Creative Writing

Shots Fired Part 2

“NO.” I said heatedly, still not looking up. For the first time in what had seemed like a millennium, Dakota was quiet. After a few moments, I met his stare. His innocent blue eyes were full of hurt, and something else, something foreign, something strange. Sympathy? No. I got that enough from the foster parents to be able to recognize it. Anger? Definitely not. He didn’t have the same look I did when I looked in the mirror. Concern? The searing heat that had spread through me only a moment before now cooled slightly, and an unsettling wave of guilt washed over me. Dakota was really a good roommate; it’s not his fault that he had to share a dorm with an introvert extremist.

“Fine, Dakota.” I muttered, slightly hoping he wouldn’t hear me and leave. “I’ll come with you to the party.”

“Really?” He asked, dejected, but hopeful.

“This is honestly the last time that I will go with you.” I replied, slipping on my worn moccasins, then walking out the door, into the world that I had grown to hate. We walked out of the dorm complex and down a few blocks until we reached a huge house with a massive navy blue omega painted on the side. I could feel the beat pulsing from outside the gates, and heard undiscernible, raucous shouts coming from inside.

“This party looks so sick!” Dakota exclaimed, opening the gate enthusiastically, than trying to make his trying-too-hard nonchalant swagger look natural. I stayed back for a moment, looking for an excuse to procrastinate entering. Finding nothing, with a sigh of defeat, I reluctantly grabbed the iron bars to let myself into this wild frat party, otherwise known as hell on Earth, when I heard a shout. From a girl.


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