Notes: sorry about the wait. i've been super busy among other things, sooo...yea!
[KEEP TALKING]
The heavy bass pounded in the air and the scent of sweat was thick in the air, acidic, with an aftertaste of alcohol. Claire Lyons sat at the bar, legs crossed, icy eyes scanning the dance floor, daring anyone to approach her. She wore a too-short, too-tight dress with too-high heels, glitter on her eyes and a cosmopolitan balanced tactfully in her hand. Sliding off the stool, she strutted to the middle of the dance floor, slid her pale hand onto the closest girl's waist and began to move her hips in slow, deliberate circles, all the while twirling the stem of her cocktail glass between her fingers.
A dangerous smirk spread across Massie Block's face as she felt a distinctly feminine hand brush her slender waist, traveling further down, until it barely dipped under her leather shorts that she wore with nothing underneath. Twisting around, her hooded golden eyes gazed down at a head of white-blonde hair. "Hey, Claire," she purred seductively, relishing in the lustful stares that gravitated towards them. Playing along, she grabbed the blonde's hips, sensually gyrating against her, head thrown back, skin shimmering. Just as the song faded to a close, Massie's lips pressed against Claire's cheek, leaving a blood-red imprint. Tilting her head back, her slender throat worked, as she stole a gulp of Claire's drink. Leisurely, purposefully, she licked her crimson lips. "Nice, but not my type," she whispered huskily, then promptly swirled around and sauntered away, hips swaying. "Body shots, babe," she yelled back to Claire, laughing, without turning around. "Join if you want, yea?" She then marched up to a hot blonde guy, flung her arm around his neck and pulled him down in a heated kiss.
It was impossible to hold the grin back, Claire discovered, as she shook her head in declination; not tonight. Only an exclusive group—even within the Elite— could treat her so carelessly; Massie was obviously one of them. Forcing it back, she recreated her who-the-hell-are-you-to-talk-to-me façade; eyes narrowed, lips pursed. Once again, she glanced around the packed club. Dylan was leaning against the wall in a lace-back dress, fiery hair glinting, as she twirled a lock around a finger girlishly, flirting with the nameless guy beside her. Kristen was in the arms of a brunette, sneakily texting behind his back, her intelligent aqua eyes observing every action, hearing every word spoken. Derrick was making out with his latest catch and Cam was brooding in the corner beside Landon, both guys nursing drinks. Inwardly, Claire frowned at her unsociable boyfriend, but decided to let it go, if just for tonight. Chris…maybe he was off reading some boring-ass book somewhere? Kemp was probably having his way with some innocent, incoherent, foolish girl in a supply closet and Josh would be at the back of the club, outside and smoking, Claire concluded. Layne and Alicia had vanished, it appeared.
"Well, then…" the judgmental blonde whispered as she located another relatively attractive guy—the club seemed to have an abundance of them—and wound her arms around him. "Let's dance."
She was such a shitshow, Layne thought bitterly as she leaned back against the washroom stall door, pathetic. Her dress hiked up as she collapsed to the floor, convulsing in tearless sobs. Fingers grasped her pink highlighted hair desperately as she tried to pull herself back to sanity.
You fucking bitch—
No, wait—
The scene, the words, the screaming played over and over in her head like a broken tape. Stop it, she commanded herself weakly, eyes staring blankly at the grimy ceiling. Stop it.
Layne, get in your room. Now.
No, please, stop.
A couple burst into the washroom in a fit of giggles and clumsiness, perfume and alcohol. The sound of zippers and moans, punctuated by messy smacking, broadcasted from the stall next to her.
FUCK YOU.
Goddamnit, stop. Shakily rising to her feet, Layne tripped over herself, out of the stall to the mirror. Black smears sprawled across her yellow-green eyes and a swollen red nose stared back at her mockingly. Screw you, screw you, screw you, she chanted silently with every swipe of make-up remover, of mascara, of cover-up, as Layne fixed herself, trying to gather the last bits of dignity she had. She stormed out, leaving the fornicating couple to climax in peace.
Not five minutes later, Alicia Rivera and her one-night-stand stumbled out of the stall, faces intoxicated with pleasure.
"Round two?"
It was the last night before summer ended, before school officially started. Before senior year; before mayhem, heartbreak, and before Briarwood as they knew it would erupt in drama.
It was the last night before everything would change.
Landon Crane sat alone on the porch for a few more minutes, listening to the absolute silence of Westchester at this hour. When all the parties were over, and the only company was the stars, and it felt like you were the only person awake at that moment. When you could just think, without the hustle and tears and screaming that came hand in hand with Briarwood Academy and the Elite.
They would all be exhausted tomorrow, he pondered dryly, amused. Hung-over and sleep-deprived, high on the exhilaration of just living.
The sun was starting to barely inch its way upwards, tingeing the hazy midnight sky with streaks of pale grey.
5 AM.
Three more hours.
"Holy shit," The first thing Kristen Gregory noticed when she woke up was the unyielding throbbing in her head and the cotton-dry taste in her mouth. Struggling to sit up, a wake of nausea washed upon her and she blanched. "Shit," She repeated, murmuring.
She blindly groped around for her phone, her lifeline, and groggily rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Kristen gingerly stepped over the bodies of her friends, splayed comically and still asleep. Irritably, she rubbed at her temples and squinted at her phone, wincing at the bright LED display.
5 new messages.
This drew Kristen to an abrupt stop. Shaking her head in something akin to exasperation and annoyance, she stalked towards the bathroom. Once safely hidden away, she hoisted herself up to sit on the counter, crossed her arms firmly across her chest, and clicked play.
"Kristen, honey, your father and I expect you to be home by—"
Delete.
"Kristen, remember, tonight is your sister's performance—"
Delete.
"Your sister has worked so hard for this. You better be—"
Delete.
Not bothering to listen to the last few messages, Kristen deleted them hastily, gritting her teeth. She was so, so, so done with her mother and her father going on and on about her perfect sister and goddamnit, the hammering on her skull wouldn't stop and she probably looked like shit and—
"Landon, where is the fucking aspirin?" As she impatiently waited for his reply, she ran her hand through her sleep-tousled blonde hair, working out the tangles. But none came. "Landon?" She called again, quieter this time.
"Over here," Came a distant reply.
Closing her eyes and counting to 10 took more effort than she'd have thought possible, but it restrained her from screaming, so she carried on. Finally locating Landon on the front porch, she was about to stomp forwards and tear him a new one when she noticed the expression on his face.
He looked so…so open. It was so different from the closed, secretive faces of Westchester socialites.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
"What?" Kristen was jolted from her reverie, momentarily panicking before she realized he was referring to the sunrise. After adjusting to the light, her breath caught in her throat. It was stunning. A halo of unwavering orange shadowed the sun, staining the sky a faint pink, lightening the navy sky to steel blue.
A comfortable silence settled over them and she couldn't help noticing the way his thick curls rested against the nape of his neck and how his eyes hovered between blue and green.
Avoiding eye contact, Landon broke the spell, "How's your boyfriend?"
Guiltily, Kristen glanced downwards, "Chris? He's good. Yea. We're good."
Landon seemed to start to say something, but before he could, Kristin jumped up frantically, "Shit. SHIT. What time is it?"
He frowned, "5:30, why?"
"We need to get ready," Swiftly jogging inside, she raised her voice to a yell, "Guys. Get your lazy asses up."
Claire was the first to rouse. "The fuck, Kris?"
"It's 5:30. On the first day of school."
"Wait, what? Why didn't you wake us up sooner?"
"I couldn't!"
At this point, Massie sat up, apparently unaffected by the alcohol from the previous night.
"Shit, Mass, how aren't you hung-over?" muttered Dylan, who was still curled up in a ball with her eyes shut.
Massie merely half-smiled and cocked her eyebrow.
"Alcoholic," Layne yawned, back arched like a cat.
Playfully flipping her the bird, Massie wordlessly walked out of the room, the random men's t-shirt that she found barely covering her ass. A collective yelp was heard in the next room, as she woke the rest of the Elite in rather unorthodox ways. Soon after, Alicia stumbled in, wide-eyed, "Hell, I think Massie's trying to kill us."
"It's too early for this," Claire grumbled standing up unsteadily to fix her makeup. "I need a shower."
The front door slammed shut as Landon re-entered the house. He poked his head in the room, "You guys want breakfast?"
Nobody bothered to answer him, too tired or too busy, but Kristen gazed towards him, "We'll pick up Starbucks on campus."
Massie returned with a cup of coffee and Alicia greedily stole a mouthful before almost gagging, "Is that—is that whisky?"
The amber-eyed girl shrugged noncommittally.
"Mass, it's like—" She stole a glance at the clock, "—6 AM."
The girl in question waved a hand in the air dismissively as Derrick appeared behind her, slinging and arm over her shoulder, ignoring the glare directed his way. "That's Massie for you."
The rest of the guys soon followed, complaining noisily about the lack of sleep and hangovers until Layne threatened castration upon them.
Claire strode back into the living room with flawless hair and makeup, commanding attention and leaving no room for disobeying.
"So .The fountain at 8. Be there."
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