1.1 | constellations of you and me ✓

05 | draco

SHE CAN FEEL HER HEART POUNDING. It's fast and surreal and insanely chaotic—an electrifying impulse frying all of her nerve endings, leaving nothing but herself and the booming bassline. It's frequency thrums past the marrow in her bones and sounds in time with flashing neon lights, flickering and flickering until there's nothing left. They're attached to the walls, violet and white and rose all blending and changing together, and the smell of alcohol lingers in the crevices of clavicles, in fingertips, and swishing hip bones. Eloise stands in the back corner with an empty solo cup resting in her right hand, watching bodies move against each other behind wisps of blue shadow and smoke.

Parties had never really been her scene—too sloppy, too prone to accidents. Distantly, she can make out Chase's figure, her pretty face lit up with a smile. Eloise's lips tip up a bit as she remembers that her friend had a rough week. She can't imagine waking up from nightmares nearly every night, dreaming about strangers that shouldn't be strangers. Seeing Chase dance and laugh like that makes standing awkwardly against the wall worth it, but God, Eloise hates parties. Hates them so much that her hands tremble just a bit at her sides, tugging at the ends of her dress.

Her dress isn't exactly a dress. Eloise looks down at the color of satin wine molding onto the contours of every dip and curve in her body, and the ridiculous amount of leg that it shows. Her hair tumbles over both shoulders and down her back, a little tangled and a little wild. Holographic highlighter compliments a smear of thick gloss on her bottom lip, and there's a glazed look in Eloise's eye, something resembling crazed panic and intense alertness. She's tired and awake at the same time: wired up on black coffee and sugar. Adrian Chalmetón's parties are like a rite of passage at UCLA, a sort of reincarnation of Gatsby and the mystery surrounding him. The only information people have on him is only the things he lets people know.

The volume slowly starts to rise exponentially, and her ears start to ring painfully, a sharp sensation slicing across her forehead—

Rough fingers brush her arm, and Eloise flinches backwards. "Haven't seen you around here before." Slowly, she raises her gaze to rest upon Jayden Bradshaw, a player on their soccer team. He's a year older than her, with shaggy blonde hair and unfocused eyes. Eloise feels something cold spread throughout her body, and she can't think clearly right now.

She shoots him a polite smile and makes an effort to move out of his way, but his hand wraps around her wrist and tugs her back to where she was standing moments ago.

Her jaw drops.

Eloise glares at him underneath her lashes. She's irritated, yes, but scared. Scared that she'll get lost in the thick of the smoke, cries muffled by the music.

"Let go of me," she says. Her tone is harsh, and she clenches her left fist against her side.

Jayden scoffs and takes a rough sip of his beer. "You Jonah's girl?"

She turns away, head tilting to the other side. "I don't belong to anyone, asshole."

"Ah, you're getting feisty on me, huh?" His breath smells like weed as it hits her cheeks in humid puffs. She feels nauseous, eyes looking around to spot someone—anyone—but she knows Chase is in the bathroom helping someone clean up her dress, and Parker is sick at home. Eloise sees people she knows, like Amanda from history and Eli from the library, but—

"You're drunk," she states flatly. "And you're not worth my time. Move."

Jayden throws back his head and laughs. There's something maniacal about it, like his eyes are glinting dangerously with malice underneath a thin haze of temptation. She knows about boys like him. Boys that don't care who they touch; boys that think no means yes; boys that lie and deceive and cheat to get what they want. Bile rises at the back of her throat, and his movements are jerky as he grabs her waist and pulls her closer.