Chapter 2: Our Thing: Chapter 2

In every direction there are strangers dressed to the nine, wishing me happy birthday and embracing me tightly. My party has become a major social event and has brought people from all over the District. From across the river. From important businesses. From important families.

My sister is a socialite. Popular. Beautiful. And she loves attention and crowds and noise. Being more of a home-body myself means I have a handful of real friends and the equivalent in acquaintances.

There are nearly fifty people here whose identities are a complete mystery to me. It’s a beautiful party, but despite her best intentions and efforts, it just screams Flick. From the live DJ and neon lit dance floor, to the over-the-top polaroid booth, to the gift covered pool table, and finally to the pink and red balloon garlands that are, like, everywhere.

Although, I do like pink.

My mum is bouncing between the kitchen and the game room, topping up cocktail dispensers and repositioning food. My dad is setting up some kind of projector, and I know I’m going to need more than a few drinks for whatever he has planned.

Suddenly, through the laughter and drum-and-bass, I hear Flick’s voice. ‘You like it? You love it, right?’ She emerges from the crowd, her shapely body and long molten-red hair swaying.

‘Wow. It’s . . . big,’ I say. The grin on her face is hard to ignore. Infectious. It’s enough to make me love this party as much as she clearly does. I nod. ‘I love it.’

Appearing on the verge of happy tears, she says, ‘I know you don’t usually go for the elaborate thing, but I wanted tonight to be epic. I know you’re probably a bit embarrassed, but that’s why I had to do it. To get you out of your comfort zone and get you drunk. Loosen you up.’ Her eyes gloss over. ‘Sorry, I just had two shots from Stacey’s belly button. I’m feeling a bit emotional. She has a beautiful belly button.’ She laughs and wipes a single tear that dared to break free. ‘I just love you so much, little sister, and you’re so beautiful and I’m so proud of your determination and how strong you are.’ She embraces me tightly.

The backs of my eyes begin to prickle. Must be something in the water – like alcohol. ‘I love you too!’

She begins to giggle. ‘And I wanted to milk the District of presents for you. And ya know, just because I tend to favour the fairer sex doesn’t mean I haven’t noticed the male hotties around here. Hey? Dillion? Cute. Athletic. Riiiight?’

‘Flick, stop it,’ I say as I take a few steps towards the bar. My eyes bounce around the desserts, landing on a cupcake. Smiling, I grab the cupcake and take a bite. I talk to her around a mouthful of delicious chocolate. ‘He’s not my type. We dance together. I don’t want to date the male version of me. I want someone. . .’ The word gets lost; the name, however, doesn’t. Max Butcher. I swallow and take another bite. ‘I don’t know. Different.’

‘You’re so graceful on stage. What the hell happens when you step off?’ She says, using her perfectly manicured finger to wipe icing from my top lip.

‘I get hungry,’ I laugh.

Her smile widens, and I know it’s because she’s so happy and loves me so much. ‘You’re eighteen. Come have a body shot!’

I wrinkle my nose. ‘Not off Stacey.’

She giggles and grabs my hand, steering me through the crowd and out onto the alfresco where people are gathering in groups. It’s nice outside tonight. Slightly cool. Perfectly still and cloudless.

‘Get a shot for Cassidy!’ Flick yells to the people at the bar cart. ‘But not a Slippery Nipple.’ She cracks herself up. ‘A tequila shot. Hell, make it a Flatliner!’

I jolt to a stop, my hand suddenly slipping from hers. My cheeks begin to smoulder.

Standing casually behind the outdoor bar table is Max Butcher and his gang. I will my feet to keep moving forward, but they don’t. His level of hot is uncomfortable. That is the best way to describe him – hot to the point of physical discomfort. I study him quickly, and both love and hate the way his jeans are tight around his thick thighs and hips, the way the sleeves of his white V-neck shirt are bunched above his elbows, ’cause like, why have long sleeves if you’re going to roll them up? Because the sleeves probably couldn’t accommodate his thick, tattooed forearms, that’s why. I don’t really know why, of course, but-

‘Cassidy?’ Flick says.

I swallow hard as I look at her. ‘Sorry. I just remembered Toni.’ I do not sound convincing at all. ‘He needs a Flatline. . . er or whatever it was called. He’d probably have a Slippery Nipple, actually, if that’s a real shot. I don’t know. I’m just rambling now. But I should go get him.’

Her brows raise, a smirk now plastered across her cheeks. She sees straight through me as she points to a guy sitting down at a table a few metres from where Max is standing. It’s Toni.

Frick.

‘Oh cool,’ I say breathily.

Double frick.

She grabs my hand again. ‘Come on.’

I’m pulled over to the group by the bar cart, but plonk down just short of them, seeking refuge with Toni.

He eyes me and smacks his lips. ‘You look so awkward right now.’

‘Stop it. Don’t say anything, Toni.’ I stare out over the grass that is darkened by the night sky. The moon’s big tonight – lots of big things here tonight. . .

Shut up, Cassidy!

Toni wraps his arm around my shoulders and squeezes. ‘That boy is bad news. Bad. Bad. Sexy.’ He chuckles. ‘Sexy, bad news.’

I think I like bad news.

He takes a sip of his cocktail and crosses his legs. ‘Personally, I’m more of a Xander Butcher fan myself. Oh my giddy aunt, he’s just yummy. Classic boy next door look. Don’t you think?” He nods his head and grins. ‘And, well, Max scares the shit out of me. His biceps are bigger than my hopes and dreams for the future. . . And Jamie just told me that he bit some guy’s finger off and swallowed it. I mean, I still think you should purr on his face, but maybe with witnesses, ya know?’

I turn to face him. ‘Come on, that rumour doesn’t even sound real. No more real than’ – I drop my voice – ‘The Clay Butcher one. You know where he rips a guy’s head open with his bare hands? Or the one where Bronson Butcher gets into a bar fight and slices a guy’s neck open with a glass. Or the Xander Butcher one where he killed that cop with a taser. They have to be lies.’

He shrugs. ‘Either way. Sexy, bad news. The lot of them.’

I pretend to massage my neck from side to side so I can peer over at Max. He’s standing with Xander, Stacey, and a few nameless faces. Beautiful girls hover around them, but the Butcher gang is more focused on laughing amongst themselves than paying their spectators any real attention.

Max’s eyes are near black from this distance, narrowed and deep, with so much intensity – almost weighed down. A pretty, golden-haired girl circles his bicep with her hand. He flicks her his attention, only to say something that has her grimace and storm off. Her reaction makes him laugh, menacing and gravelly and sexy as hell.

‘Cassidy,’ Flick says, stepping in front of me and handing me two shot glasses with a lemon wedge balanced on top of each. ‘This is a Flatliner. It’s basically just tequila and Cointreau, and lime, but with tabasco. See, the tabasco makes a little line in the tequila.’

I blink at her. ‘You want me to have both?’

She grins. ‘Yep. It’s liquid confidence.’

After a quick glance at Max and the biceps I’d love to wrap my hand around, I nod. ‘Let’s do this.’ I tip the shot glass into my mouth. The refreshingly cold liquid gives me a false sense of security before the heat rips through my throat. Swallowing it, I quickly drain the other.

When the heat in my chest slowly dies, I turn to my sister. ‘Tell me about Stacey.’

Tell me about Max.

Flick looks over her shoulder at Stacey and smiles. ‘She’s beautiful, hey?’

‘She is,’ I agree. ‘Beautiful skin. She reminds me of Natalie Portman. So are you two serious? I kinda thought she was straight.’

‘So did she,’ Flick states smugly.

Toni laughs. ‘Everyone is gay for the right person.’

‘Nah, I’m just kidding,’ Flick interjects. ‘Seriously though, Stacey doesn’t like labels. She likes me. I happen to be a girl.’

‘Wasn’t Stacey dating Xander?’ Toni asks.

She scoffs. ‘Hell no. They’re just besties. No sex as far as I’m aware.’

Toni sips his cocktail and studies Flick. ‘Wouldn’t you hate it if she had, though? ‘Cause like, I’m not sure a girl could come back from that boy and what’s snuggled up in his boxers.’

Flick rolls her eyes. ‘I have ten dicks on my hands and an intimate knowledge of what’s between a girl’s legs. I think I’m fine.’

Toni looks at me. ‘Maybe you can tell Cassidy what’s between a girl’s legs. She’s an asexual pigeon.’

I feign a chuckle and coo, and then steer straight away from that topic. ‘Are the rumours true? The ones about Max and Xander and their brothers?’

‘I don’t know. I doubt it. But we’re new mates, Cassidy. We haven’t traded diaries yet.’

Toni pretends to read a diary. ‘Max’s diary: Had sex. Had sex. Had sex. Played rugby. Bit a guy’s thumb off. Had sex.’

I giggle. ‘Flick’s diary: Did hair. Did nails. Did Stacey-‘

Flick interrupts, ‘Cassidy’s diary: Danced. Danced. Danced. Ignored my obvious beauty and played the part of hermit. Danced.’

I scoff and stand to get another drink. ‘Cassidy’s diary: Danced. Where are my tits? Help I’ve been robbed. Danced.’

‘You do have tits!’ Flick exclaims. ‘They’re pretty perfect actually. You’re only a little person.’

‘They’re pretty frickin’ small.’ I giggle, grabbing a champagne from the cart and quickly moving back to my spot beside Toni.

Toni bounces and slaps his thighs. ‘Oh, do me next. Do me. Do me.’

Flick obliges before I can. ‘Toni’s diary: Entry 1,000,005: I love cock. I love myself. Good day sir. I said good day!’

As laughter erupts from me, I grip my stomach. We all crack up.

Toni beams. ‘That sounds just like me!’

My face begins to tingle. ‘Come on, I need to dance before I get too tingly.’

A lot of alcohol passes my lips over the next few hours and even more strangers wish me, ‘Happy birthday.’ I’m surprised at how smooth and velvety a Flatliner becomes after a while.

My birthday party quickly becomes a mirage of smiling faces, cuddles and alcoholic beverages. It’s not until I stumble away to get a moment of quiet and my feet cross in an awkward manner, sending me to the ground, that I realise just how drunk I am. I pull myself up and brush my legs clean. I vaguely remember someone telling me I’m wasted. . . just a few minutes ago. I can’t remember who.

Pressing my back against the outside wall of my house, I relax. This is the first moment of silence since before my performance had started this afternoon. Down the side of the house, in the direction I’ve just stumbled from, I can see the flicker of multicoloured lights. I can still hear the music, but it’s more bass than drum from this distance. Several stragglers are sitting on the grass a little further from the building, but I’m all alone over here. The cool air surrounds me, making me shiver. I wrap my arms around my waist. It’s nice to get a breather. Gather my thoughts. . .

I try to focus on objects ahead of me, but they’re all circled in a ring of haze.

I’m squinting at what I’m pretty sure is a dog when an aggressive female voice draws my attention towards the front of my house. Curious, I navigate my way along the edge of the render in order to get a better position. I stop walking when I see a guy and a girl arguing near the turning circle. A red sports car idles nearby.

‘Frick.’ I cover my mouth and press my back into the wall. Although a bush conceals me, I have to peer around it to see the commotion. I should just leave. But I hesitate when I hear her tone and I find myself leaning around the shrubbery to watch them. He has his back to me. She is seriously angry. Thrusting her hands around, she yells at him. Her face is tight and twisted in anger. Her lips are a red line of aggression that moves and snarls.

The guy is all cool and calm and oh my God, I think that’s Max. Leaning a little closer, my foot kicks a rock and it rolls out from behind the wall.

Oh, frick!

My breath gets lodged in my throat, and I straighten out of view. I breathe for a few minutes and then hear the red-lipped woman say something like, ‘Look at me’ or ‘So you’re not even going to look at me’ or something like that. After a few seconds, I peer back around and watch as she pokes him in the chest.

Woah.

I should walk away. This is none of my business. I will my feet to move, but they don’t, and when she slaps him, I cover my mouth to smother a gasp. She’d slapped him so hard, but his head had barely moved. And now there is no way I can look anywhere but at them.

My head is swimming and it’s both a result of what I’m witnessing and the unmeasurable amount of Flatliners I’ve had tonight. I feel my brows tighten with shock because this is embarrassingly the most scandalous situation I’ve ever been a part of – Well, not really a part of, but have seen.

Max. . . It’s hard to believe he’d just stand there and take it. It’s also hard to believe that any girl would treat him like that. . . No, that’s not true. I’m sure lots of girls hate him. Frick, I’d even like the opportunity to hate him for the same reason they do.

The royally peeved woman growls and then stumbles on her stiletto. Her ankle flopping to the side momentarily. Max pulls something out of his back pocket and hands it to her. She slaps him again, but this time his head turns ever so slightly. He doesn’t retaliate. He barely says a word. After putting the mystery item in her bag, she stubbles to the red car, gets in, and drives off. Max still hasn’t moved.

He waits until her car disappears out of sight before shoving his hands into his pockets and turning around, walking. . . Straight. Towards. Me.

Frick.

I spin around and rush away, but to my absolute mortification, I trip and land on my knees, my palms slapping the pavers. Defeated, drunk, perhaps a little mentally slow, I roll onto my bum and lean against the outside render. I sigh and stare straight ahead as the sound of his feet gets closer to me and then stops. I’m now staring at the hem of jeans and dark shoes.

‘You look a little out of place,’ I hear a deep voice say, and it’s the first time Max Butcher has ever spoken to me. His voice is clear, confident, and articulate, yet with a gravelly aftershock that does things to my breathing.

I clear my throat. ‘It’s funny.’

‘What’s funny?’

‘I was going to say, ‘It’s funny you say that because’, but then couldn’t be bothered finishing that sentence.’

My head is heavy, but I manage to arch my neck and look up at him through my lashes. I sigh, my drunken vision distorting his face at this distance and creating a fuzzy fisheye around him. ‘Hi, Max.’

‘Do I know you?’

‘You’re so tall,’ I whine.

He’s suddenly squatting next to me, a grin playing on his lips. ‘Better?’

Gazing into his eyes, I feel as though he’s looking inside me. Through skin. Through muscle. Into me. He studies me unapologetically as if it’s his right and my privilege. Everyone says that all The Butcher Boys have blue eyes, but his are so much more than just blue. They are a stormy ocean, hinting of a powerful chaos beneath their blue-grey depths.

Ugh. . . He’s perfect.

He must be a witch. Or like, the male version. . . a warlock?

I smile and feel my eyelids get heavier. ‘Yeah. And no, I don’t know you. I mean, you don’t know me.’

He’s still grinning, his lips a provocative slash across his face. ‘Okay.’

I look down at my legs stretched out in front of me and then at him. He’s still there, nailing me with his stare. ‘Oh my gawd. You’re too hot, Max. Seriously, just stop it.’

I can’t believe I’ve just said that.

His grin gets wider, becoming slightly crooked and naturally cocky in nature. He has a single dimple on his left cheek. Of course he does. I want to poke it. I’m going to poke it.

Do not poke it!

His mouth moves and I’m fixated on that dimple. ‘I’ll work on that for you,’ he says.

‘Good.’ I nod. ‘Go get fat or something.’

He chuckles a little and it’s my new favourite sound. White teeth flash at me for a moment, and they’re straight and perfect. My eyes go back to his dimple.

Do not poke it.

Swallowing down the knot in my throat, I say, ‘You’re probably wondering why I’m on the floor, right?’

He studies me, eyes shifting around my face for a moment. I can feel them everywhere, their path from my eyes to my lips palpable, and I’m pretty sure I’m now panting.

‘You fell,’ he says, amusement in his voice.

‘Right.’ I giggle nervously. ‘So you’re not so much wondering as. . . Not wondering. Because you know.’

Oh my gawd, Cassidy. Shut up.

I’m not sure what he thinks is so funny, but he’s still grinning, his eyes fixed on me. Thick silence settles between us, charging everything within a kilometre radius. Maybe further. The moon looks extra bright. That might be because of us. Because of what I’d just witnessed and the fact that he knows that I’d witnessed it, and his proximity to me and his annoying level of perfection that isn’t annoying at all, and of course, me – goofy me – on the floor, unable to stand without wobbling. That’s a lot of charge.

He holds his hand out, and I just stare at it. ‘Need some help?’

I take a deep breath. Placing one hand in his big palm and the other against the floor, I push myself up as he helps stabilise me. When my legs attempt to take my weight and balance, I stumble. His hands catch my waist and, frick, I’m so aware of them on me right now. Warm. Strong. I look down at them, blinking in confusion as the two hands gripping my middle become four.

Standing up quickly was not a good idea. My legs are already giving out again, knees buckling, and it’s not me that’s wobbly, but the room. I’m not in a room. The planet? Yep, the planet just tilted and now my feet are no longer on the floor because Max has me cradled against his chest. Attempting to focus, I blink a few times, but my vision has disappeared. My head rolls onto his shoulder. And when I let my eyes close, they don’t open again. A tide of darkness sweeps me out, taking me away from the conscious world.

I like it here.