Happy

Chapter 5.

Blood trickled down the girl's temple, leading a thick trail almost to the corner of her parted lips.

She smirked as she peered at herself through the mirror, satisfied with what appeared to be a gash on the side of her forehead and how realistic it appeared, before setting the near-empty plastic bottle of fake blood down on the mahogany dresser.

She pulled the nylon band out from her ponytail, allowing her naturally curly auburn hair to drop just past her chin. Her cognac-colored eyes glistened from the light on the ceiling fan spinning above her and, torn into her otherwise flawless umber skin, another wound loomed from the left side of her neck. This one was more gruesome however, perhaps a prosthetic made of latex drenched in even more thick layers of corn starch, and it resembled a bite mark from that of a vicious creature. Embedded deeply into it was a jagged tooth, really a candy corn painted chalk white, as the cherry on top of her grotesque creation.

"Really, Michaela?" Leighton leaned in from behind, lightly nudging her friend to get a better view of herself in the mirror as she too applied makeup, although hers bore more likeness to a playful kitty cat rather than that of mutilated roadkill. She carefully applied her whiskers with an eyeliner pen, her compulsion kicking in as she made sure each line was perfectly straight and perpendicular to one another. The pale redhead wore makeup that most would consider too dark for her tone, although it did make her pale blue eyes pop amid the cluster of freckles scattered throughout her cheeks. "Seriously?"

"What?" Michaela scoffed, picking up on the disapproval in Leighton's voice as she used a folded cotton swab to dab at her forehead.

"Tonight is an excuse to dress cute, not—" Leighton took another long look at her bloodied friend, "whatever the hell that is."

"Cute?" She held back a laugh behind her grinding teeth. "Halloween is about all things scary, dude. Sure, you get the occasional—well, fairly common—wenches who use it as a poor excuse to toss on the sluttiest outfit they can find and show off their limited time goods to anyone and anything that has a pulse. But really, if you think about it, the night was derived from pagan roots. I mean, these people truly believed that the souls of their loved ones returned home for that one night and—"

"Okay. Okay. I get it."

With just the slightest cock of her eyebrow, it was obvious that Michaela didn't believe her. But she still played along. "Alright then."

"Jeez." Leighton sighed, turning back to the ovate mirror as she used her ring finger to wipe another layer of dark balm on her lips. "Sometimes you really creep me out, Mick."

"Oh, don't be such a wuss." Michaela smiled as she slipped on a cheap pair of non-prescription glasses to complete the undead hipster look, although the thin strip of white tape centered between the lenses made it seem more related to some familiar form of wizardry. Not to mention she does also happen to have a crazed ginger at her beckon call. "Besides, you know you love it."

"I really don't." Leighton puckered her lips as she made sure everything was applied evenly. It wasn't. "Okay, fine. Maybe a little," she admitted under a crooked grin.

Arms wrapped around her shoulders as Michaela pulled herself in for an overly-dramatic hug. "Aww, I knew it!"

As Leighton stared at Michaela through the mirror, her smile began to fade as a troubling thought entered her mind. "Are you sure you're up for this?"

"For what?"

"Tonight. You know he's gonna be there."

"It is his house, Leighton." Michaela broke the embrace as her eyes darted to the floor in a poor attempt to look as if she couldn't care less. If anything, however, the somber demeanor radiated quite the opposite. "Think I knew what I was signing up for."

Leighton couldn't help but feel guilty. Even if it didn't take much convincing on her part, it was her idea to drag her friend into this mess that would undoubtedly lead to a night full of drunken regrets. But maybe that's exactly what Michaela needs right now, a distraction. And maybe that's why she agreed to come. "Well if you change your mind at any point tonight, just let me know. We can skedaddle."

"Skedaddle?" Michaela's tone shifted to that of a senseless cowgirl, her over-the-top southern twang nothing but absurd. As amusing as it may have been, it was a poorly disguised defense mechanism that Leighton recognized immediately. "Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit. Perhaps after our shindig we can travel out yonder to see where that good ole dirt path winds past the horizon."

"Mick, I'm serious."

The tight waves in Michaela's hair fluttered from a sudden frigid breeze, which had snuck in through the cracked window next to them, and she slowly ran her hands through her lustrous locks in an effort to tame them. Her eyes, again, met the carpet beneath their feet. "Guess it's always good to have an escape plan, huh? So what should be our code word?"

"What about..." As she rigorously scanned Michaela's bedroom, Leighton gazed over to a poster of a popular band on the wall furthest away from the door and stripped a word from the duo's name. "Pilots?"

Michaela followed her stare and, as she looked upon the same poster, different words called out to her. "How 'bout Twenty One?"

The two teenagers simultaneously bobbed their heads in agreement.