Glass Hearts || Noah Sebastian

28.

"Blair, I need you to run to the basement and find me a case of Smirnoff" Mel approaches breathlessly, cheeks pinched red like she had been running a marathon. Which isn't far from the truth. It's been a busy evening, and we have all been running ourselves thin trying to keep up with the needy party goers that have been bothering us relentlessly.

"Okay, I can do that. Anything else?" I question, reaching behind her to grab the basement keys from the small nail they hang on.

She thinks for a moment, weight leaning over to one side as she places her hands on her hips. I'm sure she is running through a mental list of different items we could be running low on, and what's most important to grab for the rush of college kids that walked through the door a couple of minutes ago.

"If you can carry it, maybe also another case of jack. Frat boys like whisky" she mutters the last part and dresses it with an eye roll.

I nod, stepping out from behind the large marble top bar and going around the backside to make my way to the basement. It's not too far off from where I am at, a small walk down a narrow hall and down a steep flight of steps. It's dark as I turn the key in the lock, revealing a set or stairs, I can't see but a few feet ahead of me and that's only due to the small glow of neon lights behind me. My palms feels up the walls beside me, searching for a light switch against the concrete. When It turns out to be useless I sigh, pulling my phone from my back pocket and turning on my flashlight. It's not nearly bright enough- but it's better than nothing.

With my right foot leading I slowly descend the steps, careful as I put my weight on each one. I can hear the boards moaning as I move down further into the basement. The noise echos off the empty hard walls and makes the already creepy space take on an entirely more eery aura. It's cold as I reach the bottom, a shiver running up my spine as I shutter. It smells wet and unkept down here, the dust that had settled between now and the last time someone came down here now picking up around me and entering my airways.

"Jesus Christ" i mutter to myself as I find the large stack of boxed vodka. It's piled high, but not too far up to where I can't grab a heavy case from the top, on my toes I reach out and take it in my hands. It's a lot heavier than I was anticipating, the weight coming down hard against my groin as I slide it off.

"Fuck" again, speaking to myself and placing it down on the ground to find the case of jack that Mel requested.

It also isn't hard to spot, just beyond the stack of vodka it sits not nearly as tall. Only four boxes high, but just as heavy. I'm going to have to make two trips in order to get these up to her. I slide both boxes over to the edge of the steps, using the strength in my legs to hoist what feels like a hundreds pounds across the old crackled concrete flooring.

Just as I'm about to take the top case into my arms, the room lights up dimly. My head snaps to the top of the steps to see the tall frame of a man. I can't make out his features as my eyes try to adjust to the sudden change in exposure and he slowly begins to walk down the steps.

"Do you need some help?" He speaks in a deep vibrato. His voice seems familiar, but I can't put my finger on it.

My heart hammers in my chest, still caught off guard by his sudden presence I can't speak just yet. My voice is lost somewhere in my throat as it searches for some kind of moisture.

"I didn't mean to startle you" he speaks again, but this time he is closer and I can hear him more clearly. I'm certain I know that deep timbre from somewhere, I've heard it before.

And when he finally steps into my line of sight I am met with deep sunken in blue eyes that chill me. I've seen them before, finding familiarity in the deep lines that pepper the corners. His hair is dark, as dark as the feeling that hits my stomach as I realize who he is. Dressed in a grey suit- one that is tailored perfectly to his body that is cut with thick, broad muscle. He's the perv from the bar that I went to a few weeks ago. The one who slid me his number written down on an old crinkled up napkin, the bad omen. Jasper. Just the mere thought of him sharing a name with that vile man puts a bad taste in my mouth for him, and his blatant disrespect for me was definitely the cherry on top. I just can't imagine why he would be here, offering me help.