Chapter one: Grade school chant

Siran :

The faded paint of the walls looked as if it may have once been white, but over time and the grime of thirty or so college boys have stained the surface into a mottled combination of yellows and browns, unpleasant in both sight and thought.

The space thou obviously lived in was impersonal, there are no photo's displayed on the walls, instead, it was cluttered with trinkets; stolen street signs, and crinkled posters of a barely clothed woman promoting anything from Bud light to Harleys. My head is spinning, nauseated by the combined stench of marijuana, stale gym bags and cheap beer clogging and over-whelming my sense's.

I knew better. I shouldn't be here. I didn't belong. Good girls didn't let themselves be dragged into frat parties; and that is what I am a good girl, a good girl with good grades, unnoticed, invisible.

This scene wasn't for me, I was squirming uncomfortably, due to witnessing the couple beside in engaging in what can only be described as foreplay; and I was absolutely terrified that the police were hiding behind the closed front door, ready to break it down at any given moment and arrest all of the underage drinker and that strange group of guys in the back corner smoking a joint and gossiping about god knows what.

"Si! Lighten up babe, it's a party!" Her English accent more pronouned from the alcohol.

I force a smile, look up at my best friend Callie as yells to me over Drake's 'God's plan' blaring through the poor quality surround sound; She's grinning, a distinct psychotic gleam in her hazel eyes, she holds out a shot glass filled to the brim with golden amber liquid.

My forced smile becomes a tight-lipped scrawl, nodding lifting my hand reaching for the glass, her drunken response is to giggle and all but pour the sweet burning liquid down my throat, with not even a pause to let me finish choking, she grabs my wrist in her unbreakable vice grip and clumsily drags me down the body littered stairs.

At the bottom we stop short when we are met with a wall of drunk fraternity guys with their arms wrapped around their matching sorority pair, who are all incoherently chanting:

"Fight! Fight! Fight!"

I grimace, I have had enough now to last me a lifetime, my body automatically angles back towards the top of the staircase, not wanting to be apart of this event.

Callie's silence didn't last long, a high pitched excited squeal bubbles out of her, her grip on me tightens and she rushes headfirst into the crowd, ripping me from the bottom step causing me to engage in a little hop-step to narrowly miss falling on my face. Callie is not a tiny person, so trying her resist her would be useless.

I take a deep breath to try to calm my rapidly beating heart and disguise my hyperventilating lungs. I expect her forceful directions, knowing I have no way to escape from all of the commotion taking place in front of me.

We push our way through the crowd in time to see an angry-looking ginger-haired boy land a solid punch to a smirking brunette's face, who seemed scarily unfazed by the contact.

His eyes gleamed. His smirk deepened lovingly encasing a dimple in his left cheek, seconds past before he goes in for the attack, he holds his stances effortlessly. Professionally. His fist making repeated almost . . . Lazily? Contact.

I was horrified, but to intrigued to look away.

Ginger's complexion went from white speckled with boyish freckles to a collage of purple's and blue's streaked with rivers crimson where blood flowed from deep cuts.

The right corner of his lower lip was split, and there was a large gash starting from his right cheekbone, leading up through his eyebrow.

"Hunter! Hunter! Hunter!"

The crowd erupted in cheers, this time in repeated praise of dimples.

Or whom I can only assume is Hunter, where the short ginger boy's face is barely recognisable, Hunter's barely holds a scratch, his attractive face unmarred, the only physical sign that he had even been fighting was the slight hitch in his breath.

I could never stand violence, especially when one of the fighters seems to have an obvious advantage experience-wise.

Subconsciously I push my way through the crowd surrounding the pair, tightly locking as much of my finger's around Hunter's arm as I could halting his movement, and reducing the chance of him landing his last lethal blow.

His reaction time was off the charts, his movements rapid and graceful, he surges around murderous intent gleaming in his glacier blue eyes.

I gasp, my breath catching in my throat as my eyes readjust, revealing the sight of a deeply tanned fist resting barely an inch from the bridge of my nose, I try to inhale, but my clogged throat only allows me little wisps of precious oxygen, holding with it the salty, tangy taste of fresh sweat and dried blood.

Shit! I'm in a state of panic, which is the only rational reason to why my heart is beating insanely thunderous against my ribcage.

Or maybe it's the fact that this is an incredibly beautiful male specimen standing in front of you.

I groan at the direction of which my distracting thoughts are going.

Confusion and fury are burning in his irises, well you and me both, buddy. I gulp mentally shaking myself out of this whatever this is; his eyes drop down, mine follow to see that my small, trembling hand is still resting on hid huge bulging bicep.

I yank away my hand so fast I wasn't unconvinced my shoulder didn't suffer whiplash, the contact left a lingering burning throughout my palm, I'm visibly shaken that with just the merest of touches left such heat in my body.

The anger in his eyes was momentarily extinguished, before reigniting with vengeance.

He looked ready to tear me a new one when the crowd, gave aloud unsteady 'whoop' as Ginger - "Matti"- someone slurs stumbled up behind Hunter with the intention of tackling him to the sticky carpet, all that the Ginger's failed attempt succeeded in doing was turning them around, so instead of looking into Hunter's eyes, I was presented with the back of his buzzed head, broad shoulders and muscular back.

Hunter throws one last punch, the one I had previously tried to prevent, catching the side of Ginger's meaty nose sending a cascade of blood over the first row of the crowd.

Disgusted groans mixed with the cheers. I was frozen in place, staring a the fresh, bright 'happy trail', leading from my breast to my navel, there was slurred murmuring beside me but I was too distracted by my ruined white silk camisole, and vintage baby blue sweater.