As I follow Quintin through the rowdy teens, I'm careful not to trip. With arms flailing and people throwing it back, I find myself getting shoved and kicked more than I'd like. I focus on where I'm stepping, and as I do, I realize that the carpeting changes color. We'eve entered a new room.

It's a lot smaller than the main living area, but it still has a couch and a few recliners. From this distance, the blaring music is barely audible. As I look around, I take note in how vacant the room is. Despite being so far away from the main party, you can still see the moving bodies through the doorways that led us here.

Every now and again, a lone wolf strolls through, looking for their friend or the bathroom.

Quintin falls into the couch cushion, his blond curls bouncing with the springs.

"Before I sit," I joke with him. "You still have time to ditch me. In fact, I'll close my eyes."

With a goofy smile, I place my hands over my eyelids.

To my surprise, I feel a tug on the front of my dress. When I drop my hands, Quintin's eyes are focused on the shimmer of the red fabric, his fingers gripping the cloth. He gives it another tug, and my legs begin to stumble forward.

Unable to resist gravity, I plop down in the seat next to him.

"Not a chance." He grins, releasing my dress. I swallow hard, my mouth dry and my mind racing against my heart.

Well, that was very forward...

A shy laugh pushes past my lips, and I begin to fiddle with the rim of my dress that sits just beyond my thighs. Subconsciously, I think I'm trying to make it cover more skin.

Quintin's thigh presses against my own, our bodies close. My low eyes travel from my fidgeting fingers to his dark, Nike sweat pants.

Just like Grayson... always managing to pull off relaxed clothing, despite the occasion.

"So," I clear my throat, pushing that small incident out of my mind. "How are your classes here? Aside from Austin, have you made any close friends?"

Quintin's eyes peel away from my moving fingers, and looks at me directly. I'm revealed that he's not staring at my legs anymore. "They're good, but I'm still going through the process of dropping and picking up the appropriate classes for me."

I nod, understanding the process.

"I've met some cool guys," he continues, his eyes tracing my face. "And a pretty cool girl."

He succeeds at making me smile. I ask something that's been on my mind. "You look really athletic, is there a sport you're going to be trying out for?"

"At my old school I was the quarterback for our football team," his eyes lazily travel across the empty room. "We were undefeated."

"Oh," I'm quick to talk. "That position is definitely occupied right now."

By Grayson.

Quintin meets my gaze, his arm draping across the back of the couch, right behind my neck. "Is he any good?"

I speak honestly. "Yeah, he is."

Grayson made it on the varsity team his sophomore year of high school— which consists primarily of upperclassmen. When he tried out, the coach replaced the previous quarterback, who was a senior, with Grayson.

Despite not going to the football games, I still know the scores and hear the gossip.

"Well, it's called tryouts for a reason." He mentions. "No harm in giving it a shot."

"Right," my smile is crooked.

"Speaking of giving things a shot..." Quintin's voice is low and uncertain.

The couch shifts as his weight moves closer to me. Unsure of where to look, I find his eyes, and for the first time tonight, I notice that they're brown. Not the light butterscotch kind, but rather dark and chocolaty.

They're not necessarily warm, though. They're more scolding hot— like a cup of coffee that's much too hot to drink.

His arm slides off the rear of the couch and finds a cozy place across my shoulders. His warm fingers lightly graze the top of my skin, his body fully turned towards me. With little hesitance, he leans into me, his eyes falling to my lips.

I begin biting them out of nervousness, not really committed to the situation.

As he leans into me, he takes a detour, his breath trailing my jaw and heading towards my ear. His nose pushes past my hair.

"Biting your lip like that," he mumbles into my ear. "Makes me want to do it."

The sudden warmth causes my neck to tingle, his words making my body stiffen. I press my hands against his chest, lightly pushing him back.

"Quintin— uh," I'm at a loss of words. "I'm not really interested in going this far with anyone, right now."

He either doesn't hear me, or decides to not care as his opposite hand crawls up my thigh.

"There's people around!" I blurt, feeling immensely uncomfortable at his forwardness.

Just as I say that, two people stroll through the vacant room. All they do is give us a glance before muttering some things to each other. I watch as they eventually find the bathroom nearby. Whatever they saw, it's not what it looks like...

His tongue licks the top of my ear which sends my heart into a frenzy. "We can go somewhere more private, if you want."

I move my head away from his, quickly grabbing at his wandering hand that searches my thigh. When I look down, I notice that he had already pushed the rim of my dress upward, my underwear nearly visible.

"Knock it off!" I tell him, my voice not wavering once.

Quintin resists as I try to pry his hand off of me. Without warning, he removes his other arm from around my shoulders. His hand trails around the top of my spine, grabbing my dresses zipper. My eyes widen as he begins to pull down on it.

As I raise my hands to stop him, he quits unzipping. Before I have a chance to do anything rash, he catches both of my palms within his and presses them firmly down into the couch.

My face turns hot. Anger, deceit and embarrassment flush red on my cheeks, and Quintin must be mistaking it as a blush. Silently, I curse this tight, red dress. It restricts my movements almost more so than him.

When I try to stand up, the weight he presses onto me makes it nearly impossible. I stretch my head away from him, involuntarily exposing my neck. His soft lips take it as an invitation, leaving trails as they kiss up the sensitive area.

My mouth gaps open, and when he begins to suck on a specific area, a wavering, unintentional groan pushes out of my teeth. All the while, his slim body keeps me in place, his hands digging my wrists into the cracks of the cushions.

I feel Quintin smile into my neck, the sound that my throat made enticing him.

"Quintin," I try nudging his mouth away with my shoulder, but he continues to suck at the nape of my neck. "Get off of me! I barely know you!"

I regret coming here. In fact, I should've acted like a damn pigeon to prevent this from happening! A part of my me tries to scream, while another part tells me not to cause a big scene. A guy as attractive as Quintin, treating a girl like me with this kind of attention... it makes me feel stupid for trying to get him off of me. But I don't want this. Not after what happened at the last party I went to.

His tongue draws tiny circles around what I can only imagine is a newly formed hickey.

I strain my muscles trying to keep my face away from him. At least his hands are occupied with keeping mine restrained, otherwise I'd be fearful where he might try to touch.

With my body feeling like a furnace, warm tears threaten to break through my toughened exterior. With my neck outstretched, my eyes watch the distant party-goers through the hallway opening. They're dancing, laughing and having an effortless time.

Through watery eyes, I almost mistake a familiar figure walking towards us. Embarrassed at the thought of a random passerby seeing me like this, I squeeze my eyelids shut.

"Madison?" It wasn't just a passerby.

My eyes fly open at the sound of Justin's confused voice. The sudden movement causes the built up tears to fall, streaking down my cheeks.

Fear circles in the pit of my stomach when Justin's calm demeanor turns livid. In a matter of seconds, Quintin is off of my body, being shoved into the couch by a pair of strong arms.

"What the hell, dude!?" Justin shouts.

Quintin's curly hair blocks his vision, and before he can brush it away, I'm shocked to watch Justin drill his fist into his face. Startled, I find myself sunken into the couch, unable to stand up. Justin passes me a concerned look, his eyes suddenly stuck on something.

I follow his gaze down to my lap. My lacy, black underwear peeks through the gap in my thighs.

"Ah!" I cry out, pulling my dress down. When I look back up, the whole party seems to have followed Justin into the room. They stand around the couch, watching the scene unfold, unsure as to what is really going on.

For a second, I wonder where Violet is. If she were here, she'd have broken through the crowd and rushed to my side. She must be off with Austin somewhere. That's right. She was perfectly safe and occupied without me coming. I should've just said no!

"What are they fighting about?" I hear someone whisper.

"Who is that guy on the couch? I haven't seen him before."

"Does he go to our school? He's really hot..."

"Was he making out with that girl? Who even is she?"

"Is this a fight over her?"

"Is Justin jealous or something?"

No one seems to have noticed Quintin's forceful way with me.

I couldn't hold in my emotions any longer. Embarrassment overflows me, coming out in the form of tears.

Of course I managed to drag Justin into this terrible situation, too.

"Madison," Quintin says my name and my head instantly snaps to look at him. His fingers lightly touch his reddened cheek, his eyes suddenly less dark and more honest— as if Justin's hit made him realize something.

When he see's my tears he almost looks regretful. Almost. "I'm sorr—"

"Don't talk to her." Justin grabs Quintin by his shirt, pulling him off the couch. He seems unfazed by the gossiping. His voice is so low, I don't think anyone surrounding the couch can hear. "You've already done much more than that without her consent."

Quintin shoves Justin's hand away, rubbing away the trickling blood that broke through his bruised skin. With the two boys glaring at each other, I feel my body starting to shake. I don't want anymore violence caused because of me.

When I scan the crowd, I'm suddenly shocked to see people with their phones out. Both familiar and unfamiliar faces watch me and the two boys. One of those familiar faces is Amelia. Were they recording?! How incredibly embarrassing.

Overwhelmed, I crawl out of the couch. While I want to thank Justin, I can't even bare to look at him, my tear-stained face unstable. I'm already half way out of the room when I hear Justin call after me. All I can do is quicken my pace, pushing past the crowds and finding my way through the house.

Every move I make is in an effort to avoid Justin. I appreciate what he did, but I don't want him to see me like this. Not right now.

As I turn corners and loop around the house, Violet is no where in sight. Even if I tried, I couldn't redirect any of my anger towards her. None of this was her fault. She couldn't have known Quintin's intentions.

When I can't find her, I decide that I'm not staying in this house any longer. We didn't think the night through completely— I have no idea how exactly I'm getting back home.

But I won't stay here any longer or wait for someone to pick me up.

I'll walk.

My eyes are glued to the dark pavement as I drive down the street. Letting out a tired sigh, I come to a halt at a stop sign. When I glance into the review mirror, I realize that my hair is much messier than usual. I remain stopped, rubbing out the unwanted curls.

Tonight was fun, hanging out with Chris and Grant. I wish Justin could've been there, but he didn't want to seem rude denying his invite to the party.

Pressing my foot to the pedal, I cruise down the road. With my window rolled down, the cold breeze of the night messes up my hair again. My eyes wander to the right as I pass by Austin's house. The same drunken kids litter the lawn.

It must've been an hour or so since I dropped Madison off. I wonder if she's having fun— or if a girl like her could even have fun.

A few miles pass, and just as I'm approaching a bridge, I notice a figure sauntering down the side of the road. As I get closer, it's clear to me that it's a girl, but her back is to me. Unknowingly, I begin slowing down to examine her. Is she okay?

I watch as she raises an arm, untying her bun. Her hair is a knotted mess as it falls over her shoulders. In her other hand, she carries a pair of black heels. At this point, I'm practically going under ten miles per hour, when I suddenly realize that her red dress is partially unzipped.

Wait. No way.

Holy shit, is that Madison?

I press on the gas, speeding up, entering onto the bridge. When I'm directly next to her, I roll my window down, leaning towards it so that she can hear me. Her bare feet are slow as they saunter forward, the calm water swaying beneath us.

"Madison?" I pause slightly. "You know that the parties back that way, right?"

I test how she's feeling with a partial joke, although I can't help but feel worried. Why is she walking on the side of the road alone? Isn't she suppose to be with Violet?

As I wait for her to reply, she instead tilts her head towards me.

My grip around the wheel tightens.

Her mascara pollutes her tears, making black streaks down her freckled cheeks. I can tell that she's been rubbing her eyes because the black liquid is wiped across her nose. My eyebrows knot as I watch her sniffle. Her lips pull down into a frown, her pink lip gloss smeared onto her chin.

When she looks me in the eye, I can't help but feel shocked. Suddenly, none of our disputes matter anymore. Her stealing my keys, or occupying my room... I couldn't find an ounce of annoyance towards her.

The only emotion I felt was concern.

When she realizes it's me, her hand bolts to her face and she begins rubbing away any evidence of sadness. As she turns her head away from me, I park the car. The roads are dead, and even if they weren't, I wouldn't care.

When I step out of the car, Madison doesn't look at me, but tries to talk. Her voice is strained, as if talking brings pain to her throat. "What do you want?"

I don't answer her because the question seems rhetorical. I don't want anything, aside from to make sure that she's okay. This situation is extremely unwarranted.

When she realizes that I'm not going to reply, she looks at me again. Her lips quiver and I can't help but feel guilty for whatever happened.

"Did you and Violet have a fight?" I ask, unsure as to why she's so upset.

She shakes her head, her bare feet still sauntering forward. I step in front of her, grabbing her shoulders in order to stop her.

"Then what happened? Why aren't you at the party?" A crack causes my voice to spike for a second. Talking to Madison like this is very unusual for me. "Why have you been crying...?"

Her eyes almost look resentful as she peers up at me.

"Let go of me," she shoves my hands from her shoulders.

"Why? Just tell me what's wrong, so that I can help." My eyebrows furrow.

As she continues to walk, I attempt to grab her shoulder again, but she smacks my hand away.

"Quit that! I'm tired of boys touching me without asking!" She blurts out.

My jaw twitches. What the hell is she talking about?

My words are slow, uncertain. "Someone touched you? Without your permission?"

The second that the words leave my mouth, I'm afraid that I've got the wrong perspective on the situation. Out of frustration, Madison turns away from me again, her hair falling away from her neck.

My eyes widen, my gaze moving across her collar bone. Even under the street lights, I question what I'm seeing.

At the nape of her neck, I find the cause of her coarse throat.

My hands move on their own, brushing away her hair that has gone back to covering the red mark. Her eyes watch me hesitantly, and I try to calm myself down as to not scare her.

"He did this to you?" I refer to whoever had touched her without her consent.

She looks away.

"Madison!" I grumble, my anger getting the best of me.

"Yes..." She says lowly. "But, it's my fault."

"How does that make any sense?" I ask.

Who the fuck is this guy? Leaving full hickeys on a girl that doesn't reciprocate the notion?

"I couldn't get him off of me," her voice begins to raise slightly. "Maybe I wasn't clear enough that I wanted him to stop. I could've screamed... but I didn't want to cause a scene— but there was one anyway."

Her eyes lower, her hands cupping her face.

"What do you mean?" I press her.

"Justin showed up and threw the guy off of me... everyone saw it and recorded the whole thing. I can't believe that I embarrassed Justin like that."

"Justin?" My voice is agitated and gritty. Why is she so focused on him after what happened to her? "Justin will be fine. This isn't about him."

She gives me silence until she's ready to talk again. And when she does, it's barely audible. "I wasn't a pigeon..."

And then she's crying uncontrollably. I can feel my eyebrows arch in sadness. When I told her to be a pigeon, it was only a partial joke. I know how guys think, and when a girl like Madison wears a dress like that...

"Am I really that easy of a girl? Do guys think that they can just get with me? It happened with you... and it almost happened again! If Justin hadn't interfered—" she hiccups, her sobs deepening. "I don't know how far it would've gone."

A part of me feels deeply saddened, and selfishly, I make this about me. "You don't think of me as someone who took advantage of you, do you?"

Her eyes widen as she looks up at me.

I would never do something like that with her if I were in my right mind. She's too precious to me, in more ways than one.

After all, she was my first crush.

It ended quickly. Even as children, I knew that having any interest for Violet's best friend was nothing but a bad idea. I've forced those feelings down, and they haven't had a chance to resurface.

"N-no, I don't." Her steady gaze reassures me, her cry's softening. "Neither of us expected such a thing to happen..."

I let out a tense sigh, grabbing her arms in the process. Without warning, I tug her into my chest. The motion feels unnatural... being kind isn't exactly my thing.

"It's going to be okay." I tell her.

She hiccups into my chest.

"If that guy ever comes near you again..." My heart suddenly feels odd. I rest my chin on her head, trying to catch my breath without her knowing.

I'm honest with my words. "I don't want to think about what I might do."

*****