Chapter 7
NICOLE
You Spin Me Right Round by Dead or Alive
This party is kinda lame. Like really fucking lame. Gross assholes drunk and lazily grinding on each other while sipping warm beer— joy.
I don’t belong here. I don’t belong in this shitty small town with these shitty small town people.
I’m meant for bigger, better, brighter things.
My parents think I’m headed to college after graduation in a few months.
Jokes on them though. I sold all the stupid shit they gifted me for my eighteenth birthday, and saved every penny I’ve made babysitting for years.
As soon as I graduate, I’m out of here. I’m headed straight to New York.
Big city, big dreams, big opportunities. No more small town shit for me.
I will miss Paul though. He’s dumb as a box of fucking rocks, but damn can that boy fuck.
Truly, it’s a crime how pretty his cock is—thick and veiny and perfectly proportioned to his large frame.
He’s got the whole tall, dark, and handsome thing down pat.
He’s dumb but he’s handsome, and I look damn good on his arm.
It’s a shame he has no chance at being named Prom King.
The assholes of this small town high school will never let someone with his skin tone win, even though he is by far the most attractive boy in the school.
Of course, no one will come right out and say that’s what’s going on, but everyone knows how it is in these suburban shitholes—pretty and poised on the outside but underneath things are ugly.
It’s part of the reason I’m so desperate to get out of here.
Some sad sophomore hurls next to me. Her skin tight red dress splatters with vomit. The gaggle of boys following her laugh. True fucking gentlemen.
“Girl, you need to go get some water and go home,” I grumble at her as I pass by.
“Wanna take her spot in our game of Quarters?” a very, very brave sophomore boy with curly hair and freckles smattering across his nose asks.
The air is hot, sticky, oppressive. The stench of vomit, stale beer, and body odor is making me nauseous. My patience is waning. I want to grab Paul and get the fuck out of here.
“Not in your wildest dreams, ass clown,” I snark as I grab one of the red solo cups from their hand and down the alcohol without a care of what it is. The alcohol burns as it makes its way down my esophagus. I cringe, but then the warmth begins to spread, and I feel better.
I move through the crowd of writhing bodies.
The lights are off, only black lights and annoying strobes illuminate the space which has been opened up with all the furniture shoved off to the sides.
This is Stacey’s party—her show, her display of bitchy teenage girl dominance.
And yet, she’s nowhere to be found. Typical Stacey.
She didn’t even cancel when she found out one of her supposed best friends was murdered.
Why would she? If it’s not about how she can perfect her Queen Bee look, then she doesn’t give a shit.
It’s probably foolish of us to be drunk and partying with a killer on the loose, but it’s not like there’s a serial killer out there offing prom queens, right?
“Have you seen Paul?” I ask some of the guys from the football team who are huddled around a keg.
They exchange glances. It makes me nervous. Fucking high school and it’s fucking petty games.
“Hello? Paul? Tall, dark skin, my boyfriend?” I insist when no one answers me.
“Maybe check upstairs,” one of them mumbles into his cup. I’m not even sure which one. No one will make eye contact with me.
What the fuck is wrong with these idiots? Maybe Paul threatened to fuck up anyone who looked at me in this tiny little black dress that I stole from my older sister’s closet. That’d be kinda romantic and shit.
“Whatever,” I scoff as I spin on my platform heels and head off towards the main staircase. I pump up my hair in the back, making sure all the teasing and hairspray have held despite the heat inside this house.
Collections of shadowed figures dot the stairs.
Couples half hidden in darkness grind together sensually.
I move around them, trying not to stare as tongues and fingers roam across exposed flesh.
It’s like a damn orgy in here tonight. Half of these idiots won’t remember, or won’t want to remember, these hookups come Monday morning.
It’s why I’m only ever with Paul. It won’t last past this school year but, at least for now, he’s safe, stable, secure. It’s comforting.
“Not a fucking chance,” an angry voice growls as I step onto the top landing. Immediately, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Now you know how it feels,” a girl’s voice responds. She sounds breathy, angry, aggressive.
Stacey.
What the fuck is she up to?
I round the corner and see Sam standing in the hall. His fists are clenched at his sides and his jaw ticks.
“It’s not what it looks like, man.” Another voice, a familiar voice, carries down the hall.
“Paul?” The single word slips from my lips before I can stop myself.
What is Paul doing up here? And what are Stacey and Sam up to? The twins are trouble. Have been ever since they moved here a few years ago. Everywhere they go, chaos and destruction follows.
Sam’s eyes flick to me, telling me everything I need to know.
My stomach drops, like I’m free falling and there’s nothing, no one there to catch me. My mouth falls open but no words come out. I flail like a fucking fish out of water.
No. No. No. No.
This can’t be happening. Not to me. Not this close to prom.
Stacey’s slender form slides through the doorway. Her blood red nails skim across Sam’s chest. He grabs her wrist in what looks like a fierce grip. She doesn’t even flinch.
“What have you done now, babydoll?” Sam asks her with a smidge of what feels like… interest, in his tone.
Stacey’s bright green eyes flash to me. As soon as she takes in my stunned form lurking in the hallway, a wicked grin spreads across her perfectly done-up complexion. She smirks. Full on fucking smirks.
Bitch.
I see red. I want to scream. I want to rage. I want to vomit and sob.
But I don’t do any of those things. Instead, I turn on my heel and flee.
***
The air out here is freezing. Goosebumps ripple across my arms. Fuck winter. And fuck Sunnyvale. Whoever named this town must have had a real twisted sense of humor. This place is a cold and grey shithole.
I’ve been pouting out here on the deck for what feels like ages. I assumed Paul would come after me. I would make him beg for forgiveness, of course. Probably make him get on his knees. He’d owe me like a million orgasms before I sucked his cock again. That is, I would have… if he’d come out here.
But he didn’t.
I’m out here in the cold, freezing my ass off.
Alone.
And pissed.
The party rages on behind me but I’m far enough out here that I can barely even hear the thrum of the bass.
I wonder if Paul is inside partying right now?
I don’t expect him to be a good boyfriend.
We both know this is temporary, a fleeting fling to pass the time until graduation.
But that doesn’t mean he can disrespect me like that.
And with Stacey! She’s the biggest, most uptight bitch in the entire school. What the hell was he—
A noise off in the woods beyond pulls me from my thoughts.
The house sits on a lake, secluded and serene during the day.
There’s no other homes on the street, just endless expanses of woods around us.
This late at night the water looks almost black.
It’s eerie. I swallow down my nerves, scanning the treeline while my heart thunders in my chest.
“Hello?” I call out into the darkness. “Is there anyone there?”
Silence greets me.
It should be comforting. I should feel better. And yet, my pulse quickens and my palms begin to sweat. I can feel eyes watching me.
“Okay, not funny, guys.” I try to giggle but it comes out sounding awkward.
My eyes flash across the shimmering onyx surface of the water ahead of me and the shadows of the pines beyond. The crescent moon sheds just a sliver of light across the world, reflected in the surface of the water. Somewhere to my right a branch snaps. I jerk my head in that direction.
No one is there.
“Hello?” I whimper again, my voice shaking with nerves.
A slow, low laugh breaks through the unsettling silence of the evening. It’s a creepy, sinister tone that has my body tensing with the urge to flee. Someone is here. Someone is watching me.
“This isn’t fucking funny!” I screech as I let go of the railing and bunch my hands into fists. “Come on out.”
I take a step back. My heel catches on an uneven plank and I stumble. I manage to catch myself before I fall, but my focus shifts. There’s more noises off to my right. It sounds like someone’s running, rushing, hunting.
“Who’s there?” I shriek as I spin to face the woods. Empty darkness greets me.
But then a hand lands across my mouth. Large fingers cover my mouth and nose, cutting off my airway. My fingers fly to my face, trying desperately to free myself from whoever has me in their clutches. I flail and kick as my lungs begin to burn and tears prick my eyes.
They lean down, their face leveling with my ear. I can feel the cold plastic of some type of mask against my skin. And then they whisper to me, “Your worst nightmare, prom court whore.”