Page 24 of Guarded By the Nightmare

That energy—a desperation almost—combined with the liquor, and the still unseen DJ’s frantic beat—its chaos called to me. I had nothing in common with most of the people in here, but I didn’t feel like I needed to.

I just had to let go.

“Here!” Logan announced, finding us again in the throng, somehow managing to hold three drinks in his hands, our two, punch and water, and his own, which looked like beer. We each took ours, and he shouted, “Bottom’s up!” at us, over the fray.

Ella and I watched him in semi-stunned horror, as he did just that, chugging his entire cup.

“Your liver, my dude,” Ella said, while I took an involuntary step back, and into someone else.

The only place there was any space left in the entire cabin was the makeshift dance floor the guys had created in the living room, by moving every other piece of furniture that was left against a wall—and there were girls on the fireplace’s stone hearth, using the extra six inches of height and their heels to give their fellow dancers a show.

I wanted that for me.

Not to get eyeballed or groped—unlikely, seeing as Trent was here, somewhere—but just to let loose and be free. And I didn’t need alcohol for that.

“Can you hold this for me?” I asked Ella, handing my cup over. She nodded, taking a sip of her water.

“Three songs. Then I’ll take a break with you, all right? And if you ditch me, I know where I’ll find you,” I said, pointing upstairs to the room.

She nodded strongly, with a grin. “Go have a good time!” she shouted, and I waved as I moved back into the crowd. I felt it swallow me whole, and I started to dance.

I had some self-esteem problems. I was one of those parentally neglected kids, who wound up uncertain if it was better to be seen or ignored. I’d wanted to be popular in high school, but I’d also been aware that it was like a livewire that I wouldn’t be able to hold onto—which was why I distrusted this thing with Trent now—but maybe my distrust was me knowing something was wrong all along?

Like my being with him was an abstract monster in an indie horror flick—something slow moving, but also something inexorable, that I was utterly unable to stop.

In a crowd, though—the right kind of crowd—I felt safe.

On the dance floor, if we were all moving, I could be part of something bigger, without wondering if it was embarrassing. I could feel like what it seemed it was like to go to church, from the outside, or maybe a Taylor Swift show—just as long as the vibe was right.

I didn’t have to be myself anymore, I could just be the thing the music made of me, as I let it run through my body.

“Hey, you,” I heard growled behind me. I was grabbed by one strong arm, and I squealed, knowing Trent was there.

“My boyfriend might see!” I warned the boyfriend in question and heard him laugh, as I spun to face him.

“Having fun?” he asked, as I looped my arms around his neck, and we ground up on each other to the beat, him with one arm still around me and a claiming hand upon my ass.

“Actually? Yes,” I answered truthfully, while craning around his shoulder to glance at Ella. She was chatting with Logan—a thing I could not believe. Then she caught me looking and gave me a cheerful “What the fuck?” expression of disbelief, as Trent moved us both, blocking my view of her completely.

“How are you?” I leaned up on my tiptoes to ask him. “Are the RRP gods happy?” I was well aware there were seniors in charge of things—for all I knew Trent was having to bartend for one oftheirgirls.

“So far so good,” he said with a smile. “When I left the beer pong tables in the back, everyone was being well behaved. And it’s still raining—makes it harder to catch things on fire.”

I laughed. “I cannot believe you even have to factor that into your equation.”

“Me either,” he said, shaking his head ruefully, before moving to catch my mouth with his own. He didn’t taste like beer or pussy, but he didn’t need to; his attention was intoxicating. “Want to drink?” he said, offering me the cup he held, when I came up for air.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” I asked, taking it from him. “You know a drunk Mina just wants to wrestle.”

“One of the guys found a Twister game at a garage sale—I’m counting on you to win it.”

I laughed, took a big sip of the pink concoction, and then winced. “Saint fuck, how much alcohol is in that?”

“Enough for you to take Nolan on,” Trent swore with a tease, naming the biggest friend in his crew. “I’m going to bet a ton of money on you winning later.”

“Wrestling isn’t Twister.”

“It is when it happens inside of an inflatable pool full of Jell-O.”

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