Flowers

1

Michael

"I can go-"

"No. It's my money, I'll find the fucker and get it myself," I muttered and hung up the short phone call.

I ran a hand through my hair and exhaled deeply, leaning back against the comfortable couch with exhaustion. I placed my book onto the coffee table and grew frustrated at what I had to now do.

Selling drugs to spoilt elite teens usually worked out fine most of the time. They paid whatever I asked whenever I asked, their funds never running dry. Some chickenshits like Oliver decided not to pay. He would, one way or the other, once I found him.

--

It wasn't hard to track down Oliver St. Brown.

I arrived in front of the extravagant estate in which he was hosting a party tonight. As soon as I entered the house, surprised as even the bouncer he had outside seemed too frightened to ask me for any name or identification, the stench of booze and sweat made me feel lightheaded.

I sneered at the sight of drunken rich twats dancing their Friday evening away.

I stood there for a moment, judging them as they did me. They had everything handed to them on a silver platter and lacked insight as to what real life was. They'd all grow up to be lawyers or politicians, or forever remain living off their names and trust funds. They had money to spend and as long as I profited from their need for cocaine and weed, I didn't find the need to bother myself with them.

The loud bass was already giving me a headache, as were the high-pitched giggles of skinny girls gossiping over boys.

I began searching for Oliver in the midst of the teens.

The large dining room area had some sort of beer pong game set up, with shirtless, sweaty and unfit guys chest-bumping into each other once someone managed to get the ball into a cup. Oliver wasn't there.

After searching the kitchen, inquiring for the chickenshit's location from a couple of the guys who I had been acquainted with, I gathered he must be hiding, frightened and aware of me coming after him.

I wasn't leaving here without my money, so he would have to hide all damn--

"Hi!"

My eyes focused in on a blonde, eyes sparkling happily and lips tugged up into a wide smile. She was wearing way too much makeup for my liking, but the moment my gaze drifted down to her cleavage, my brain drew a blank.

She could be like the rest of the elite girls here, spoilt to the edge of being braindead and otherwise a complete airhead, but her tits were mesmerising.

I knew I needed to focus back on finding Oliver, but the moment I met her light greyish-blue eyes again, my feet glued to the marble floor. My cock twitched when she spoke again.

"I haven't seen you around before," she chirped politely. I stared at her like an imbecile, like I'd never seen a female before. 

These Gucci-wearing, Dom Pérignon drinking and Bugatti driving crème de la crème of society rarely bothered to engage in casual conversation with someone wearing black ripped skinny-jeans and a simple black tee shirt, unless they were designer. Mine definitely weren't.

There was no real reason for someone like her to be even noticing me, and I was beginning to think this was Oliver's attempt of distracting me.

She literally radiated, standing out from every single person I had seen here tonight and during my entire pathetic life. My disgust towards the people here faded for a moment, and so did the thoughts of beating up Oliver if I wouldn't have the money owed to me by the end of the night. 

"Oh! Are you the new mute kid?" She jumped a little with excitement and my eyes shamelessly trailed down to her cleavage again, fixated on the way her bulging tits bounced with her movement. My mouth dried.

I ran my tongue discreetly over my lower lip, revelling in the sight of her smooth skin glimmering underneath the flashing lights in the otherwise dim mansion. 

"No," I grunted out. I cleared my throat after realising I sounded like a caveman and met her sugary, oblivious and curious gaze again.

I completely zoned out the people around us, unable to understand why I was now in such a bloody trance. If this had been planned by Oliver, he was a smart chickenshit. 

She hadn't noticed me perving over her, and just kept smiling naively.

"You haven't seen him, have you? I should probably go make sure he's not alone..." she began glancing around the room, her straight blonde hair whipping around and casting over a surprisingly delicious scent. She didn't wreak of booze and sweat as I assumed mostly everyone here did. She smelt like vanilla.

I was still gawking at her, the thought of Oliver now long gone.

"What's your name? Are you in our year, or?" She focused back on me with her unwaveringly bright smile.

I knew she had never had a hard day in her life. Her curvaceous body was sculpted by and for the Gods, her being too innocent for her own good, and knew she'd end up in a huge crisis when faced with reality at some point in her life.

"I-" I felt like such a dimwit, not knowing what to say and barely able to string together a coherent sentence. Why did I even need to say anything? These were the types of people I didn't want to socialise with, even if there was a chance of that happening.

My voice trailed off and I then noticed almost everyone here glancing over at her continuously. It was as if she didn't notice how people were looking at her, as if she was some sort of royalty. Maybe she was. Maybe I was talking to a princess. Wouldn't be too hard for me to believe, at this point.

"Is everything alright?" She tilted her head, her smile softening, "I'm Camille, it's nice to meet you. Are you new?"

"Michael. No."

My old English teacher would beat me for the lack of vocabulary. 

"Oh. I haven't seen you around before, Michael?" She was clearly prompting me on for a conversation, and I wanted to shut her up. Her voice was too smooth, too distracting, and I imagined what a cock between her luscious lips looked like. 

"I don't go to your school," I muttered, finally gathering enough self-restraint to look away.

"Oh? How do you know Oli?"

I chuckled to myself and pinched the bridge of my nose. If I told someone like her what I did and the type of people I was involved with, she'd probably faint dramatically.

"You know where he is?" I raised my brows at her and stuck my hands into the front pockets of my jeans, all too aware of the embarrassingly hard erection.

She wasn't even wearing a tight and short dress, something obviously exciting. She was wearing designer jeans and a shirt. Without the low v-neck, she would have been dressed for Sunday brunch at whatever country club her and her family went to.

"He's upstairs with Simon and Jason," she gave me a persistent nod, "I can walk you there, if you'd like?"

Coming from anyone else the request to walk me upstairs would have got me thinking of hooking up. She was just being suspiciously helpful and kind.

"I know my way around," I muttered rudely and abruptly began making my way away from her. If I had looked at her for one more minute, I would have creamed myself.

Pushing her as far into the back of my mind as I possibly could, I focused back on the task at hand: finding Oliver and having him pay back for the coke I've dealt him.