Chapter 27: Damien Lockwood Attends Parties. Unfortunately
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To be honest, I was quiet shocked a dude like him could even go to parties, I figured a dude like him with a stick stuck far up his ass hole would think things like these were beneath his divine presence.
But then again, despite us living together for almost two weeks...I knew nothing about him other than he was a jerk most times.
Damien stepped in and stood at the far side of the party, surrounded by a small group of students, like planets orbiting
something with enough gravity to keep them there. Mostly girls, effortlessly composed, laughing at something while one of them casually touched his arm, exuding the kind of familiarity that came from personal experience or, at least, the belief that she had earned it.
And somehow... somehow, despite the music, the lights, the crowd, and the fact that he was someone I found actively irritating on a daily basis. Damien looked unbelievably effortless standing there.
Dark clothing against the colourful lighting. Sharp features catching the light in a way that seemed purposefully crafted, as if even at a party he occupied the most visually interesting angles in the room.
Those cold blue eyes half-shaded, wearing that signature expression of controlled neutrality while the chaos of the party swirled around him, untouched, like he existed in a completely different atmospheric pressure than everyone else.
Perfectly composed.
Of course he’d be here. Of course, in a university with thousands of students and presumably other parties happening, we ended up at the same one. Because my life evidently decided that two weeks of living together wasn’t complicated enough and wanted to explore even more convoluted scenarios.
The bass from the speakers rattled the walls so hard it felt like my heartbeat was syncing to it. Somewhere between Joey shoving another drink into my hand and watching a guy in a backwards cap trying to crowd surf over a handful of people before promptly crashing into a decorative plant, I realized I was actually having a good time.
Not the kind of fun that changes your life, or feels like a movie montage where all your problems disappear. Nothing that dramatic.
But for the first time in days, I didn’t feel like I was completely drowning in them.
Just treading water, which, honestly, felt like a little vacation.
That had to count for something.
Joey dramatically pointed toward the kitchen where two frat guys were loudly bickering over who was next for a keg stand, waving his cup like a wildlife documentarian highlighting something rare.
"Hawthorne’s future leaders, folks."
I snorted into my cup. "Pretty sure one of them just referred to vodka as a vegetable."
"It’s practically fruit salad."
"You’re terrifying."
"You love me."
"On a good day, that’s up for debate."
Joey gasped, hand on his chest, fully embracing the theatricality of someone who’d been waiting for the right moment to perform. "After everything I’ve done for you? After I heroically saved you from homelessness?"
I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head as Joey beamed, clearly pleased with himself for getting a real laugh out of me. Apparently, that was a personal achievement for him, which said a lot about how badly I’d looked earlier or how invested he was in my well-being. Probably both.
The party around us blurred into a chaotic mix of loud music, flashing lights, expensive perfume, and the kind of rich-kid craziness that Hawthorne students managed to pull off effortlessly while still causing a mess.
Girls in tiny dresses danced near the staircase, while someone in the corner was belting out karaoke with no equipment, relying solely on memory and enthusiasm. Every flat surface seemed to be covered with red cups and bottles that likely cost more than my entire weekly grocery budget.
Not that it was a high bar...my grocery budget currently consisted of noodles, desperation, and whatever fruit hadn’t gone bad yet.
Still, the longer I stayed, the more the tightness in my chest eased up. Not entirely, not all at once, but gradually, like the release of pressure when something that’s been held too tight finally gets to shift.
For one night, I could just be a college student. Sure, a sleep-deprived one who’d eaten instant noodles for four days straight and had definitely snored in a lecture hall this morning. But still, it counted.
Suddenly, Joey slapped my shoulder hard enough to almost launch my drink everywhere.
"I’m getting more alcohol," he announced over the music. "Try not to get lost or get into a fight while I’m gone."
"I can’t make any promises."
"You’re way too cute to be a problem."
"I know."
He pointed at me like it was a serious warning, then disappeared into the crowd, navigating effortlessly through the mass of people as if social situations like this were second nature to him.
That left me standing on the edge of the living room, drink in hand, as people danced around me in messy, sweaty waves that occasionally nudged someone into my shoulder, offering distracted apologies as they moved past.
I took another sip and leaned back against the wall, allowing myself a moment to breathe without any specific direction.
Man, I was tired.
Now that I’d finally stopped long enough to notice, the exhaustion settled back in fully... it felt like it was lodged in my bones, pressing behind my eyes, making my legs feel heavier than they should. My body was urgently requesting to lie down in a quiet room for at least twelve business days, and it was filing that request with increasing emphasis.
Instead, I was at a frat party surrounded by people in outfits worth more than my tuition, clutching a drink I hadn’t even bought, while watching a guy struggle to karaoke a song I didn’t even recognize.
Character development, truly.
"Wait."
I lifted my gaze at the sound of a voice nearby, snapping out of my thoughts.
A blonde girl stood a few feet away, smiling at me, and for a moment, my brain just hit pause.
She was stunning. Not in the overly polished way that some Hawthorne girls carried themselves, crafted for a specific effect and maintained with visible effort. No, she looked warm and genuine..
confident and relaxed, as if she never worried about how she came across because she didn’t have to.
Her blonde hair fell softly over her shoulders, and her doe brown eyes caught the dim party lights in a way that felt unfairly captivating.
"Oh," she said, pointing at me with a small smile of recognition. "You’re Oliver Reyes, right?"
I blinked, a cute girl knew my name?! "That depends. Am I in trouble?"
She laughed, instantly, and it was light and effortless. "No, but my friend Crissy might have been if she hadn’t met you."
I frowned, trying to recall the name. "Crissy..."
"The stats girl? You tutored her last semester?"
"Oh God," I groaned, the memory crashing back. "The one who cries over pie charts?"
"That’s the one."
"She actually survived the semester?"
"Barely," she admitted, the cheerful honesty of someone sharing good news after a rough journey. "But she passed, thanks to you, apparently."
I pressed a hand to my chest with a proud smile, I really was a gift to the academically struggling. "Another academic miracle performed by yours truly. I should really keep a log of these."
She smiled. "I’m Melanie Beckett."
"Oliver Reyes," I replied, then cringed when I realized that she already knew that. But I kept going anyway. "Professional academic babysitter and emotional support tutor."
She laughed again, leaning a bit closer so we could hear each other over the music, which at its current volume felt like it wanted to rearrange my organs. "Crissy said you explain things better than most of her professors."
"That’s because I use emotionally supportive sarcasm as my teaching method."
"That’s actually a legitimate teaching approach."
"Thanks! I’ve been saying this for ages and no one listens."
Talking to her felt surprisingly easy, which I hadn’t expected and definitely hadn’t prepared for. Melanie had a way of filling silences without forcing it, laughing because she found things funny rather than just being polite.
Somehow, we slipped into a back-and-forth that came naturally, giving me a break from the noise of the party and reminding me that I was in a room full of people whose allowances probably exceeded my rent. Almost forgot I was even at a party.
Melanie leaned slightly against the wall beside me as we chatted, close enough that I caught a whiff of vanilla perfume every time she moved, warm and light in the crowded air.
"So, what’s your major?" she asked.
"Psychology."
Her eyebrows shot up. "Seriously?"
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
"You just don’t look like a psychology major."
Curious, I glanced down at myself. "What does a psychology major look like?"
"I imagine them as really upbeat people."
I burst out laughing, loud enough to catch the guy next to me’s attention. "Fair enough. Devastatingly accurate. What’s yours?"
"Sociology."
"Oh," I said. "So you analyze society for fun."
"Only when it’s interesting."
I shook my head, smiling despite myself, and she laughed again... it was so genuine, so unguarded.
Then her hand brushed against my arm lightly as she leaned closer to catch something I said over the music, and that small touch felt like it crossed from casual to something warmer.
My sleep-deprived, touch-starved nerves immediately took note and filed it away for later.
It had been ages since someone looked at me like I was interesting for who I was, not just because I was solving a problem or playing a role. Like I was just a person worth talking to, which I know sounds like a low bar but right now, felt like something more.
"You have a really nice smile, by the way," Melanie said casually, almost as if she was just sharing an observation.
My brain hit a wall. "...Oh."