Table of Contents [Report This]
Printer Chapter or Story


- Text Size +
Author's Chapter Notes:

There's a lot of music in this chapter that helped me visualize scenes better, here's a list:

"Believe Me," -Lil Wayne & Drake

"Godzilla is FIERCE" -VoiceOfJohnny

"Cream Team" -Jungle Pussy

"Feelin' Myself" -Jungle Pussy

"Move That Dope" -Future

"Round of Applause" -Waka Flocka & Drake

"Collard Greens" -ScHoolBoy Q

"Show Out" -Juicy J

 

Enjoy and Review!




Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


Fashion is an exceptional, yet unconventional thing. The fashion industry is in it's prime outward appearance an extension of art but into the form of wearable, eccentric parts of garments and accessories personalized to fit or standout for every individual interested. The industry thrives on fads, but shifts with the beauty of classic garment pieces and sparks of trends that cycle continuously in-and-out at specific stages. Fashion is art; there's no way of arguing differently. Designers spend months and even years looking for muses in far away lands, previous time periods, or in the face of Hollywood starlets that inspire them to take to their sketchbooks to blueprint every garment for their beloved collections. Then, just as the devote artist does, designers spend hours into days perfecting their vision into reality, with stitches, patterns, pins, fabrics, and cuts covering their fingers. The final result of fashion is objective of course. Designers understand that, just like any other artist. Fashion is an entire renaissance age of continual progress and underlining thoughts, but the industry does have it's dark side.

The industry of fashion is paved with the painfully thin bodies of women and young girls, who abuse themselves to attain this obscure image of perfection that is never acquired. These women, predominantly white due to the blatant prejudices of runway and designer fashion, are often taken advantage of and exploited by the people who they are supposed to trust. Vanity is another negative image of fashion, as every billboard in NYC and brand promo is riddled with twig thin women with large busts and blonde hair that bare no resemblance to the true women of America with their wonderful curves, beautiful curls, crooked smiles, shining freckles, or even their magnificent different shades of skin color.

I understand fashion and all of it's flaws, and that is why I feel so passionate about my hopes of becoming apart of the fashion industry, well, at least apart of the fashion editing branch. I harness fashion in me through my style, the way I walk, the way I apply my makeup, and even when I read those countless stacks of magazines that gather in piles next to my raised double size bed. I've been studying fashion ever since I attended high school back home in Long Island, and now, NYC based college student studying journalism at the prestigious college of Hunter, I still keep my dream of becoming the next Anna Wintour relevant and in my vision. But, even now as I adjust my angular black skirt like I'm prepping myself to walk down the runway, I am reminded that my expensive admiration for fashion is pumping through my blood ferociously.

 

"You look sexy, dressing for anyone in particular tonight?" Michaela asks, falling onto my bed as she starts to watch me get ready.

 

I feel my lips curl in distaste at my friend's question, but I don't bother removing my brown eyes from my full body mirror as I continue to adjust myself.

 

"Mordocai, do I look pathetic to you? No rational, self-respecting woman dresses for anyone but herself. Like I said before, the guys here don't interest me." I said, starting to fix my black halter crop top.

 

Michaela only responds with a string of laughter. "Okay, Riggs. If you don't change that attitude of yours, you're not gonna get the D tonight, or ever. Don't you get tired of being a virgin?"

 

"I like my virginity the way it is. We can't all lose are virginity on some random hook up in the backseat of a car like your ass did. What was his name again?" I ask, smiling wide at my comeback, but I hear my best friend snort at me. Most likely with her middle finger up at me, but I'm too focused on adjusting my high ponytail.

 

"Fuck you too, I have you know it wasn't that bad. Honestly, Ariel. You can't be a virgin forever, don't you want to start having sex and be close with some hottie? What if there's a guy you see tonight and you can't smash him because you're worried about your virginal vagina getting in the way. If you just got the deed over with, you can do what you want."

 

"I'm not wasting one of the most important moments in my life over someone who isn't going to be there the next day. I'm not interested in going through all that pain for nothing more than a brief second of pleasure, I'm not feeling it. Not now, or later. I want to look back of my first time fucking as something I can be proud of, and not think about how stupid I was for giving it up for no point. Okay, Mordo?"

 

"Well, when you say it like that, yea. I get ya, Rigby." Michaela said, as I hear her rustle on my bed. "You really do look good though, I wish I could dress half as good as you! Your tattoo is looking on point too."

 

I almost forget about my tattoo that adorns my spine until my sister said something. I got my tattoo several months ago, and it was a spur of the moment deal due in part to Michaela and I being trashed. That one night of smoking marijuana for hours shifted into talks of tattoos, then finding ourselves in a tattoo parlor, and then Michaela and I getting tatted right next to each other. The tattoo hurt beyond belief, but the finished result was breath taking. I got "strength in these bones," tattooed in Kanji on my spine, and thanks to Michaela who knows the Japanese language fluidly, I got the right phrase transferred in Kanji on my skin. It surprised me, that through my best friend's high haze she was able to right out the phrase so perfectly in Kanji for the artist, and it really touched me she was proud that she wanted to do the writing for me. Michaela got her sleeve done, with an extravagant mixture of florals swirling around a dragon on her arm right next to me as I laid on the table. By the morning, we were both in pain from the new ink coating our skin, but we were stupid happy about it.

 

"Thanks, dude." I said, turning to my friend finally. "You're not wearing that. Take it off now."

 

"Why?" Michaela asks.

 

"It's exactly what I'm wearing, but in white! We are not wearing the same damn thing to this party."

 

"But we're a team...twerk team!"

 

"No! Twerk Team is not out tonight, change that outfit. Now." I said, my brown eyes burning into her outfit.

 

"But, we'll match."

 

"Michaela, it was cute for us to match each other when we were seven. We are grown women now, we can't match all the time now. Besides, I know you're wearing that because you have no idea what you want to wear. I told you to start deciding as soon as we got back to our room."

 

"Please? Rigby? Just this once, I swear." Michaela begs, puffing out her bottom lip as she forms her hands as if she's praying. I instantly give in...and silently curse her to fashion hell.

 

"Alright, this once, and no more after. Ugh, when are we gonna grow up and stop calling each other those names? That show is so ridiculously stupid." I sigh, but Michaela wraps me in a tight bear hug.

 

"But it's our show!" Michaela squeals, as she rushes off to her closet. "Can you do my makeup too? Like yours?"

 

"Are you an infant?"

 

"I'm your baby!" Michaela smiles, offering her makeup case to me.

 

I swear, I'm such a sucker for Michaela it is outrageous. It feels like a small game of dolls with her. I am the mom, and Michaela is the cute little doll that I take care of and carry with me wherever I go. I'm so protective and fond of her, even when we were children. Yet, to be fair, I did have an array of moments when I became the annoyingly cute child and her the sucker mother.

 

"Here, take a few shots with me first. You do bomb ass makeup when you're tipsy, Rigby." Michaela smiles wicked, bringing out two red plastic cups from underneath her bed and straight vodka in her other hand. "No chaser, baby! You're winged eyeliner is sharp enough it kills, I want that."

 

I laugh at my friend hearty. Michaela's sweet as candy appearance clashes so hard with her bad ass ego, and I understood why because I was exactly the same. Michaela and I both looked so pure and sweet on the outside to the world who views us, but underneath that sickly innocent appearance we are hardcore punks with a tooth for all things wrong and wonderful.

 

After an hour, Michaela and I look like sublime counterparts to each other. I have my angular skirt and halter crop top in a wave of black with my long cascading back chest length hair high in a sleek ponytail, black caged heeled booties, with sharp winged eyeliner, bold eyebrows, and pink kissed lips. While Michaela wears the white form of my outfit, with her hair straight down to her chest, winged eyeliner, oxblood lipstick on her lips, and black strap heels.

(This is the outfit)

 

We both are almost drunk, but we head off to meet MJ and Harriet to head to Nick's party.

 

 

 

 

The music is booming, alcohol is flowing in every direction and not one person is empty a cup filled with some delicious liquor, the apartment is coarse with the scent of weed and freshly rolled blunts, people are dancing hard on the floor as guys and girls are grinding on each other, and the atmosphere is pumping with lust, young stupid fun, and energy.

 

"This party is jumping! This music got me goin' in. Twerk Team is here ladies!" Harriet yells over the loud music, and my friend and Harriet start to twist and curve their full bodies to the music.

 

"Ugh! Why Twerk Team? Can't we just dance normal for once?" MJ whines, but I smile. I can feel the alcohol working wonderful chaos on my system.

 

"MJ, loosen up a bit. You know we gotta show out!"

 

"YEA! Ariel's feelin' it, we gotta go on the dance floor! When Ariel gets started, she slays." Michaela screams, tugging me onto the dance floor with Harriet and MJ close behind.

 

The clique and I all laugh and scream in fast excitement as we make our way through the thick trench of people on the dance floor of the campus suite. I flip my hair over my shoulder as I move my body fluidly to the music, my curves and ass hitting every beat the song has to offer. I arch my back bouncing to the music, as the whistling of the boys close to us flood my ears. I never mind their hungry eyes and their pleas to get my number as I feel Michaela grab my hand and twirl herself in front of me. My friend then grinds herself on me as she starts to bounce her as, quickly twerking the ass she furiously works on in the gym daily on me. I let out laughter, as the heat of the room makes the alcohol in my system thrive faster, but Harriet slaps my ass as she hands me another infamous red cup filled with another infamous form of alcohol. I give my frenemy my thanks, but turn to MJ. Mary Jane looks partially awkward, but she is at least moving to the music perfectly. I tap MJ on the shoulder and pass her my drink, coaxing her to drink up. If alcohol is good for anything, it is good for giving you courage and relaxing in the party environment. MJ drinks the alcohol quick, and settles into the scene. Good, MJ deserves to have a good time, she is always so obsessed with being a good girl, tonight is her turn to have fun.

 

"I need this girl's number!"

 

I hear a boy in the party cheer, but I just bounce my ass and dip my shoulders. I'm too into the music to care for the guys around me, and Michaela is going full twerk team on everyone as she raises her leg and claps her ass.

 

"OH SHIT! THIS MY SONG! WE GOIN' IN!" MJ screams, as the song changes. Harriet yells out too, as the new song is obviously on her list of top songs of the moment.

 

The circle of people around us gets thicker, filled with other girlfriends getting into the spirit and doing their own dance moves with their clique, with guys admiring the dancing girls, with guys goonin' with their clique, and with a large group of boys checking me and my clique out. All the boys hoots and ha, some dance with Harriet and motion toward MJ, but Michaela and I stay together. When it came to my friend and I, we are very specific about who we decided to dance with. Michaela and I only dance with guys we ware really into, and if we are too drunk to take off our beer goggles to notice we are dancing with unattractive boys, we usually drag the other away to help us save face the next day. Harsh, but that's the way it is.

 

I feel the music vibrate in my hips, as they swing back and forth, but Michaela taps my shoulder as she gives me the "look,". The look that said she was ready for us to bust out our coordinated moves, those damn moves we spent hours perfecting in our dorm room. I nod quick as she quickly jumps to my side and we both slam our heeled foot to the ground at the same time, shake our hips in sync, then turn and twerk to one side then the other. The hooting of the crowd gets louder as the circle opens up, as people circle and stare at us. I only start to circle Michaela as she goes in deep, moving her arms, flicking her hands, and bobbing her head to the side as her hair flies in a flurry around her. I bend and dip down on her, then lift my skirt a bit as I bend on the floor and bounce my ass making it clap. Then with a snap, I bounce back up, then Michaela and I come back to back as we mirror each others hand movements and turns of the head. Finally, we swerve, and face each other as we dust each others shoulders off. It was all so fast, but everyone erupts in applause as MJ and Harriet bring Michaela and I into a tight hug as all the dancers come back on the floor.

 

"Ma, what's your name?" a boy asks. He looks tall, yet muscular and his face looks familiar. Basketball team maybe?

 

"Ariel." I yell over the changing music, wrapping my arm around MJ's side as she downs another drink. Harriet and Michaela start mouthing the words to the next song as they dance with each other.

 

"Let me get you a drink."

 

"Nah, I'm good! I-"

 

Before I could say more the guy grabs my hand and pulls me to him as he starts to rock me to the music. To be honest, I don't mind. I'm drunk as hell, and he looks decent enough to dance with, and the wide goofy smile of Michaela reassures me. I feel his large hands gripping my waist and his waist grinding on my ass, but I smile with confidence. Boys fall for me, and I love it. There is nothing more fulfilling to me than watching how boys thirsted for me, and beg for me. If there was ever a weakness for women, that had to be it. Harriet skips over with another boy trailing behind her like a lost dog, and offers me a lit blunt, but I take it and hit it slow. Inhaling the astonishing natural herb into my system, and exhaling with comfort nipping at my bones. The song changes again, and Harriet and Michaela are standing with a few guys as they all take hits off a blunt, but I pass the dutch to MJ and she breathes in the smoke and lightly chokes coaxing a devious smile from my pink lips.

 

"The way you danced out there was crazy, you're sexy as hell." The guy compliments, as he talks into my ear. "Wanna go somewhere quiet? Talk a bit?"

 

"I'm here with my girls, I can't leave them." I said, feeling his large palm slide across my exposed torso and feeling my gut turn in discomfort. "I'm good here."

 

"Come on, ma. Only a second."

 

"I said no. Now, you can back up." I said, moving away from him, but I'm pulled back with enough force to almost take my feet from the floor. The boy's hand grips my arm tight as he runs his other hand up my ass, and I feel rage erupt in my head, and heat volt through my system.

 

Instinct on my side, I turn back and strike my hand across the guy's face and shove him hard into the wall with enough power that makes my brain numb more than the weed. "Get the fuck off me!"

 

"What the fuck? She said back off, you dip shit!" MJ screams, as the rest of the party goers look back on the scene unfolding, and a few guys restraining the asshole who grabbed me.

 

"Chill! Chill! It's alright!" one of the guys restraining the muscled jock yells to me, but I glare.

 

"Tell that fool to keep his hands to himself, I'm not playin' I'll fuck him up!" I scream back, as I feel Michaela come to my side and pull me along with MJ to the other side of the party.

 

"What the fuck happened? I leave your ass for a minute, and you fightin' niggas? Damn, I can't take your ass no where." Harriet said, taking another hit off of a blunt. But I snap.

 

This bitch...did she not process that that scumbag just grabbed me, and put his hands on me!? "Shut the fuck up, Harriet. Before I bust you in the mouth." I said, but Harriet looks at me with challenge in her eyes.

 

"Can you both knock it off?! Harriet, stop fucking with her, this is serious. Pass me that drink, here Ariel, drink up. I can't believe Derell, he's wild tonight. He's the head of the Basketball team, and he's actin' like this? That's some shit! But, dude, you fucked him up. Look at that dent in the wall, Ariel. Are you on some steroids or some shit, that dent is huge. You practically shoved that idiot through it!" Michaela said, rubbing my exposed back, watching me sip the burning liquor down my throat.

 

Looking at that wall, I feel my head throb...that dent is huge. I know I pushed that shithead Derell hard but I didn't think it was that hard, the dent looks like a guy kicked Derell into the wall. I sweep my fingers over my forehead, my head is aching and my eyesight is blurring. Rubbing my eyes, careful not to fuck up my makeup, my sight still hasn't improved.

 

Out of the corner of my eyes, I notice a form out of place. The party before me is starting to slow down and mesh into one single form of nothing around me, but as I look to the side, this one form is bold against the dulling scenery. It was a guy...one I don't believe I have seen through my constant walks around campus. I know I don't usually notice people, but this guy, there was something about him that I knew I would remember if I ever saw once. My throat throbs and tenses, my eyes grow heavy and shake with struggle to see clearly. The boy I have my sights on looks surreal compared to the erratic setting of this party, like he didn't belong and never would belong here. He walks across the broken wall where Derell freaks out like it has no significance, and moves in silence around the people who dance hard to the beating music. His hair is combed back, and a solitary black. His face is strong and chiseled, with a strong jaw that is coated in a light sheet of facial hair. Eyebrows knitted together in an odd mixture of neutrality and uncaring that sleuths into his whole persona, his leather jacket catching the gleam of the dull lights, his black shirt clinging loosely to his sculpted torso, and fitted jeans just as dark as his ash hair. I don't know this boy...and it freaks me out. I can't separate if it has to do with my intoxication or the adrenaline rushing through my veins because I was the one who shoved Derell almost clear through the wall. My head aches. I feel nauseous.

 

This unnatural boy's eyes lock on mine like a snake's fangs snaring a mouse, and his eyes are a gust of heartless darkness and magnetic fire. I can't look away, and he stares back at me with his murky eyes with sharp intention that makes me weak as soon as I snatch my brown shaken eyes from his.

 

I feel so sick...he's making me sick.

 

My stomach aches and turns as I stare down now at the floor, and Michaela's voice echoes in the back of my thoughts. The spike in my head grows larger, then as if getting slammed with a hammer, an atrocious high pitched frequency violates my ears. The noise slices into my hearing faster than a knife, and it screeches at an inhuman height that sends my nerves out of the window, and my teeth grinding hard. The eerie frequency echoes in my brain, thrashing it repeatedly, and forcing my head back in agony as I grip my head.

 

"Ariel?" Michaela yells, as MJ grips my shoulder.

 

"The noise! Don't you hear it? Make it stop! My head is about to bust open!" I scream out, as people around us start to stare. I feel my brain splitting apart as the frequency gets higher, and I feel all the alcohol rise to my throat.

 

I break from MJ's grasp and flee Michaela's voice, rushing off to the bathroom. Everyone is staring, eyes are watching, those black abysmal eyes are invading my sight. A girl looks at my horrified as I rip open the bathroom door, and she bitches as I shove her out and lock the door. She screams about trying to fix her makeup, but I lurch and puke into the toilet. The blare is jabbing my brain, the frequency is turning my vision into static, I feel myself dripping into the insanity buried in the back of my mind. The dreams are flashing in my vision that is becoming full with the same static that invades a dying television. I'm falling through the clouds, no one is saving me, I'm falling fast, there's darkness, those murky eyes are darkness.

 

"Just fucking stop! It hurts, I-I can't anymore." I plea out to anything willing to listen. "I'm dying."

 

As if someone up in the heavens finally took pity on me, the frequency dulls down, my vision starts to quell back to normal, and my head pulsates faintly. I collapse onto the frigid tile of the bathroom floor, hugging the toilet tight.

 

Is it the dreams? I can barely breath. What happening to me?

 

I feel the salty tears fall onto my face, noticing I'm crying now uncontrollably. It's too fucking much for me, it was bad enough I thought I was going crazy, but now I'm sending people through walls and having my head split open. What's happening to me? What are those dreams doing to me in this reality?

 

"Ariel! Open the door! It's us, we want to see you now! I swear to fucking God I'll kick this door in!" Michaela yells, slamming on the door. "OPEN IT!"

 

"I-It's okay." I said, my voice is weak and fragile.

 

"No it's not! I'm done listening to your bullshit, what's going on! Let me in, stop lying!" Michaela yells.

 

"Give me a fucking second, Michaela." I said, irritation cutting in my words. Yet, it must have worked, because Michaela grows silent on the other side of the door as the music starts blaring in my ears again as it replaces the deafening screeching. I drag myself to the mirror, and gasp at my reflection. Mascara running down my cheeks, eyes red from the kush and tears, hair out of place completely in my high ponytail, and lipstick smudged. I cover my mouth as I feel more tears spill down my face. I'm so fucked up...and it's starting to show now. I splash my face with freezing cold water, dab my face, fix my makeup, take off my lipstick, and pull my hair out of the ponytail and comb my cascading locks with my fingers, and parting it at the arch of my brow.

 

"Open the fucking door already!" Michaela bangs again, but I open the door swiftly.

 

I jump back, and almost throw myself onto the ground. Harsh dark eyes glare back into my brown eyes; the same enigmatic boy from before is standing in front of me with an emotionless expression. My mouth parts, but closes again. What can I possibly say. He looks me up and down, then blinks at me as he sticks his chin out. I mumble an incoherent phrase at him, which only for a fraction of a second causes an easy warm in the icy gaze of his murky eyes, but they snap back. "Get moving."

 

I snap back from him, his words catching me off guard from his silent solitary demeanor. Yet, following his cue, I pushed past him, and out of the suite party. I continue to run, feeling my thighs burn, and breathing becoming labored. I run now as if trying to escape NYC itself as I run out of Hunter Housing and into the streets. I don't stop until I trip over my heels and fall almost on my face.

 

"Ariel! Stop, what are you doing? It's not safe!" Michaela screams after me.

 

My best friend falls to the group with me as the busy NYC residents walk around us, too concerned with their own problems. I start crying again, gripping my head feeling Michaela hold my shoulders.

 

"I'm so fucked up, I don't know what's happening to me." I cry, but Michaela brings me into her arms as she rubs my back.

 

"Shh. It's the dreams? The blackouts isn't it?" my sister coos, but I hug her back tighter as if my life was slipping from me.

 

"What's happening to me?" I cry out.

 

Michaela doesn't say anything, she just holds me. She whispers words I can't clearly hear to me on the warm pavement, and runs her fingers patiently through my hair. She knows that something is wrong, terribly wrong, and it's getting worse.

 






Chapter End Notes:

Heavy chapter, nah? Since I'm feeling nice, I'll give you a little taste of what the guy cast member looks like:

I'll give you a full taste of what he looks like later on. Hehehee review and comment, please :D







Enter the security code shown below:
Note: You may submit either a rating or a review or both.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.