.

"You cannot turn down Elliot until you talk to him, and I do not give a flying fuck if that waste of space sees you!" Stella continues her spontaneous vent. "Mark! Mark!"

Oh my word. This is carnage! Something is going to happen tonight and it's going to get ugly!

This is carnage. I knew that look on Stella's face that the start of the night meant she was out for business. Stella has a need to create drama, to cause a thrill. The scratch from last week is tucked under a thin blanket of make up. That came from Stella sticking her nose into something she had no business in! Eventually, she finds Mark sat in a booth with his friends. They all look oddly similar. Smart t-shirts that bulge around the shoulders, neat trousers secured with a belt. Fashionable hair styles. Too many similarities combined into one group, not a single person looks like an outsider. It's strange.

"Hey!" Stella forces a smile to the group, who are all intrigued by the two girls in matching outfits standing in front of them. "Which one of you lot is Elliot?"

"Me."

I stand corrected. There is an outsider, and it's Elliot. Elliot, looking equally as sharp as the rest, wears much looser, more relaxed clothing. His long, curly, dirty-blonde hair is tied back into a man bun, a couple of loose strands framing the fine features on his face. His clean shaven jaw is sharp and structured, matched with a Hollywood-like smile and sharp canines. That's the dental side of me coming out to have her say. Elliot isn't as bulky as the lads sat around the table, and wears far more jewellery than them. Wherever he can get metal, he's got it. In his earlobes, a silver nose ring that keeps catching the lights, a pearl necklace like Mark's. A watch, a couple of bracelets, a ring for almost every finger. Patchwork tattoos, a snake wrapping around his wrist. Sure, he's attractive, but not my type.