Chapter 13 #3
Most people are still wearing their masks, but not all of them are the type that actually obscure your face.
A couple of the guys are wearing ones that only cover one side of their faces, Phantom of the Opera style, and most of the girls are wearing delicate lace masquerade-style masks that look fantastic with their outfits but do nothing to hide their identities.
The lights above us suddenly go off, and the room is bathed in a soft purple glow as the many black lights above us flicker to life.
Most people wear white to this party because of the heavy use of black lights, and the scene in front of me looks a bit macabre as all the white clothing and masks light up while the people wearing them look like shadowy, featureless figures.
The black lights go off as suddenly as they came on, plunging the room into near darkness for a few beats before the rest of the lights flick back on and resume their intricate patterns as they pulse and wave along with the music.
Curiously, I scan the crowd again, this time taking in people’s outfits. Like most Baxter parties, there’s everything from semiformal wear to beachwear to club clothes and outfits that look like a mix between lingerie and swimwear.
The song changes from a heavy EDM track to a mashup of two older pop songs, and I unconsciously wrinkle my nose at the mess of notes that fill the air.
I have no clue whose music they’re playing, but it sucks. Even with all the ridiculously expensive equipment in the room, there’s a tinny quality to the voice tracks, and the bass beats are about a half second off from each other, so the mix just doesn’t sound right.
Those are rookie mistakes that are easily fixed with a few simple effects and some remastering, but no one else seems to give a shit about the subpar music quality as they keep dancing and enjoying themselves.
Instead of joining the throng of partygoers, I slip out of the doorway and into the hall.
On the other side of the main room is a smaller lounge that looks to be the last open room on the floor.
The door is open, but the room beyond it is dark, with only faint flickers of what looks like scattered candlelight creating just enough light to navigate around the room without being able to make out anything around you.
This is essentially the smash room, and a weird heat fills my stomach as memories of the last time I was in one of these rooms flood my senses.
Hurriedly, I turn away and stride back to the main room. I really don’t need to be thinking about that right now, or ever again.
The horrible mashup is still playing when I enter the main room, but I ignore it and make a beeline for the bar. I need a drink.
There are only a handful of people at the bar, and I slide into an open space and lean on the wooden counter as I wait for one of the bartenders to notice me.
“What can I get you?” a pretty blonde with a gorgeous smile asks as she saunters up to me.
The bartenders are all wearing white fishnet shirts that cling to their fit bodies, and black pants. The woman in front of me also has what looks like a bikini top under her shirt, but the tiny triangles of fabric don’t do much to cover her impressive cleavage.
I wait for some sort of reaction at the show of breasts, but other than a faint stirring of appreciation, there’s nothing.
“Cranberry vodka.”
She gives me a sultry smile, and I don’t miss how she bends over in an exaggerated way when she pours my drink.
“Here ya go,” she says over the music. “Is there anything else I can get for you?” she asks, giving me a flirty look.
I’ve been to enough campus parties to know that she’s not really flirting with me. She’s hoping I’ll tip her, even though it’s not a cash bar.
I pick up my drink and give her what I hope is a friendly smile. I can’t fault her hustle or her game, but I didn’t bring any cash, so she’s barking up the wrong tree. “I’m good, thanks.”
Her smile doesn’t falter as she moves down the bar to help the next person.
Glancing around the room again, I take a sip of my drink. It’s strong, but not too strong, and the burn of the vodka feels nice as it moves down my throat.
There are more people here now, but it’s not overly full, and I scan the groups, looking for anyone I might know.
I spot Connor, Hazen, Anthony, and Logan, the fourth member of the Keepers royalty, standing together as they sip their drinks and talk about something. All of them are wearing masks, but I’ve spent enough time around them over the years that I can recognize them even with their faces obscured.
I see a few other people I know who’ve already taken their masks off, but no one I actually talk to, just people I’ve had classes with or have interacted with at various parties and events.
Lifting my glass to my lips, I take another sip of my drink, and the sensation of being watched hits out of nowhere as a shiver runs up my spine and goosebumps raise up on my skin.
What the fuck?
Trying not to be too obvious, I glance around the dark room.
This is different from the vague sense of someone watching me from a distance that I’ve been feeling for the past week. It’s electric and heavy, almost oppressive. Like I can actually sense whoever is looking at me and not just feel eyes on me.
A prickle of awareness wraps around me, and I shift my gaze to the left. My breath catches when my eyes land on a tall figure standing against the wall.
He’s wearing a mask similar to mine, so the top half of his face is obscured, and he’s far enough away that the only features of his I can clearly make out are his light-colored hair and big, fit body.
One thing that stands out about him is that he’s wearing all black except for his white mask.
His fitted muscle shirt shows off his thick arms and tight torso, and his pants emphasize his strong legs.
The dark clothes also give him an air of mystery that’s both sexy as hell and intimidating as fuck as he stands there motionless.
I freeze as the world seems to narrow until the rest of the room fades away and all I can see is him. Then, as suddenly as it happened, everything sort of snaps back into place, and the room around us comes back into focus.
I can’t explain how I know, but I can feel in my bones that the guy I’m locked in a staring contest with is Xave.
It’s fucked up, but it’s not his hair or his body or even the confident way he’s standing that I recognize.
I can feel that it’s him, and I have no fucking clue how that’s even possible.
“’Scuse me,” someone says a moment before a warm arm presses against mine.
I jerk away from the unexpected contact and whip my head toward the voice. The guy beside me isn’t wearing a mask, but I don’t need to see his face to know that he wants me to move so he can get a drink.
Feeling way more off-kilter than I should from such an innocuous interaction, I step away from the bar, my gaze already returning to where I saw Xave as I relocate to a less in-the-way place.
I can feel my brow furrowing when all I see is an empty spot at the wall. Quickly, I look around, searching for any sign of him, but I don’t see him anywhere.
What the fuck?
Did I actually see Xave, or did I just think I did? Was that guy really him? Or maybe it was someone completely different, and I just thought it was him?
Or, more worryingly, was someone actually there and staring at me, or did I imagine it?
Shaking my head, I down half my drink and try to shake off the strange, unsteady feeling that’s settled over me.
It’s not the booze. Half a drink isn’t enough to get me even the slightest bit buzzed, especially since I had a snack while I was at the library so I wouldn’t be drinking on an empty stomach.
Whatever is making me feel weird is all in my head, and the sooner I get out of my head, the sooner all this craziness will pass.
Hopefully.
There’s also the chance that getting fucked up could make my paranoia worse, but it’s not like I’ve never had a bad trip before. As long as I don’t get high while I’m actively panicking or feeling paranoid, I should be fine.
And if I’m not, then I’ll deal with that when it happens.