PAINTED LOVE

EIGHTEEN

loïse madden

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A fist suddenly flies up to his nose, throwing him backwards. He almost falls down, almost trips over his own stupid feet but Dean catches him right before he can hit the floor. His hand wipes the blood away and he shakes hit before he throws another punch at the red-head. 

Bronsen. 

I recognize him immediately, a slim face with sharp features. He looks nowhere as strong as Sebastian usually would be. 

Would. 

He's drunk, so drunk he almost makes himself fall. 

"Sebastian, stop this!", I shout over the flying fists and screaming people around me. 

His angry face looks at me, a dark glare boring into my body that I never saw before. 

It's almost... scary. 

I walk up to him because he needs to leave this awful situation. I hate to see blood dripping onto his shirt, hate to see his fists scarred and bloody and broken. 

"Sebastian, please- stop! You're drunk and- and you're doing such stupid things-"

Sebastian suddenly shoots forward. Someone must've punched his back. He groans, doesn't mind glancing over at me, but turns around and sends another punch towards the guy who pushed him. 

He hits him, right on his eye. The guy looks at him, another furious look in his eyes. He raises his arm to throw another fist into Sebastian's face. 

Despite him being drunk as heck, he still has better reflexes than I do. He shoots down, trying to dodge the punch. I'm standing right behind Sebastian, and I'm now seeing this fist being directly set to my face.

This is horrific and I'm in the middle of it and I'm so fucking scared and suddenly, I feel something hard hitting me. Making my vision go black and blurry. 

Am I dead? 

.  .  .  .  .  .

sebastian hayes

.  .  .  .  .  .

"What are you actually supposed to be wearing at those parties?", Loïse asks, standing in front of her closet with her hands on her hips. The closet already bulges from all the clothes that she owns, and still: Loïse doesn't know what to wear. 

"I don't know", I say, aware of sounding uninterested. "Just pick something, it's not that hard."

She pulls out a long, colored dress and shows it to me. 

"This one?", she asks. 

"Was it expensive?"

"I- yeah... I mean, I got it for my birthday from Crystal-"

"No, then. It's probably gonna get pretty dirty with beer and wine and whatever other shit people are drinking there", I acknowledge. Her excited facial expression falls, making place for another, nervous one. 

"Really? I- I didn't know that. Uh- so, what do I wear then?"

"Goddammit, princess, just grab some jeans and a top. I swear it's not that deep."

"It is!", she protests. "I want to look good."

"For who?", I ask playfully, wiggling my eyebrows. "All you need to impress, is sitting right here, baby."