Be nice first, because you can always be mean later, but once you've been mean to someone, they won't believe the nice anymore. So be nice. Be nice, until it's time to stop being nice, then destroy them. 
— Laurell K. Hamilton 

Apodyopsis 
(n.) the act of mentally undressing someone 

Monday — September 4, 2023 

"I knew you'd come through." 

A crooked smirk hangs on his lips as he drinks in my appearance once I've made it out the gates of my house. I raise an eyebrow at the lack of subtlety, earning an unaffected shrug in return. 

I had half-expected Hazel to assign a hired driver to pick me up — because these people seem to believe dollar bills were all anyone needed in life. I mentally reprimand myself for thinking that because some part of me is a part of these people. 

I give Drake a once over, eyes lingering unconsciously on the metal rings adorning his hands, — that are now out of his pockets and raking through his tousled blonde hair — glinting softly under the fading sky. 

His fingers flex and I lift my eyes to meet his gaze, realizing I've been caught staring. He directs a wolfish grin at me. 

"Thinking about how these would look inside y—" 

"Oh my god! Valentino, shut up!" I shout, kicking gravel onto the metal of his shining Maserati, cutting off his maddeningly vulgar question. Let it leave a scratch, perhaps even a dent. 

The lack of condescension in his tone is the only reason I don't land a blow to his jaw. 

He eyes the stones I've launched at his car. 

"So, Hazel stuck you with the tedious task of picking me up?" I ask, "I have to admit, I seriously thought she was bluffing. You all would find it hilarious, wouldn't you, picking on the new girl?" 

"Maybe, maybe not," he answers vaguely. 

"She trusted you enough to come here?" I say with a small smirk. "Given the way she was draped over you this afternoon, I would've guessed she wouldn't let you out of her sight like a damn cavewoman." 

Pearly white teeth flash in a grin again. That seems to be his reply to almost every question or statement, and for some reason, I don't think I mind them. I almost like the way the grins break out. 

"Jealousy looks adorable on you, love." 

"What the f— I am not jealous!" I exclaim sharply, my voice a little too defensive for my liking. The words don't seem to have any effect on his train of thoughts, though. 

"I volunteered, actually." 

"Oh?" No way he did. 

"Supposed it would be nice to get a glance at the property; the entries and exits. Might be useful when you decide to text me to come over in the middle of the—" 

I push past him and walk around the car to the other side, yanking open the door and throwing myself into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut to block out the rest of his words. 

He lets out a laugh, the sound not traveling through the closed space, before pulling open his own door and settling himself before the wheel. 

"With the number of times you've expressed your desire to get me into your bed, should I be concerned about sharing such close quarters with you?" I ask, strapping on the seatbelt with a click. 

He starts the engine and the vehicle roars to life. 

"Worry—" he starts, strapping on his own seatbelt, "—not. I won't try anything," he says, sending me a sideway grin, "Not unless you ask me to," and almost as an afterthought, adds, "Love." 

Apparently, the name has stuck. I don't think he's going to stop calling me that any time soon so I save myself the energy it'll take to convince him to do otherwise and let it slide, pretending to have not heard it at all. 

"I would never ask you to touch unless I were dying and you were my final hope of survival." A half-truth. He was attractive enough, both personality-wise and his looks. I might find myself making some regrettable decisions in the following days. 

Houses that scream bitch I'm made of money roll by as the car sets into motion, picking up pace like lightning. I watch them whizz past in comfortable silence. 

"Never say never, love. You never know what destiny has in store for you." he says slyly minutes later, swerving the car onto a muddy lane nestled between two white oak trees. 

My senses alert themselves at that. 

Civilization slowly drifts out of view of the wing mirror on my side. Trees engulf the path for a while until they part to reveal what looks like a barren land. 

I chance a glance at Drake, ready to bolt if things go south, but he seems unconcerned, still humming inaudibly under his breath. 

"Where are we?" I ask carefully, mentally recalling every turn and landmark I can. 

The car begins thrumming with slow vibrations as we near a crowd. I almost slump in relief — or at least think it's almost, because his eyes dart away from the road toward me, which makes me realize that my trepidation must have been noticeable. 

"Maybe I should have given you a head-start on what kind of a scene was to be expected out here,—" 

"You should have."  

"—but aren't surprises so much better?" he asks with the air of a self-satisfied person, tugging open the door before I can formulate a reply and gets out. 

My soul leaves my body when the door unlocks, and I scream a short, high-pitched scream and flinch from the sudden burst of shrill noise and clamorous music piercing through my ears. 

It dies once he shuts the door. 

This time prepared, I pull open my own and step out, storming over to where stands Drake, now with Ryder by his side, leaning against Ryder's car. I recognize it as the Aston Martin I saw in the afternoon. 

Of course, he has to be part of the tormentors. 

"Have you fucking lost your brains!" I exclaim when Drake turns to face me, but I realize my voice is so, so very faint — even though I had shouted rather loudly — drowned in the waves of blasting music. 

36 hours and I already know that this is how things are going to be at any gathering henceforth. 

"You want me fuck your brains out?!" he says as his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, shouting back over the noise. 

"You're going to fuck her brains out?" asks Ryder with wide eyes, and he begins cackling as he eyes the two of us. 

"No one's fucking anyone's brains out!" I say furiously, kicking up dirt as my soles dig into the mud, returning to the topic at hand. "What the fuck is wrong with your car?" 

He raises an eyebrow. "The fuck you mean?" 

"I mean that I didn't hear a fucking decibel of the outside noise until the door opened. What, is your car soundproof or something?" 

He levels a look at me that says are-you-fucking-dumb. "Duh." 

I look to Ryder but he seems preoccupied as a girl curls into his side, whispering something into his ear that has him biting his lip. I look away. 

"Do you have a death wish? Who even manufactured that shit?" Drake looks unimpressed by my speech. "I mean—" I add, "How the fuck do you expect to hear, I don't know, the honking of a car that's, like, two seconds away from barreling into yours?" 

"Small town," he says, dismissing me, "And wing mirrors exist." 

Lord, save his blonde ass. The car practically offers road accidents a sanctuary. 

Hazel walks over to the pair of us — I had no idea where Ryder had disappeared to, or when he had for that matter — eyebrows raised in mock surprise as she spots me. 

"Wooed her with your charm, didn't you, Valentino?" She asks as scans me head to toe, finding nothing wrong with my choice of attire when she looks away from me to Drake. 

"He did not woo me, just so you know," I butt in, feeling the need for clarification.   

Drake scoffs good-naturedly and disregards what I said, turning to Hazel. "I'm irresistible, aren't I?" 

She grins with feral features. "That you are."   

His hands trail to places I feel no essential need to elaborate on, and I feel like I am suddenly third-wheeling. 

Totally not like I was half-expecting him to chaperone me all evening. 

Not at all. 

"I'll, uh, go," I mumble, positively sure they haven't heard me over the ruckus playlist blasting through the speakers. 

I weave through the crowded space to find out what exactly is going on, having conveniently forgotten to ask either of them where were we and why. 

I keep my head down the entire way because if Blackthorn still is anything like what it was three years ago, new faces were rare. And although I hadn't attended BCA — like ninety-nine percent of the people here had or are — and had instead gone to the high school in the neighboring town of Sparrowville, someone is bound to recognize me. 

At least that's what my paranoia keeps telling me. 

Worst case scenario: Sabrina decides to open her mouth and tell everyone what had happened in the afternoon. OR uploads the video to Pornhub. 

From the way Chance behaved the previous night at the party, I don't suppose it's anything out of the norm for him, but still, I decide not to assume anything beforehand. 

Because— because he has to have some semblance of— of morality, doesn't he? He won't shame someone — he won't shame me — for what had happened. 

Will he?

I clench my fist until my nails pierced flesh. Fucking someone is not even in the slightest sense related to morality. He can fuck anyone he wants; it's his goddamned life. Why is the train of my thoughts taking the worst possible route recorded in history? 

Think of the Devil and he will materialize before you.  

Just glancing at him has my insides rearranging themselves. 

He hasn't yet noticed my presence. 

I am definitely a walking contradiction at this point because despite knowing that I should walk away and mentally wanting to do so, I find my feet walking a path toward nowhere or no one other than him. 

I curse whichever entity of creation wired my brain. 

He stands leaning against the hood of a glinting Corvette like a damned flame, calling to me like a beacon, and I'm the cursed moth. 

For a split second, I am back in the memory of being on my knees and having him thrust himself into me. I stumble slightly. 

His grins seem to have been forged in the darkest crevices of Hell, his laughter a sound tuned by sirens themselves. Carefree and unyielding, pulling everyone into his orbit. Knowingly or not. 

 I'm not the only one with that thought. 

The others are drawn to him too, girls and guys alike, wanting more of him. He really is ethereal. 

My feet halt in their tracks — close enough that I'm within earshot of him — when I see Sabrina perched on the rear of the Corvette. 

Reveling in the attention of another circle of BCA's crowd. 

King and Queen indeed. 

The knot in my chest tightens, then loosens a bit. 

Maybe she's forgotten about it already. She probably has. After all, why will she bother? Reasonably — rationally — speaking. 

And then I snort. Of course, she fucking hasn't. She has it all recorded, tucked away safely into the recycle bin of her iPhone at best, backed up to the Cloud at worst. 

I swallow. 

I need to get that video deleted before it ends up on the headlines. Or ends up being circulated around to anyone needing a good release. 

Gods, does she not have the slightest bit of morality, recording us like that? And that isn't even the worst part. The fact is that he had thrown money at me after face-fucking me, and she had had the nerve to look amused. 

My gaze flicks to Chance again. 

She isn't with him, doesn't have her tongue down his throat like I expected her to. 

"Ohmigosh, Calisssta, arren'tyou?" 

My eyes widen when I notice that Sabrina has noticed my presence. Her words are slurred but her gaze holds unexpected surprise, which then turns to sparkling mischief. The lazy gazes of those around her follow suit. 

I open my mouth but don't exactly know what to say. 

"He told me alll about you, y'knoww?" She giggles, slipping out of the hold of the guy who is was tracing her collarbone with his tongue. 

Her feet trip on air and, on instinct, I step forward to save her from the fall, but the girl next to her beats me to it and steadies her on her feet. 

"I'm soo clumsy, Callista, soo clumsy." She twitters before bursting into laughter, leaning her back into the chest of one of her posse. "But I remember you. I remember you soo well." My heart lurches as I register the sheer number of people around — the number of eyes and ears trained on us. If she hadn't said anything before, being drunk out of her mind might just change things. 

"You remember me, don't you?" She half-pouts when I take longer than a second to put together a reply. 

The collarbone-sucking guy decides then that he is a part of the conversation too. "And who might you be?" he asks, hands already coiled around another girl who seems delighted to have his attention. 

Exactly like how Chance's had been around me. 

BCA's trend, I suppose, shutting out Chance's face. 

"Oh, she is Chance's bestest, bestest friend in the whole world, that's—" A hiccup cuts off Sabrina's sentence and she laughs at the horror on my face and the snorts from around. "Nah, I'm juss joking. She's new to Blackwood." 

My heart is racing. 

They seem to be perfectly content with asking questions and answering them themselves. 

"I am new here," I confirm. A half-truth. "I have got zero clue who this Chance is," A glorious lie. "And my name's Callista, not Calissta." I add, looking at Sabrina, emphasizing the s as she'd done, letting in enough humor in my tone that they don't suspect anything and silently praying to the gods that Sabrina keeps her mouth shut. 

A lie. They buy it so easily. Well, a white lie; not exactly earth-shattering. I suppose it's a matter of time before someone points me out and says I know you, I've seen you, but for now, I'm content with the order of things. Of acceptance. 

The other raven-haired girl, the one who had caught Sabrina before she tripped, winks at me. "Very well then, in that case, Calissta, welcome to Blackwood Creek. I'm Sasha." 

I sketch a bow, earning a low whistle from Sabrina. 

Not all rich people are sneering bastards, I suppose.

A comfortable smile stretches out on my face as I joined rank beside Sabrina, falling into the ease with which they talked and laughed without hindrance, and for once, I am enjoying myself. 

I still don't like her, though. 

I hoist myself on the rear of the Corvette, feeling slightly short amongst the towering people around. IA hand lands on the small of my back, and I hurl sideways, ready to strike, but am met with the grinning face of a gorgeous male. 

Well, alright then. No protests if that is my fate. 

They're nice people, they didn't look down on a newcomer like they're leftover scraps. 

And Sabrina, although coming rather close to hurling her guts up when she forced another shot down her throat, — she was that drunk — keeps her mouth shut about the day's incident, mercifully. 

Happiness never does last for more than a few, fleeting moments because the universe seems to have outlawed it, that much I gather upon locking eyes with Chance. 

I looked sideways at collarbone-sucking guy, who doesn't seem to mind that being abandoned by the other girl who's decided to claw further up the social pyramid, grappling straight for the one at the peak — Chance. 

I blink when I remember he existed. 

Only to shrink when my gaze clashes with his furious, seething one, enough fire in it that he can definitely char me to withered ash. 

●⁍●⁍●⁍● 

I am fucked, I think in the split second our gazes clash. 

And then I realize, who the fuck is he to dictate what I do? And why the fuck do I bother caring? He's proven himself to be hellbent on making me miserable. 

I grit my teeth and wipe all emotion, leaving behind nothing but icy boredom before looking away from him. 

I lean into Sabrina's shoulder and bring my lips to her ears, well aware of Chance's still on me, and say, "Your little boy toy is getting cranky without you." I cock my head in Chance's direction. 

Sabrina looks over at him and bites her lower lip. "He's so hot when he's pissed, isn't he?" Well, yeah. 

She doesn't bother finishing whatever conversation she's having with the raven-haired girl, Sasha, and pushes herself off the Corvette and saunters over to him, still stumbling from the alcohol.  

A laugh rumbles from the guy whose hands are around me. "Don't let him hear you call him that. He'll toss you into the woods." 

I lean sideways into his chest and tilt my head back to look him in the eye. "I don't suppose you'll be ratting me out now, will you?" 

He grins and the piercing on his bottom lip twinkles under the coral sky. He tugs me closer to him. "Not tonight, no." And then I find his lips hovering dangerously close to mine. 

I let my lips stretch into a self-satisfied smile. 

"I don't think I've gotten a name yet." I say, staring at the stray lock of beige-blond hair curling around his brow. 

"You mean the name you'll be screaming tonight?" 

"Something like that." I hum. 

His smile takes a wild, wolfish form. "Marcus." 

"Marcus," I mumble, testing out the name. "I like." 

"Get a room." I hear Sasha say, propping herself up beside me with a huff, a red cup in her hand. 

"Wanna join?" Marcus asks, giving her a welcomingly suggestive look. She looks at me. 

"Do you want me to join?" She counters as she looks at me, enough heat in her eyes that suggests she won't the slightest bit mind. 

Christ, these people are so much more comfortable than the ones in my previous school. I think I've had more happen in the past two days than in the three years in Vancouver. 

I'm saved a reply when I feel more than see Chance move. Toward here. 15 feet is all that separates us. 

Then twelve. 

And ten. 

Five. 

One. 

Zero. 

Fuck.