With the lights out, it's less dangerous
Here we are now, entertain us
I feel stupid and contagious
Here we are now, entertain us
The music pulses through my ears louder than it had in a long time. I listen and focus to the hardcore beat, trying to block everything else out.
I squeeze my eyes shut and I can feel my brows furrow. My head rests on the headboard of my tiny, twin bed and my hoodie-clad arms hold my folded legs to my chest. I sit in this pathetic ball untill the song ends.
Wait, no, the song shouldn't have ended that quickly. It was only entering the bridge... My eyes snap open and I unfurl out of my strained position as soon as I feel buzzing on my stomach- where my phone is. i whip my ear buds out of my ears with one swipe of my hand and squint at my phone.
Oh, it's Pete. I quickly tap the neon green "Accept Call" box that is flashing enthusiastically on the screen, slightly ticked off at the interruption of my music.
"Hullo?" I say as I slide my clunky cell to my ear. The stout word comes out glummer sounding than I intended it to. I'm also startled by my own voice, so I guess I haven't heard it in a while.
"Frank! What are you doing sitting around on a Friday night?" My cousin Pete's voice flies heartily through the speakers, hurting my ear. Even so, the edges of my mouth curl up. Pete's enthusiasm always humors me.
Out of habit, I bring my left hand to my mouth and start gnawing sloppily on my already ragged nails, or what's left of them. Tilting my head back, I stare at the cracked ceiling.
"Um...Sitting around," I say aloud after a second. I cringe as a wave of awkwardness and discomfort sweeps over me. God, I sound like such a loser. I know Pete doesn't think that about me, though. At least I hope he doesn't.
Although Pete isn't the hardcore jock, or the major pothead, he is that one kid who is accepted. But why wouldn't he be? He is a pretty cool dude in my opinion- good looking, with black hair like mine that falls flat on his forehead. Taller than me, (I mean, really. Who isn't?) and a bright smile. But what I assume is the root of his popularity: his band. Started just six weeks ago, Fall Out Boy, or something like that, has taken off, picking up speed and gaining local fame and gigs almost every weekend. Pete's the bassist. I'm pretty sure he's already got fangirls chasing after him, too.
"Oh, come on, Fronkkk! Listen. Tonight. Can you make it?" his voice starts oozing with anticipation towards the end of the sentence.
"Pete, remember: I can't always tell what you're thinking," I sigh, shaking my head.
"Just listen. 9:00, Spencer's place, party tonight. FOB's gonna be playing a little. Just our really popular stuff, though. I would be stoked if you could make it," His excitement is now audible and plain to my ear, and with dread I realize that I usually can't turn Pete down when he's excited.
Sighing again, I pull my fingers on my left hand from my nail-killer hand, and run it through my hair. Before I can stop myself, the words slip out.
"Fine. But only because I feel guilty I haven't seen any of your shows yet!" I laugh when I hear Pete hoot in excitement over the line.
"Yessss! I'll be at your place in 20. Throw on something hot and drink a Monster. Love you, bro," with that, the line goes dad, and I'm left alone caught between conflicting waves of regret, dread, and vague excitement sweeping over me.
I've never really been to a party before. Well, that's if you don't count lame family birthday parties. I'm really not that party-drink-and-fuck-each-night kind of teen that is so common today.
After some deep thought, I pop out of bed and scan my room: band posters plastered on the navy blue walls. I head towards my adjoining bathroom and step in front of the mirror. My appearance hasn't changed much since this morning: black hair splayed across my forehead, threatening to blind me. It's ruffled and messy, but whatever. I doubt anyone worthwhile will be at this party. I assume it will just be the douches that go to Pete's preppy high school, Jaxon High. My stomach twists at the thought of Jaxon, but I push the thoughts out of my head and instead focus on my appearance again.
My dark eyebrows furrow as I fiddle with my tiny lip ring, then my tiny nose ring. I pride myself with these piercings. I feel they help people out with deciphering me so I don't have to actually talk tho them.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not a totally anti-social "emo" kid (the label I have been taunted with too many times to count) that hates everyone and everything. I just don't enjoy talking to people who don't give a shit, or, more commonly, don't know shit. Plus, people can become very annoying. I usually prefer music.
Standing back from my mirror, I swiftly pull my ratty red hoodie over my head, exposing my pale, bare chest. Digging through my closet, I pull out a black, tight shirt and a thin black jacket. Then I slide on my pair of favorite pair of black skinny jeans. Next comes my beloved fingerless skeleton gloves that Pete got for me.
Standing back in front of my mirror, I smile in satisfaction at the finished prooduct. Just now, though, I notice something- looking closer, I see a faint swirl of the color purple painted under my eyes. Gasping, I decide to take Pete's advice, and in the next minute I'm already downstairs and shuffling through the refrigerator, looking for the energy drinks.
"Going somewhere?" I turn towards the voice to the sight of my mom lounging on the couch next to the kitchen, a coffee mug clasped in her bony hands.
"Oh- uh, yeah. Pete's picking me up. Won't be back late, promise," I turn back around when I hear two quick raps on the door. Unlocking it, Pete bursts in, smiling widely. His hair is spiked up and he has black eyeliner on too. He's wearing a black jacket and a pair of skinnies, with a wild sparkle his eyes.
We jump into his flawless white black Audi. Then we drive for about 20 minutes, chatting aimlessly. Well, Pete really was doing all the talking, raving about the setlist for his band at the party tonight.
"Oh, and, Frank, another reason why I'm dragging your ass out here to this party is beccause I bet 95 percent of the teens who will be there will be from Jaxon," he says, eying me wildly for a second.
I purse my lips and stare at my shoes. "Yeah, I know." I am most definitely not looking foward to this whole Jaxon thing.
"Just try to relax, maybe you'll meet some cool people, I dunno," he shrugged, pullling around the corner onto what was probably Spencer's street. There are tons off cars parked on the side of the road, bordering the edge of the thin woods. I think this is the street..but...where's the house?
"And we're here," Pete says, turning into a gap in the thin tree woods, that wide smile stuck on his face again. As I look ahead, my jaw drops and a gasp escapes my lips. We are currently driving on an enormous patch of propert of tall, thin trees spaced out far from each other. Up ahead is a gigantic mansion- three times the size of my house. People are sitting outside, smoking and laughin, and I can already hear the party raging and pulsating from inside the house from all the way out here. So this is Spencer's house.
Spencer is one of Pete's best friends from Jax, with a father as a doctor and a lawyer as a mother. So, saying his house was giant was an understandment.
Pete pulls up right in front of the house, where a few cars are parked on gravel. He pulls into an oddly open space, and I send him a puzzled look- surely someone would have taken this spot already.
Pete just smirks at me. "Bassists are always VIP."
Once we're inside, my head almost explodes. I've never been to a real party, remember?
Movement. Everywhere. People. Everywhere. Sound. Everywhere.
Even right next to the entrance of the house, there are teens packed into the nonexistent space. Grinding, talking, singing, dancing, drinking, laughing, screaming. The music bounces and throbs throughout the monster that is this hour.
The interior is even more beautiful than the exterior. It opens up into a vast room that is lit with fluorescent balloons floating in the air. The ceiling starts very low, then slopes upward in a cathedral-like fashion. The furniture of what is obviously the very expansice living room is spaced out, making me feel more comfortable and making it seemingly more chill and laid-back.
Obviously, Pete knows this place as he grabs my wrist and pulls my down a hallway to our left, dodging teens. He pulls me through the house and into the backyard, which is also loaded with tons of teen being, well, uh, teens. I follow Pete awkwardly through the throngs of kids, not having any clue where we're headed.
Outside, there is a massive pool built into the ground. Some kids are hanging around it, pushing each other in, and some are floating inside. To the left is a mini basketball court; swamped with whom I'm assuming are the jocks of Jaxon. Then, for the rest of the backyard it's just open clearing of grass and field. Kids are sprawled on the grass, chilling. There are a couple coolers just sitting around on the ground, filled with what, I can only guess.
I can feel the Monster's effect start to run through my veins. Unnatural energy causes me to bounce lightly on my toes while following Pete through the field.
When I look up, a small smile hits my face as I see where we are going. Just ahead, between two tall but thin tress, a small stage is set up with a drum set in the back and a few guys doing sound checks.
Pete grins and introduces me to his band, and they shake my hand, introduce themselves, and smile excitedly.
I smile back and say to the blond one with sideburns and a cool hat, Patrick, "So you guys go to Jaxon?"
"Yep, we all do. What about you, where do you go?" he raises his eyebrows.
"Uhh, Trebuchet High," I answered. "But, actually, I'm starting my first year at Jaxon on Monday," I reluctantly tell him.
Patrick's head snaps up. "Newbie at Jax, huh? Well, good luck," he says, seeming pretty sincere.
Pete announces on the mic that Fall Out Boy will be playing in 15 minutes. All the kids on the ground cheer and raise their drinks.
He plops down from the stage a minute later and starts pulling me back towards the house. "Let's find ourselves a drink, no?" he says with a sly grin, leading me indoors. Again, I don't complain because even though I don't usually drink, at a party like this, what else are you supposed to do?
Pete approaches one of the many scattered and multi-coloured coolers throughout the vast living room. He pops it open and grabs a random beer, handing to me and twisting of the cap. "Here you go, Frankie..."
"Thanks," I say while taking it from him. I never really liked beer. Or wine. Or really anything with alcohol. But, I know I would get stares if I just ditched my beer, so I reluctantly took a sip. Ew.
"I think..." Pete turns around, does a 360, and scans the rooms. He spots what's he's looking for, and I follow his gaze to a purple cooler on the other side of the huge room.
"I think that's where the real good stuff is," he says, smiling mischievously. "I'll be right back," he mumbles, drifting towards the cooler and soon out of sight with the crowd.
Sighing, I turn around and study the people here, feeling very...out of place. After a minute of complete boredom, I spot something that catches my attention in a second.
Not too far away, in a protective display of rectangular glass, hangs a beautiful, silver electric guitar. I gasp upon seeing it. It hangs on a wall with with the glass around it, display lights shining at it from different angles.
My attention is immediately stolen by the guitar, pulling me to it, beer still in my hand. I set my beer on a nearby coffee table.
As I turn back to the guitar, a sudden something smacks into me, sending me stumbling back a step, and I feel my elbow pushing back against my beer on the coffee table.
Something like, "arrgh" escapes my mouth as I try to regain my balance.
"Shit, watch i-" the voice is cut off as I raise my head to confront this oblivious, idiotic person who just high fived my body with his.
The angry words die on his lips as I flicker my eyes to his face. Whoa.
With skin even paler than mine, paler than I've ever seen, his raven hair contrasts extremely. It falls overr his eyes and is long, thick, and untidy. He has a very thin, cherubic face with prominent cheekbones. His nose is very thin and long. Then, I finally raise my gaze to his. His expression is a look of shock, matching what mine probably is.
I am immediatey taken aback. When I first look into them, I get the sense of staring into utter nothingness; an abyss of blackness. but the longer I stare, the more I'm certain that they are slowly turning the weirdest shade of green; almost not even green. Like a cloudy, foggy emerald, with flecks of hazel. They are outlined in heavy black eyeliner, like mine. I'm frozen in place, my hands clutching the coffee table behind me for dear life. After what seems like an eternity, the corner of his lips curl into a smile/smirk thing and my heart pounds and punches me in the chest.
"I'm sorry I walked into you- I was zoned out. My fault," he smiles as he says this in a melodic voice. My stomach erupts into a crazy fluttering fit. Shitshitshit.
At this realization, I decide it's time to wake up from my daze. Taking a step back, I shake my head out, trying to clear the clouds from it. I squeeze my eyes shut then snap them right back open, almost to check if this angelic...thing is just a figment of my imagination or not.

But he was gone.

Notes

YAY I'M DONE. I had to type the whole thing out~ TWICE. So: as I said before, if this does get feedback, i will write more. :) I know, I know i write very detailed. I'm working on that, lol.
so, comment if you want me to continue, rate, or scream at me at how terrible this shit is. Whatever the hell y'all want. Hope you like it...
OH and i'm on instagram if y'all wanna follow me, i'll follow you back ^_^ @_defiant_totheend_
sorry for typos. i really don't want to go through that whole thing another time, i'm pretty sick of this chapter now, heh...
So... Yeah.