Hey guys! I'm really happy for all of the reviews so far! I swear I checked my e-mail, and y'all are freaky fast with brittana fics. But that's what I love about everyone haha. Thanks for all of the encouragement, I really do appreciate it. Originally, I had about 50% of this chapter written but then my hard drive crashed after dropping my mac haha, so this is a rewrite, but I decided to plan out the chapter a little better, so hopefully it'll be alright. Let me know what you all think!
By the way, there's a song in this chapter, if you're interested in listening to some of it as it's supposed to play in the story: You Know My Name by Chris Cornell
So here's chapter 2, enjoy!
. . .
Lunch was underway and Santana quickly lead me to a small table, nestled under a shade tree, in the back of the outdoor courtyard. I took a seat across from her on the bench seat, putting my salad on the table. I felt her heeled foot cross under the table to my jean-clad leg, grazing ever so slightly. Her eyes were focused on her salad, however. She was trying to make this seem accidental, but I could barely notice. I was too busy pushing down the tingling in my spine and the flips in my stomach. I was just hungry, that must have been it.
Santana busied herself telling me all about the people sitting around us. I should correct myself, she was actually making fun of them, and glaring at any passersby with full trays of food who dared to chance sitting with us. One poor boy tried to sit next to her and ended up with Spaghetti sauce in place he would probably never find. I smirked, acting unbothered as I unceremoniously stuffed lettuce, lightly coated in ranch dressing, into my mouth.
"You weren't kidding when you said you were starving," she commented with a genuine giggle. I looked up, connecting my ice blue eyes with her brown eyes hooded by thick lashes. My cheeks were slightly swollen, puffed out from the amount of salad in my mouth.
There it was again, her leg brushing on mine. I nearly choked. This time it was slow and cautious, meant to draw my attention. Discomfort was a subtle form of what I was experiencing. I willed all of the butterflies in my stomach to be caught in a net or to just shrivel and die. I was supposed to be the one in control here, dammit. She had to bend to my will to make this all work out. My body was betraying me in a way it never had before.
I shook my head, not allowing myself to make eye contact with her. She was testing me and I was going to pass. Moreover, I was going to win.
I could totally do this, I could just slip a little heavy water into her "Sue Sylvester Master Cleanse" she was holding and she would be dead in about a week, tops. Maybe that wasn't the best option, though. After all, it would take several doses, throughout the day, to get the amount in her body needed to do the trick. I would have to somehow get enough chances to slip it in which would probably raise her suspicions. I asked to smell it once, already. Personally, it seemed like poison enough as it was, so I wondered if actual poison would do much of anything at all.
At any rate, I lost my opportunity to pour in the toxic liquid because she wouldn't stop staring at me. In fact, that was becoming my problem the more the day went on. Her eyes were constantly on me, and though they were beautiful, absolutely gorgeous, it just made me feel guilty. I couldn't kill her in broad daylight. I mean, technically, the symptoms and effects would hit her much later. Her parents would probably find her body, or she could die at school in front of all of her friends. What friends she seemed to have and probably didn't scare away, at least. That just seemed wrong and against my usual style. Though it would be discreet, it was too ruthless. I didn't want to drag this out any longer than it needed to be.
Ricin was another tool I used when I wanted to be discreet, but I didn't come prepared with my special ring to deliver the poison. Perhaps tomorrow I could hold her hand and prick her just right with the needle. That seemed humane enough.
I shook my head, realizing I was probably zoning out. I would just let the answers come naturally to me and I wouldn't fuss about it. It wouldn't be right to kill her at school, I would have to find another way.
We had long since abandoned our salads, instead we focused on casual conversation. Her leg continued its course up my own, this time daring further up, as high as her shorter legs would reach before trailing back down. I slowly bit down on my bottom lip, dropping my head slightly without breaking eye contact. I would allow her just a glimpse of how she was affecting me.
"So I barely know anything about you" she started. "You're not from around here or I would have noticed," her lips were poised in a sly smile and her words dripped with lust. I was growing more uneasy. Despite her trying to conceal the want she felt, it was radiating from her being. Her eyes trailed my body, heating my skin with every glance. I had to mentally pat myself on the back, I guess I was hotter than I thought.
I glanced up the length of the white plastic fork she had playing near her lips until I reached the supple destination. They were parted, just slightly, the white plastic being toyed with by perfect teeth absentmindedly gnawing at the pointed tip. I curled my lips in a satisfactory smirk and folded my arms across the table, leaning closer.
"I've always lived everywhere, really. New York, Paris, Hong Kong, you name it. My parents are in the military, so I've traveled a lot." I shrugged while the lie slipped easily from my lips. It wasn't a huge stretch. My parents could easily be considered agents, and we did live everywhere in the world. I was surprised I didn't just make up a story like normal. Living in California my whole life until my father got a new job offer, that was my normal spiel. Something about Santana made me want to tell her more of the truth.
I inwardly frowned, but I did say this year was going to be different for me. I just wouldn't let these sudden ideas and notions take me over. I had complete self-control. Yep, I had this in the bag.
"I hate how most people call me a military brat because I don't really see how I'm a brat, I guess. Maybe I just don't get it." The afterthought was added for her remorse as I found something interesting to stare at on the table to tear my eyes away from her deep brown ones. My voice was a bit small, in search of a little pity.
"Hmm," her low hum rang out slowly as if she was contemplating what to say. "I think it's just a term people like to throw around, but don't let anyone put a label on you. I don't think anyone deserves that. Labels just lead to judgement, and that just fucking sucks." There was a sense of finality to her last statement, and everything from her slightly vulnerable tone of voice to the way her brow lines creased with the passing of memories told me that she was saying was more than just friendly advice. She was wounded somewhere down the line. Maybe she was more than just a pretty face, and maybe she really clawed her way to the top of the social pyramid. Either way, I knew her life was probably not all that easy, but I wasn't about to pry into her personal life. The less I knew about her, the easier all of this would be for me.
It wasn't selfish, just right.
Does a lion befriend a gazelle before it becomes its afternoon meal? I didn't think so. Also, before anyone asks, no I'm not a cannibal.
"I don't let it bother me too much," I let her heavier words slide off with a reassuring smile. "And whatever it is that's been said about you, I'm sure you got them back for it. You're tough and you're beautiful. Anyone would be totally dumb to mess with you." My smile widened as her face brightened a bit.
Santana's head jerked up in a cocky nod, her brunette curls rustled at her shoulders, "damn straight." What I had come to know as her signature smirk spread across her lips, all of the pain from moments ago was forgotten by her features. Just like me, she had a mask.
I watched her poke at her salad a bit with an amused expression, but as her eyes darted behind me, I followed their path to a strutting blonde. A similar red sports bottle was clutched in her hand that I guessed also held the atrocious master cleanse Santana had gone on about earlier. Students around her parted like the Red Sea, moving as far away as possible, but some were too awestruck or too busy cowering to move.
Much like Santana, the spring in her step radiated power and confidence and if the scared students around her were any indication, I knew she was popular. However, I also noted her red and white uniform gave her that power. She had a kind face but it was worn in the slightest way that told me she had been through something big in her young life. I knew it because I had the same way with my features. The skirt brushed her creamy thighs with each step, swaying like a delicate dancer along her hips. Her sun kissed hair was pulled impossibly tight into a high pony tail that accentuated the natural upward pull of her brows.
"Santana," the new girl's soft voice acknowledged her as she took a seat beside her. There was an exchange of nods that took place between the two girls as Santana took a bite from her salad for the first time. I could tell she was trying to fake disinterest now that the girl had sat down, but I was also a little surprised that she hadn't shooed the blond away yet. She really did have friends after all.
"You know, Coach will be furious if you show up without your uniform," her green eyes darted down to the salad Santana was playing with. Her tone was soft but it had an air of command in it that told me, perhaps, this girl was a superior in someway to Santana.
However, when a perfectly manicured hand swiped a napkin across the beginnings of a smirk, I knew that they were actually equals. This girl could keep up with Santana's spark.
"Hold onto your habit, Fabray, my uniform's stuck at the cleaners. Besides," Santana shrugged closing her eyes and swallowing the remains of her salad, "tryouts aren't until Friday. Don't you think it's a little presumptuous to be wearing it already? You don't even know if she'll let you back on the team, Quinn." The glint in her brown eyes was dangerous, I knew she was bordering on something sensitive.
Quinn, as I now knew her, took one short, unsure glance towards me before returning her attention back to Santana, "I think you're the one assuming things. You'll never make co-captain," a quirk of the eyebrows and a smirk signaled the daggers were coming out, but I could tell these two had a dirty friendship and while prickly, they both were probably close for a long time. "...if you don't prepare ahead of time."
"Blah, blah, blah," Santana laughed a bit, shrugging off any bit of malice Quinn's words contained. She waved her tanned hand in the air before finally sliding it onto the crisp back of Quinn's cheer uniform. Her free hand gestured towards me, "anyway, this is my friend Brittany. I was just getting to know her when you so kindly interrupted." She adopted her sweetest smile she could muster.
Quinn's perfectly shaped brow raised towards me, a dirty smirk graced her lips with intrigue, "I'm sure you were." She sized me up with a glance, keeping the smirk, though now it seemed somewhat satisfied.
It was my turn to cough uncomfortably, but Quinn's outstretched hand cut through any of the tension I was feeling, "I'm Quinn, if you didn't catch it, Santana's best friend. I hope she hasn't been giving you too much trouble. She's genuinely a hard ass bitch." She smiled slyly as Santana shrugged matter-of-factly.
"I would hit her, but it's honestly true." There was a hint of resigned triumph lingering in her words and maybe a dash of pride.
A giggle escaped my lips before I could stop it, "she's actually been really great to me. Almost like my guardian angel or something." I shrugged with a smile, curling a small lock of blond hair with my index finger. It wasn't a lie, at all, really. Santana really had kept people at bay that I'd rather not deal with, and regardless of the professional nature of our relationship, I was thankful.
Quinn gave me a look of disbelief as if I had just told her that I was Jesus in the flesh.
"Clearly, we are not talking about the same person, here. Unless..." her eyes narrowed considerably and traveled to Santana who returned a confused look.
"What?"
"Oh nothing."
I didn't have much to say, so I was content to sit back and watch the two interact with amusement splaying on my features.
"Tell me before I beat it out of you."
"It's nothing."
"You have 3 seconds."
"I'm onto you that's all." Quinn threw up her hands, feigning a defensive move. Her smirk never left her lips.
I had an idea about what she was referring to. Santana had been anything but subtle with her glances, how she treated me, how she behaved around me. She either seemed to think I was very friendly or very friendly. Her stare made me feel practically naked, and I was pretty sure she'd had me mentally down to my underwear a few times today already.
I wouldn't lie about it. I had slept with my fair share of men and women. Sometimes I even kept track of the number, if I felt like it. Sometimes for missions, sometimes just for fun. Mostly for missions. However, if I were being honest, no one had affected me so soon like she had.
I watched her exchange with Quinn, zoning out the topic of their conversation and simply focusing on her. The way she threw her head back with laughter, the way her nose scrunched up in the slightest way when she was confused, the small lines that formed above her eyebrows, and the shape of her eyes nearly closing when she smiled. It was all quite beautiful, as if she were masterfully planned out by an architect. What a shame, I thought. She was going to go to waste at the simple click of a gun. My gun.
I noticed Quinn returning her attention to me, so I tuned back into the conversation.
"Anyway," she started while taking a sip of the grotesque liquid in her bottle. Her face didn't even flinch, obviously used to the flavor of sand and various no calorie liquids and probably motor oil or something equally ridiculous, "Santana was telling me that your parents are in the military, so you've lived everywhere? What's your favorite place you've ever lived?" Her emerald eyes lit up a bit with curiosity.
I played with the cup of water in my hands smiling as I took a small sip, "New York, totally."
Both pairs of eyes were gleaming with interest in what I had to say. I could tell that I was a rarity in these parts. Most of the students here had probably never been outside of Ohio, let alone the country, like I had. I wasn't actually even born in the States. I was born in Paris while my mother was on an assignment, and even though my parents and I returned to Amsterdam- my parents' birthplace- once a year to meet with our family, I was just a nomad of sorts. I really had no place I called home.
"You just feel like your part of something awesome and bigger than you, there. Like you can feel the city's heart beat." Truthfully, I adored New York. Most weekends, if I could afford the time, I went back to my penthouse apartment to stay. There was truly nothing like that city to make you feel alive, and, somedays, I needed that reminder.
"Wow, that must be amazing." Quinn smiled with wonder and a soft voice, "we've only ever been once for a couple of days and it was just long enough to captivate me." She took another swig from the red container, "I can't wait to go back someday, once I get out of this place." She sighed somewhat defeatedly.
I never knew what it felt like to be trapped somewhere, so it was hard for me to sympathize. In return, I only nodded.
"Yeah, as much as I hate to say it," Santana's eyes fluttered down as if what she was about to say shamed her, "Quinn and I are in the Glee club here and we made it to Nationals last year, in New York. We lost because our team is full of idiots, but it was still pretty fun to go to the Big Apple."
As soon as the words left her mouth, the lunch bell rang signaling the end of the period. Quinn got up, stretching a bit. I grabbed Santana's salad bowl and placed it in my own to throw away, earning a happy, throaty hum from the brunette.
"Speaking of Glee club, you should bring Brittany in to practice today and see if she wants to join," Quinn proposed to an already objecting Santana.
"No, no and no. She probably doesn't want to sing back up to Dwarf-enschnauz von Streisand and her show tunes."
"Okay," the word was long and drawn out from Quinn's lips, "first of all, it's Rachel and how about we let Brittany decide for herself like the big girl she is?"
Before Santana could interject, I asserted myself, "I'd love to." I added an extra note of chipper and a bright smile for effect, linking my pinky with Santana's and lightly bumping my shoulder against her's to qualm any rebuttals as we started through the doorway to the hall.
. . .
The last few classes went by pretty slowly. I had come accustomed to sending death glares towards Jacob Bin Israel. He insisted on sitting next to me in two or three of the last classes. I was thankful for Puck who scared him off, berating him for giving Jews a bad rep. Despite being pretty dense and mostly stupid, the mo-hawked tanned skinned, bigger Jew wasn't all that bad. He was actually pretty nice, and generally respectful, if you overlooked the lustful gloss permanently installed over his eyes.
He didn't bother me or ask me anything suggestive, but I really wasn't paying attention to anything he said. I just smiled a dopey, lazy smile throughout most of his ramblings about how awesome he was, his conquests, and his pool cleaning business. Somehow all of them went hand in hand, and I realized I was probably paying more attention than I should have been.
Thankfully, I didn't have to endure it much longer. I thought my emotional scowling was going to get stuck permanently.
The bell rang and the students filed out; Puck ran off after a younger girl in an illegally short skirt. asking her if she had any pipes needing to be unclogged or a pool in need cleaning. I just shook my head while I collected my notepads, placing them back in my leather satchel.
I slipped my phone out from the tight front pocket of my jeans and slid my finger easily over the lock screen. I needed some sort of reassurance and I wanted to make sure that the hit I was dealing with was kosher. Wow, this was really starting to sound all Jewish. Regardless, I really just needed to be sure that Santana was a threat, in some way, to the greater good.
Had Santana not had a knack for sneaking up behind me while I was checking her file, I would have known much earlier, all I needed to know. I scrolled over multiple slides of data and general background information, cursing technology under my breath. I wasn't sure why everything had to be digitized now. It wasn't that I was against technology, but for my bread and butter, I much preferred the manilla envelopes and the crinkling of paper beneath my fingertips.
I sighed deeply, coming to rest upon the reports section. Here, I would finally see why the hit was ordered. I brushed my fingertip over the glass screen to access it, but, to my dismay and visible frown, I was met with an error message: 'Error: A0020098B Source File Locked. Requires Special Permissions'. This was exactly the reason I preferred paper. There were only two possible scenarios that would offer an error like this: first and least likely, someone was challenging me for the hit, or second and most likely, it was just a simple technical error I would have to overlook for now. I was banking on the latter.
The cold metal of the lockers I was leaned against went straight through my jacket, cooling the irritated heat radiating from my skin. No one would challenge me. I was renowned as a world class killer, I was the last of a very long line of bests, but most importantly I was feared. Crossing my family, it was just something that was unheard of, and in the realm of assassinations, thinking you can one-up the best of the best was as good as slapping them across the face, spitting venom in their eyes, and stomping on their toes all at once. It didn't happen. People just didn't go there.
I spread my lips in a wide smirk. I had nothing to worry about. It was definitely just a technical error.
With the familiar click of heels approaching me, I slid the phone gently back into it's home on my waist. I turned to inhale that same sweet cherry scent that gave me a slight buzz of excitement and arousal. It was the smell of my future success.
"Britt-Britt," she greeted me with a warm, firm smile that sent a pang of guilt rolling down my spine and through my stomach lining. I pushed it back, sporting a nod and equally as warm smile. Nicknames already. She moves quickly, but I would be lying if I said that I didn't feel the same allure, the same thing that found me defying everything I thought about emotions and somehow caught me wanting to abandon my professionalism.
Without many words, Santana walked by me with an outstretched pinky, slightly curled with the indication that mine belonged there, and lead me towards the choir room.
. . .
The room was quaint, lined with various trophies that oddly did not belong to the show choir, but rather the cheer squad. The shelves had various trinkets for learning or storage and chairs were full of eager kids. Familiar faces I had seen throughout most of the day. Some I shared classes with, but most I did not know or remember the names of. The piano was off to the side accompanied by a man with glasses and a red beard that gave a young Kris Kringle a run for his money.
He looked a bit zoned out, kind of how I wanted to be. I guessed he wasn't the teacher in charge of the club. No one seemed to pay him any attention.
Santana pulled me towards an empty chair by Quinn and we sat down. Most of the others were too busy talking to notice me in the room and here I realized that Santana's presence seemed like just an addition, not an overwhelming pressure in the room like it did in our classes.
I scanned over the small crowd taking in the diversity of people here. This was a place for people to come together and be free from social barriers. I smirked, Santana's social standing gave her little power here, or so I thought.
A man who I recognized as my Spanish teacher came sprinting into the class, probably fresh from the copy room judging by the thick stack of sheet music in his hands. He ran his hand down the front of his tie, smoothing it under his black vest.
"Sorry I'm late everybody," his dark eyes perused the room. I assumed he was taking a head count. When he reached me, his eyes sparkled with excitement and acceptance that made me a little nervous.
"Ahh, I see we have a new face in here, today." He clapped his hands together firmly with a twinkle in his eye and a smile so big and bright it would have powered the school during an outage.
Everyone quieted down as Santana stood and gently tapped my arm, signaling for me to follow her up to the front of the room. A small smile spread across my lips as I allowed myself to feel the tiny bit of nerves that was actually there.
"This is Brittany, everyone," Santana's silky voice called out to the class to acknowledge me. She ran her hand over my shoulder reassuringly, but the touch was so laced with care and friendship that it burned. Yet, I didn't pull away. I just stood there and allowed her to stroke my back and send me further into a dark, guilty place.
Mr. Schuester strode up beside me and placed his arm around my shoulder, replacing Santana's. I let out a deep sigh, a breath I wasn't aware I was holding, finally relieved to have someone unfamiliar touching me instead.
I continued to force out my smile as Mr. Schuester made to speak, but was cut off by Santana.
"Brittany, this is Wheezy, Cripple, Lady, and Eyebrows," she gestured her painted black nail towards four now disgruntled teens in the front row. I arched my brow in slight amusement, turning my head slightly to catch Mr. Schuester pulling the sheet music over his face in defeat.
"You already know Quinn and Idiot," the nail fell on Puck who gave a shrug, almost agreeing with the name.
I could here the teacher somewhat silently correcting their names as Santana called out her pseudonyms for everyone. I tuned in and out between the two, catching each name.
The first four were Mercedes, Artie, Kurt, and Blaine. Rachel and Finn were the Keebler Elf and the tree stump she lived in. I had to stifle a chuckle, "Don't be mean, San." I lightly bumped her with my shoulder with the whisper.
San. It had slipped out and now I couldn't take it back. Sure it was only shortening her first name, and it may have seemed harmless. It was actually probably beneficial that I get close to her, refer to her with affection, but how far could I take it that it wouldn't be acting anymore? It was probably best to mentally shrug it off, but it was becoming more difficult.
There was something about her that set her apart from all of my other targets, yet I couldn't place what it was. And that was driving me crazy.
She sighed beside me, "fine, the last two are Mike and Tina." The amusement was gone from her voice, but she was still nonetheless happy. Mike and Tina seemed happy to be spared the slew of nicknames Santana no doubt spent all summer conjuring up.
"So," Mr. Schuester cleared his throat to offset the angry glances we were receiving, "what is it that you like to do, Brittany? Do you sing or dance or, what?" The level of intrigue in his voice told me he enjoyed his job way too much.
"I dance," the sound of leather stretching as I scrunched my shoulders together mirrored my inward laughing. I dance, I thought. It was a steep understatement. Training to kill diplomats meant I might find myself in a ballroom situation, in which I would have to demonstrate perfect manners and perfect dancing. I took classes in ballroom until I became more interested in it personally. From then on, I took modern and hip hop classes in what spare time I had to myself. Dancing was an escape for me, and it improved my craft, made me lighter and more nimble, more precise.
Happiness seemed to radiate through Mr. Schuester's hands with each thundering clap. I turned to meet his gaze and million-watt smile that split his face into two equally happy parts. However, as soon as he opened his mouth to say something, Rachel climbed down from her perch by Finn.
"Mr. Schue, if you don't mind. I've taken the liberty of preparing a special number that I think will kickstart our year and set us in the proper direction towards Nationals." Her smile was quickly becoming obnoxious as each stride towards us she took boosted how sure she was of herself and her talent. I told myself to be patient, I hadn't even heard her sing yet. But, something about the glares everyone was sending her and the annoyed sighs told me that no one was particularly welcome to her idea.
"Rachel, that's great and everything, but-" the curly headed man tried, but like clockwork, Rachel cut him off again.
"I know, what you're going to say. Brittany is more than welcome to dance to it, if she feels so inclined."
"I'm not a recliner," I deadpanned quietly, mostly towards Santana who supplied a confused look through her permanent scowl.
Rachel smiled sweetly towards me, awaiting my response but I noticed Puck stirring from his chair, grabbing a red Les Paul guitar from a stand and striding over.
"Look, no disrespect to my number one Jew here, but Rachel, we seriously need to start this year off with a sexy mysterious bang. Get our mojo back. And let's face it, I'm the only one who can deliver in that department." He slipped the guitar strap over his shoulder and chuckled with the same cocky smirk he always sported.
Mr. Schue sighed, resigned to the idea. Rachel didn't put up a fight, taking in the angry glances from her team mates before scurrying back to her seat.
"Come on, I'm sure you can rock out to this. Make me look good," he winked at me knowingly as Santana slinked back to her seat and the music started up.
It was a powerful rock intro with a strong, spy quality to the wailing guitar Puck masterfully played.
I moved my body around his as he began to sing, circling him much like an animal does it's prey before doing a short tumble on the floor, ending in a dramatic arch.
If you take a life, do you know what you'll give? Odds are you won't like what it is.
His voice was smooth, and his eyes trailed on my every move, rotating his head to meet my gaze. However, as I reached my hand over his chest to trail it down slowly, my eyes were looking passed him to the fixed gaze of two brown eyes, shrouded by the more dramatic lighting that had been provided under the dimmed lights.
When the storm arrives would you be seen with me by the merciless eyes I've deceived?
Puck turned to the side, bracing my weight against his back as I dropped down low and spread my legs in a deep squat. My eyes still glued to Santana. I needed to see her squirm, and I had gotten my wish and then some. The look in her eyes was pure lust.
I allowed myself a quick glance to the others around the room as I flipped my hair quickly, grabbing a handful to slide across my lips. They were all captivated, even Rachel Berry.
I've seen angels fall from blinding heights, but you yourself are nothing so divine
I stalked over with the beat towards Santana, pushing her back against her chair, Puck followed me, taking the seat next to her as I straddled her in front of everyone. I could feel the heat radiating from her body as I brought my lips to her ear.
Just next in line
She shivered beneath me as I ghosted my fingertips over her collarbone, but I pulled myself away quickly as he began the chorus, swinging my arms to Puck's strong neck leading him back towards the center of the room.
Arm yourself because no one else here will save you.
I licked my lips, giving her one more glance before doing a body roll against Puck's side. He leaned into me as he strummed.
The odds will betray you and I will replace you.
It was such an oddly fitting song that it was borderline ironic. It was almost eerie that Puck had chosen such a song with such lyrics. It's like he knew.
You can't deny the price it may never fulfill you, it longs to kill you. Are you willing to die?
I stared deeply into her eyes. My cold blues were piercing, as I continued my ministrations against Puck's body, using him as a tool to convey what I was feeling. I realized how cruel, how sinister, all of this was but I couldn't let it show on my features. One sign of weakness, and I knew she would notice. And yet she had no idea and that both thrilled me, like it should have, and devastated me all at once.
The coldest blood runs through my veins. You know my name.
Her tight neck moved quickly with a large gulp as I moved my body closely with Puck's.
I continued to dance with him suggestively throughout the rest of the song. The guitar was a powerful motivator for my body's movements, but somehow this was the first time I could not completely lose myself in a dance.
When the music finally died down with Puck's robust voice and scratchy, perfect lyrics ending the song giving everyone something to remember. I panted somewhat heavily against his back before he turned and snaked his arm around my waist giving me a gentle squeeze that I could tell was a small thank you.
I smiled genuinely at him before blowing a stray strand of hair away from my lips. The room was quiet before Artie started a slow clap that, soon, everyone joined in on. It felt good, I had to admit.
Venturing a glance, I peaked through my curtain of hair to see a dark haired girl that was panting almost as much as I was. It was in that moment that I knew I was doing exactly what I needed to do to succeed.