Marked At Midnight

Grace was about to marry a man she'd never met and she hadn't even graduated from high school.

If someone asked her to describe school life, she'd tell them it had been terribly sad: from doing homework under shaky bulbs or candles to eating cheap noodles twice a day. Her parents worked double shifts just to keep the lights on and water running. They were the type to count their coins before counting blessings. But despite the hardship, they'd loved her and were often considerate so long as it didn't break the bank.

She couldn't hate them, but when things got desperately hard, she found herself blaming them, wondering why they'd have kids despite the instability. Still, those thoughts never once crossed the threshold of her lips. She was the girl who studied too much, spoke too little, and tried too hard to make everyone else happy.

So when they said a wealthy family wanted her hand in marriage, Grace didn't argue. She owed them that much after everything.

Yet tonight, she didn't want to be the dutiful daughter or the sensible girl. For once, she wanted to feel reckless. To be seen. To catch the attention of one person in particular.

Enzo.

He wasn't a student at her school—he was her classmate's older cousin. Drove a car that probably cost more than her parents' debts. She'd only seen him a few times, leaning against that sleek black red machine, waiting to drive his cousin home. He was the embodiment of arrogance. 

Once, he'd glanced her way, and she'd run into a tree.

Maybe that was why she was here now, standing in a house she didn't belong in, surrounded by familiar strangers who often looked down on her.

Grace shouldn't have come.

She stood by the wall clutching a red cup she hadn't touched, watching the laughter and movement of the crowd and trying her best to mimic it.

Her borrowed dress was short, tight, and glittering under the colored lights. The black thing was perched high above her thighs, one big lean and her ass would definitely be out. 

It wasn't her usual style, not even close. Her friend had lent it to her because "you'll never get noticed in a hoodie." Now she wished for that hoodie back.

Her curls framed her face in wild spirals she'd tried to straighten and failed. She felt exposed. Like everyone could see the desperation she was trying to hide, the way her eyes darted to the double doors every time a person walked past and all in search of Enzo. 

Where was he? It was long past midnight and people were starting to go home! Or did he not plan on spending the night at his fucking house?!

The minutes dragged. She watched, half in awe, half in envy, as the crowd danced and shouted over the music. The smell of sweat, perfume, vomit and alcohol made her nose scrunch up.

She needed a break. So she carefully slipped through the crowd, murmuring apologies as she brushed past laughing strangers, and found her way upstairs. She opened a random door, praying for peace, and stepped into a massive bathroom.

It was beautiful, spotless and the walls were covered in marble tiles. The mirror above the sink could have reflected an entire movie screen.

She leaned against the sink, exhaling at the sight of her curls frizzing and grey eyes. A necklace of thin wire with an ugly pendant rested beneath her throat.

She'd never believed in superstition, but her grandmother had given it as a gift years ago. Still, she always hid it underneath her outfit.

Grace wiped her face, straightened her dress, and whispered, "You're fine. You can do this."

Suddenly, the door handle turned, and before she could react, the door swung open.

Two guys stumbled in, laughing, clearly drunk.

"Oh—sorry," she began, reaching for the handle, but one of them with broad shoulders and a familiar smirk, beat her to it, pushing the door shut behind him.

Dylan.

She recognised him from art class. The other guy she didn't know, but his grin was sly.

"Cute necklace," Dylan said.

Grace's fingers flew to her throat, heart racing at the thought of someone seeing it. "Thanks," she muttered, recalling all the ridicule that she’d faced in the past from that one accessory. Her eyes darted to the door, greatly uncomfortable.

"Relax, we're just talking." He stepped closer.

She tried to move past him, but he caught the necklace chain and yanked.

The wire snapped, leaving a searing bruise.

"Hey! Give it back!" she gasped, reaching for it.

He dangled it just out of reach, the bead spinning in the light. "This junk?" He mocked with a condescending grin. "We'll get you a real one.."

Then his eyes lowered to the bulge in his pants. "You'll just have to earn it."