Page 3 of Nightmare

“No,” I admit, laughing at the face she makes.

“You could at least lie.”

“Since when do I lie to you?”

She guides me out of the bathroom and into her childhood bedroom, placing me in front of the floor-length mirror so I can look at myself. Happy with my outfit and the creepy, bloodred slash across my cheeks and lips, I run my eyes over the length of my body. My long, dark brown hair and my toned, fishnet covered legs. My short black skirt and the black top that shows just a little too much cleavage. My tattooed arms and the piercings in my ears.

I study every scar and every flaw, and I can’t help wondering what he’d say if he could see me now.

Would he tell me how much he hates this outfit on me, because it’d drive him wild with need, having to watch me wear it all night?

How long would it take him to sneak me away into the darkness, shove me down against the ground, and rip my shirt down the middle?

What would he say if he knew I still think about it…?

“Violet,” Andie whispers, a little too soft for my liking. “Jesus, are you about to cry?”

“I don’t cry.”

“What are these, then?” she asks, touching the tears leaking from my eyes.

“Allergies.”

“It’s October.”

“Maybe I’m allergic to your shitty makeup.”

Her jaw drops, probably in outrage that I’d say such a thing. “My makeup is not shitty.”

“Can we just pretend that it is?”

She snorts and wraps her arms around my shoulders, careful not to smudge our faces as she hugs me. I close my eyes and hug her back, mad at myself for acting like such a pussy, but this night is…special to me or some shit, so I’m cutting myself some slack.

“Better?”

“Not really.”

“Ready to go make absolute fools of ourselves and drink all our problems away?”

“Fuck yes.”

* * *

“Did she text you back yet?” Andie asks, referring to Nova—our other best friend and my ex-boyfriend’s twin sister. “She’s ignoring me.”

“She ignores everyone,” I say as I pull my phone out, not surprised she’s ignoring me too.

She’s the biggest loner I’ve ever met, and we’ve been dragging her to parties by her hair—sometimes literally—since we were in high school. She’s quiet, but not in a sweet way. All she has to do is look at someone with that glare of hers that says I’ll cut you, and they’ll walk the other way.

“I’m gonna go grab her,” Andie decides, turning left onto her street. “You coming in?”

I nod, and she pulls up outside the house, hiding the new text message on her phone by shoving it into the center console. I raise a questioning brow at her—because that’s the fourth time this has happened tonight—but she pretends not to notice.

Fine.

We climb out of her car and walk up the path toward the porch, both of us banging on the front door like crazy people until she answers.

“All right, all right!” her mom calls from inside, pulling the door open and shaking her head at us. “Damn Joker Night. Nova, get your butt down here!”

---