Three drinks to try and forget that you're being hunted, just three and you'll be on your way. That's what you try to tell yourself as you stand at the bar waiting to make another order, just one more, just three and you'll be able to sleep tonight. Maybe, maybe if you get the chance. Maybe, if they don't find you a string you up like you heard they do to people with afflictions like yours. Af-flic-tion, you pronounce the word in your head over and over as if it will give you some peace of mind, as if you can tell yourself that it's the disease that's eating at you, it's the disease that's making you do these things to people. But it's not, it's really really not, it's just a game, and it's fun.
You get really tired of just standing there waiting for the bartender to notice you, so you decide to (once again) use your natural "affliction" to your benefit. You close your eyes just briefly to imagine yourself standing at the bar, hip popped, lips curved into a smirk. You imagine yourself saying, "Maybe we should get out of here." and then winking to add effect. When you open your eyes you push the thought out of your head and send it across the room. Watching as he quickly grabbed two beers for the men who had just walked in, then hurry over to you. Maybe he can see the manipulative gleam in your eye, or maybe he just assumes that you're fulfilling his fantasy, but he barely bats an eye when you ask for two more Jack and Cokes. Two more, just two. Just four to forget.
You had almost forgot, for a moment, that they were after you. Not just you, you and your best friend. And you keep trying to forget that you only have yourself to blame, by doing things like this. By taking advantage of people, by having just way too much fun. You found your best friend, your partner in crime, a few months back. And since then everything had turned to chaos. Not too sure who to blame, not sure who was the first one to say, "Let's rob a bank," or, "Let's get this guy to give us his car," or, "Let's destroy for the fun of it." But you brought out the best in each other, you'd say. Though other's, I'm sure, would say you'd only made each other worse.
But really what it was, you were born with what could be a curse, what had been, and you'd been trying to smile through it, and found someone to smile through it with. For just two more beers, maybe just one more night.
Your friend looked at you when you got back to the table, head slightly cocked and eyebrows raised, "Uhhh, Y/N ?"
You brought your head back in feigned surprise, "Bitch, you know they're both for me."
She laughed lightly, her mouth forming a silent 'Oh', before rolling her eyes, and herself out of the booth to get her own refill.
You guess it would have been polite if you'd gotten her another, but honestly, it just didn't come to your mind. There was already too much there, gnawing and eating away at you. Sometimes you wished that there was an escape, that your ability to channel minds was a two way street; that you could just sit back and relax and listen to someone else's thoughts the way you could force them to see yours.
Finding yourself spiraling into loops of one bad thought after another, you look around the bar for your friend. Finding her using her own 'God' given talents, by shifting her body into one that was more ass-thetic, trying her own hand at getting the busy barkeeps attention. You notice, though, that's not the only attention she's attracting. The two men that entered a few minutes ago are conversing amongst each other, with both sets of eyes dancing over her figure, obviously talking about what they'd like to do to her. You giggle to yourself, unable to help it, men are just too easy, aren't they? You give them a little taste of just exactly what they want and they forget about every other ideology they might have.
Apparently she notices too, because she's got her glass in her hand and she's moving quickly to the other side of the bar. You sigh heavily, although amused by her actions, still very bored yourself. You decide, maybe you should join her. There are two of them, after all. There's no need for checking yourself when you can project images and thoughts into people's heads, there's really no need to worry that you'll ever go home alone. It's a strange line to find yourself dancing on, but goddamn do you love to move your hips to the beat of this game.
Your friend takes your hand graciously, as if she knows your coming (she does, you 'warned' her), and introduces you to the men she's been chatting up. "Dean," she raises her hand to touch the side of the shorter one's neck just slightly with the outside of her fingernails, subtly making claims before nodding her head over to the other guy, "and Sam."
You bit your lip playfully, not sure if she was taking what she wanted or giving you what you wanted. Because shit he was your type. Almost too tall, broad chest, long brown hair, and eyes that had the devil in them. It actually sort of surprised you that you didn't come over here first. You definitely saw them walk in, but you didn't seem to care much, then. How could you not have noticed this opportunity waving itself in front of you? But now the question was, how could you help yourself? When you could have any man you wanted, and tonight your game was him. "Sam, I'm Y/N ," you say, ignoring Dean without meaning to, and holding out your drink for a cheers instead of a handshake, "To the night!" You shout, clinking with the rest of your party and downing your whole drink, ready to forget that you were, in fact, being hunted for the kill. And completely aware that this could be your last night at the party in this perception, so fuck it. Fuck your five drink minimum and fuck giving a shit for the first time in years, right before it wouldn't matter anymore.
Might as well burn yourself so damn hot you scorch the earth on your way out. Might as well feed the flame, might as well use your whole bag of tricks to send your soul into the afterlife with good last memories. Might as well fulfill your own fantasy. And right now he was 6'5" of intoxication and just waiting for you to fill his head with dirty little thoughts of you. The hunger in his eyes was one you recognized, and you knew you didn't really have to fuck with him to get him to bed. There were certain benefits, sure, you could gauge his reactions to certain things, but really, what it really was, is that old habits die hard and you know that you could just make him ache for you.