Sam.

~~~

I sprawled on the couch as "I Am an Outsider" by Three Days Grace blasted from my stereo, half-cold coffee in my hand as I lazily scrolled through my phone, a habit I'd picked up since moving to Los Angeles four years ago. My thumb paused mid-swipe when Scott's photo popped up on the screen. I muted the music, feeling a small flicker of curiosity, and swiped to answer.

"Hey," I said, pressing the phone to my ear, my voice casual.

"Hey, what are you doing tonight?" Scott's voice was unusually upbeat like he was on the verge of something big.

"Nothing, why?" I asked with a half-hearted shrug.

"There's a party at Rory's house tonight. Want to come with me?" He sounded hopeful, almost like he expected me to decline.

I sighed, picking absentmindedly at the hem of my shirt. "I don't know, Scott. It's Rory's party, so I'm not exactly thrilled to go."

"Molly and Mason are coming too," he added quickly, clearly trying to sweeten the deal.

"You're kidding, right?" I said, sitting up straighter, one eyebrow raised.

"Nope. I'm serious. Come on, Sam. We didn't even have a graduation party, and you've been cooped up all week." His voice was tinged with exasperation, and I could almost picture him pacing, trying to win me over.

I hesitated, staring at the ceiling as I weighed my options. Did I really want to spend the night at some over-the-top party? But then again, staying home was starting to feel suffocating. "You better have rum there," I finally said.

"Don't worry, I'll make it happen. So you're in?"

"I'm in," I said with a resigned smile. "Text me the address."

"Great! Be there at eight. And Sam? I mean it—eight o'clock sharp."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll see you at eight." As soon as I confirmed, he hung up, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Graduating from university a week ago had left me in a weird limbo, spending most of my time holed up at home, overthinking every decision about my future. Scott's invite felt like a chance to break the monotony. Besides, it had been too long since I'd let myself enjoy a night out.

Two hours before the party, I started getting ready. My best friend Molly was heavy on my mind, I don't think Scott would lie that she was coming too but I wonder why she would want to. As I finished my foundation and concealer routine to smooth out my skin, she messaged me, confirming she was going to this party too.

As I moved on to neutral eyeshadow to make my blue eyes pop, and winged eyeliner, I started to feel jitters. The two coats of mascara sealed the deal but came as a challenge as my hands slightly shook.

I chose the outfit before starting my makeup, my favorite look: black skinny jeans with ripped knees and a deep purple shirt that showcased my shoulder tattoos. A quick glance at the clock told me I was already running late. Eight o'clock had come but who shows up on time to a house party anyway?

I gave myself one last look in the mirror, a spritz of coconut body mist, and a quick fluff to brown hair, a cascade of curls, fell in loose waves around my bare shoulders.

Grabbing my studded backpack, I slipped on my trusty Doc Martens and headed downstairs. Normally, I'd take my motorcycle everywhere but I planned to drink tonight, so I called an Uber instead. The silver car was waiting when I stepped outside, its pine-scented air freshener assaulting my senses the moment I climbed in.

The drive was quick, Purple Rain—the band I loved, playing softly on the radio as I hummed along and calmed my nerves. By the time we pulled up to Rory's house —more of a mansion, really—I realized I was a good thirty minutes late. Not that it mattered; it was a house party, not a dinner reservation.

As the Uber drove off, the party sounds hit me, spilling out from the massive two-story house with its grand windows and towering front door. I stood outside for a moment, taking it all in. The night felt electric, full of potential. Maybe this was what I needed a night to let loose, forget about all the uncertainties waiting for me back home, and just... be.

Should I knock or just walk inside? I hesitated at the door, my hand halfway to the frame, when it flew open before I could decide. There stood Scott, a red cup in his right hand, his grin as wide as ever.

"I've been looking for you," he said, swaying slightly. His balance was questionable, but his enthusiasm was steady. "Come here." He pulled me into one of his signature side hugs brief but warm, just like him.

"My Uber was late," I said, stepping back and motioning to my outfit with a small smirk. "And I had to get ready. This doesn't just happen, you know."

"Yeah, right?" Scott's green eyes swept over my outfit with a playful glint. "Come in. I've got a surprise for you," he added in a singsong voice, already leading me inside before I could ask what he meant.

As we walked through the door, the overwhelming smell of beer and sweat hit me like a brick wall. Rory's house was enormous, its yellow-painted walls glowing dimly under the hazy light, while the sleek black wooden floor seemed to absorb the chaos around it. The living room was packed, a sea of people spread across the space, spilling onto the stairs and into the corridors.

There was barely any furniture just a big flat screen on one wall and a collection of musical instruments arranged in front of it: a drum set, two guitars, and a microphone on a stand. My eyes narrowed as I took it all in, confusion building.

"What is this?" I asked, pointing toward the instruments. "And where's Molly? Have you seen her?" I stood on my toes, scanning the crowd.

"A stage," Scott replied, his smile widening into something almost conspiratorial. He pointed toward the back of the house. "She's somewhere with Mason. You should grab a drink, the show's about to start."

"What show?" My voice rose over the growing noise as the sound of drums filled the air. He didn't tell me anything about a show. It wasn't just a party it was turning into some kind of concert. But who was performing?

"Purple Rain," Scott announced, his grin triumphant, pausing as if waiting for my reaction.

"No," I said, shaking my head in disbelief.

"Oh, yes," he shot back, nodding like a bobblehead, completely unbothered by my skepticism.

"How did you even pull this off?" I demanded, but the words barely left my lips before I saw him, Raymond Lawrence—the vocalist for the band—stepping onto the makeshift stage as the guitars joined the steady beat of the drums. My breath caught.

"I got you a rum and coke. Is this that band?" Molly's voice jolted me out of my daze as she appeared seemingly out of nowhere, gasping slightly from squeezing through the crowd.

It's like she is Hermione Granger with a time-turner necklace. Molly always had this uncanny ability to pop up at the perfect moment. Her vanilla perfume briefly overpowered the stifling scent of the room as we hugged in greeting.

Molly looked like a different person every time I saw her these days, her obsession with contouring and glam makeup transforming her already striking features into something almost otherworldly.

Tonight, her long blond hair was slicked back into a sleek ponytail, and her black dress hugged her frame, showing off legs that seemed to stretch for miles. Under the dim stage lights, her golden-tanned skin made her high heels nearly disappear.

"I have to talk to Rory. Catch you later," Scott said, giving my shoulder a quick squeeze before vanishing into the crowd of people.

The first vocals broke through the noise, and I instantly recognized the tune "Deep Parade" one of Purple Rain's poppier tracks. The crowd surged toward the stage, making the room feel suffocating, but Molly and I hung back near the open door, where the faint breeze was a welcome relief.

"Thanks for the drink," I said, taking a sip. The familiar taste of rum and Coke was comforting, grounding me in the surreal moment. "This is the band," I added, glancing at Molly, a smile tugging at my lips. The sight of Raymond on stage still felt unreal.

Molly raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a sly grin. "Did you seriously not know about any of this?"

"Not a clue," I admitted, shaking my head as I gestured toward the stage. "Did you?"

"Scott told us when we got here!" Molly yelled over the music, her voice strained and her throat visibly tight as she tried to project above the noise.

I leaned closer, cupping my hands around my mouth to shout back. "How did all of this even happen?" I motioned to the makeshift stage and the instruments, waiting for her explanation.

"Your boyfriend somehow organized it," Molly answered with a sly smirk, taking a sip from her cup.

I furrowed my brows, irritation flickering in my chest. "Don't call him that," I said, scrunching my nose. "We've been over this. Scott is just a friend, and you really need to stop making up theories about us."

Molly, as always, didn't take me seriously. She just grinned and waved her hand dismissively, her hips swaying effortlessly to the beat. "You know what I mean."

"I mean it, Molly," I insisted, trying to focus on the music but failing as her words lingered.

"He's in love with you," she said, her tone light but her green eyes sharp. I opened my mouth to protest, but she cut me off before I could speak. "And you're just fooling yourself into thinking he's just a friend."

I couldn't help it. A dry, mocking laugh escaped my lips. A few people nearby turned to glance at me, but I didn't care. Molly always managed to hit a nerve and then twist it, but I knew how to play it off.

For the next three songs, we danced, sipped our drinks, and let the music carry us away. My throat ached from singing along, but I didn't stop. Purple Rain was one of my favorite bands, and there was no way I could stand still with the vibrant energy coursing through the room.

Molly, predictably, wasn't a huge fan of rock music. Instead, she poured all her energy into dancing, moving in time with the beat like she was born to do it. Meanwhile, I flailed my arms to the sides and shuffled my feet, fully aware of how awkward I probably looked. The amused glances I got from people around us confirmed it, but I didn't care. The music was too good to ignore.

I finished my drink and kept dancing, the buzz of the alcohol mixing with the electricity of the crowd. The night felt endless, like a moment stretched out in time. Until, suddenly, something cold and wet slid down my lower back.

I gasped, freezing in place as the icy sensation sent shivers up my spine. Before I could process what was happening, I felt a hand brush against my back, spreading the liquid even more.

"Seriously?" I turned sharply, trying to see who had just spilled their drink all over me. The warmth of the room and the exhilaration of the music suddenly felt distant, replaced by the clammy, uncomfortable feeling of damp fabric clinging to my skin.