At the party

The next morning, I was jolted awake by the insistent buzzing of my alarm clock. I reached for my phone, silencing the obnoxious sound, and as I did, a notification popped up on my screen.

It was a message. From Chris.

"Hi stalker," it read, the words sending a jolt of adrenaline through me. "It's Chris. Here is the address." He wrote cycling a large part of the message with a pointer emoji.

I smiled, a mischievous glint in my eye. He was playing this game, this dangerous, seductive game, and I was ready to play along.

"Hi intruder," I replied, a playful edge to my voice. "What makes you think I want to come to your party?"

I could practically hear his smirk through the screen. "I know you will," he replied, going offline before I could even react.

"He's crazy," I murmured to myself, a shiver of excitement running down my spine. "But he's right. I will definitely be there."

I paused for a moment, my finger hovering over the reply button. Then, I typed out my response, a playful smirk spreading across my face.

"And now you are stealing numbers?" I typed, a mischievous glint in my eye. "I'm onto you, Chris. I know your game."

I pressed send, a wave of satisfaction washing over me. I went offline, leaving him with my cryptic message, a parting shot in this bizarre game of cat and mouse.

I had to admit, he was good. He had a way of pushing my buttons, of making me feel both infuriated and intrigued.

The night came by fast, the usual rhythm of my days replaced by a whirlwind of anticipation. I got dressed, checked myself out in the mirror, a determined glint in my eye. I told my dad I was going out with Emily, that I wouldn't be back until morning. He wouldn't disapprove with Emily's name in the mix, not after all the times I had used her as a shield. "Stay safe," he said, his voice laced with a fatherly concern, "and avoid bad boys."

I left, my heart pounding in my chest, and went straight to Emily's place. We arrived at the party, the music booming, the air thick with the scent of sweat and perfume. A sea of faces, a whirlwind of activity, a vibrant tapestry of life.

We walked up to the VIP entrance, our names not on the list. Chris was inside, surrounded by a group of people, his laughter echoing through the room.

"Wow," Emily said, her voice laced with a mixture of pity and amusement. "I'm enjoying the crowd though. Why don't you go look for Chris and give him a piece of the bitch in you?"

I smiled, a mischievous glint in my eye. "You know me too well," I replied. I left Emily, her laughter trailing behind me, and went lurking around the VIP door, hoping for a chance to enter.

Just then, I saw Chris walking in, his confident stride drawing all eyes towards him. I followed immediately, my heart pounding in my chest, my determination burning bright. The bouncers tried to stop me at the entrance.

"I'm with Chris," I said, my voice firm.

Chris looked back, his gaze meeting mine for a fleeting moment. He nodded slightly, a silent command to the bouncers, and they let me in.

He didn't look back, as if in a hurry for something, and I followed him.

He finally stopped at a chair, a lone oasis in the midst of the bustling crowd. He lit a cigarette, the familiar glow illuminating his features, his face a mask of indifference.

"Was this what you were in a hurry to do?" I asked, my voice laced with a playful sarcasm, pretending to be calm. "Dude, you invited me and completely ignore me. What do you take me for?"

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice cold, detached, as if something else was going through his head.

"I get it," I said, pretending to understand. I leaned towards him slowly, my legs finding their way onto his lap, my right leg resting comfortably over his left thigh. I reached out, snatched his cigarette, and with a flick of my wrist, extinguished it against the wall, creating a romantic tension that crackled in the air.

As I leaned closer, my lips brushing against his ear, I could feel his breath quicken. I whispered a word, a single syllable that sent a jolt of electricity through him. He closed his eyes, his head tilting slightly, his body yearning for my touch.

Then, I stuck his cigarette back in his mouth, a mischievous grin playing on my lips.

I stood up, my heart pounding, my eyes locking with his. "That's for playing me," I said, my voice a low whisper, a challenge in my tone.

I left, a smile playing on my lips, my satisfaction evident in my posture. I didn't look back, but I could sense his surprise, his shock.

He had underestimated me. He had thought he could play me, manipulate me, control me. But he was wrong.

I was in control. I was the one calling the shots.

And this was just the beginning.