All Hallows' Eve by Rhea Seren Phillips

All Hallows' Eve

Red Riding Hood is eyeing me; I'm sure of it. What's a girl to do other than smile back and hope? Perhaps my fanged teeth are slightly off putting- I better tuck them back in my bag. Yes, that's it: the lopsided smile, everyone loves that one. Gosh, suddenly it’s really hot in here. I fan my face with a drinks menu and pant. My eyeliner has run onto my left contact lens, painting the world various shades of grey. I lean back to enjoy the effect. I'm fuming at Dylan...why must people be fashionably late? I distinctly remember saying half past seven- my Sex Goddess has become unappetisingly watery. A human shaped Jiggly-Puff is pouring someone else a drink across the bar. I consider ordering two ghoulish cocktails but decide against it: I'm not going to get too drunk tonight. I'm not. Martel has certainly outdone himself this year: black plastic spiders have been hung across the wall, partially hidden amongst some thick white netting. Beat, the fifty-something bouncer, has even dressed up as a bulldog. I have a distinct feeling that she’s trying to send a message to all those drunks with a preference for musicality. I never understood why they decided to open a bar right in the middle of a residential area; I doubt that it’ll ever make sense to me. “Hey, there’s my girl!” I turn into the embrace. Dylan is all sweetness and patchy ivory. “You are looking fierce! Come on, come on Missy, do a spin for us.” I do and my skirt swirls and exposes my best asset. Someone whistles and I feel a familiar pleasure sweep over me. The bar is getting busy. I'm glad that it's still fairly early. I'm not ready to face the others just yet: I can't face…actually, a fair number of them right now, though Vicky takes the biscuit: if over-tanned and pimped out girls are deep inside then she's a fucking sea. I really should not have slept with her. “I didn't think you would but you totally pull off the Catholic colours. Bitch, if I could borrow those legs.” Dylan moans and squeezes his thighs in harsh condemnation. I smirk and grab my drink. “You don’t want to know what I have to do to maintain it.” I simper before laughing away Dylan’s disconcerted look.

Our usual alcove is occupied by two shirtless men. We push past them to the end of the snug and sit down. I immediately take off my shoes and Dylan shrugs off his coat. I can smell the men's cologne from here: it smells like they've blended petrol and aniseed together. I wrinkle my nose, Dylan and I share a knowing look as he mouths the word “stag night” and I nod and roll my eyes. Martel comes up to the men with a small trolley laden with all different coloured shots. The men take two of the foulest ones, pinch their nostrils and down them quickly. My own nostrils are assaulted as I lean over one of the men to reach the trolley, clasping a crumpled ten pound note in my fist. I push a shot into Martel's hand and I pass nine down to Dylan. They're mostly jelly shots. I missed dessert today...actually, I missed food. Why do lesbians have to be vegan? It's like that stupid rule: we only date after sleeping with each other. As if a good fuck really makes that much difference to how you feel about someone. We're not living in a Bond film: love does not enter through the vagina. “There's no candle on the table.” Dylan says. His thick Irish accent gives the statement a sad note that tugs at my chest. “I’m sure that I’ll find one later.” I reply, before whispering in a conspiratorial tone, “so, who are you hoping to seduce tonight?” He gives me a look. I feel like I should know the expression but the shots seem to be distilling in my stomach. It's not an unpleasant sensation. I shrug and grab another. The plastic cracks in my grasp and some green gunk oozes onto my fingers. I lick it off and my eyes meet Noah's as she struts through the door followed by our flock tittering behind her. I touch the hair extensions that hide my short bob, sigh and mentally prepare myself for the onslaught. Who ever said beauty was in the eye of the beholder hadn't met Noah. Her type of beauty went beyond this century: it cracked time and beamed through aspects of a different world, of different ideals; she was curvaceous, she had magnificent dark eyes and she was a complete bitch. As she came closer, she looked down at me sitting in my little tartan skirt, size eighteen blouse cinched in with a size eight velveteen waistcoat and smiled. If I had the nerve to ask, she could probably tell me what second-hand shops they had come from. I grab another shot 2

and try to down it, gasping as a thick sludge of jelly thuds onto the tip of my nose. Dylan smirks and I hit his shoulder, throwing the rest of the jelly at his face. Noah interrupts us before he can retaliate, something, which, under his glare I am beginning to feel thankful for. “Hello you two, early aren't you?” I flinch as she smiles down at us, her plastic claws slowly unfurling. Dylan shrugs. “No one at home wanted to do pre-drinks with me. They're all exam guys. We're the awesome party!” He turns to me and raises his hand above his head. “Give me a high five for the assessment team!” I raise his five to a ten whilst spluttering. “That's such a lame name.” “We’re the A.S.S team.” Dylan replies innocently, before taking a slow sip of his drink. I think about the name for a second. The room has a revolving quality to it that wasn’t there before. I wanted to take in this new detail before the bartender chose to remove it. “I like it.” I said, though I wasn't sure whether I was talking about the name or the room. Noah looks at us in disdain before throwing her bag and coat down and walking away. “She'll be back.” Dylan sang, winking at me. I watch as Noah pushes past a couple of masked students and steps onto the dance floor. Her short dress slides up her thighs as she totters from heel to foot before falling back towards the wall. She gazes around her with a lazy confidence; her hair falls into her face, black curls splayed wildly across her shoulders. My shadow is on the bar stool again. I try not to look at her but it is difficult. Desperation and hurt is reeking off her in violent waves that are swiftly accompanied by the nail varnish remover that she must be doubling up as perfume. It adds to my dizziness, my stomach whines before twisting painfully. I look over at Dylan whose mulling over a tall brunette standing by the bar. “I'd do that.” “Most people would.” I say, not meaning it.

“Do you think I'd get someone like that one day?” I say nothing. I don't want to disappoint him. I squeeze his hand lightly and move quickly towards the bar, intent on buying a bottle of something strong and cheap. Engraved on the side of the bar is a message. Gays4Eva. It's written exactly like that. My fingers follow the indents and I begin to lightly trace the G until a heavy breath interrupts me. It’s one of the shirtless guys, he's red faced and belching quietly. “What's a guy like me got to do...to do a girl like you?” Martel walks over to our side and eyes him suspiciously. I contemplate my answer for a moment. “Come on girlie, let me get you a drink. You and me, babe, what do I have to do?” He indicates two drinks to Martel who just stares at him. Even beneath his pink face paint Martel's contempt is vividly clear. A rush of affection squeezes my chest and I can't believe that my body has betrayed me so atrociously. I smile softly at the guy. “Rape.” I couldn't bring myself to say me but it's a pretty good retort. I must use it more often. Noah is at his elbow and tries to tug him away but there is no need. His head dips down slightly and his shoulders hunch forward. “It's like that, is it?” He mutters, he quietly picks up his drink and walks away. Something twists inside me but I can't tell if it's remorse or the alcohol. My stomach feels bruised and I go and sit back down. Noah walks up behind me, three drinks sloshing over her hand. “They’re on the house.” She mumbles. “Right, I'm just going to...” Dylan gets up and leaves without completing his sentence. There's a chorus of cheering as his friends greet him from across the room. Noah takes his seat and changes its disposition. “Thanks.” I whisper. 4

My cracked nails curl around the glass and their reflections cradle the liquid. I can't look up. My shadow has moved closer. I can feel both of them watching me, judging me. Suddenly all I want to do is go home and kill zombies. “I feel sick.” I mutter and clumsily place my glass on the nearest table. I trip over my feet whilst scurrying away from the scene like a guilty mouse. Outside the smokers are puffing and panting their way through another twenty. There's an earthy smell to the smoke and I drink it in, eager to keep my disconcertion at bay. The bouncer watches me and I smile. She doesn't smile back. She never does. I inhale that earthy stench once more, dragging the fumes down my nasal passage kicking and screaming. A girl offers me a roll and I move to take it. There's something vulnerable about her that rubs me the right way. A hand snakes out and grabs the roll before I can bring it close to my mouth. “She doesn't smoke.” A rough voice says behind me. I can see Noah's arm shaking as she forces the girl to take it back. She turns to Beat and gestures to the clouds of illegal substances around her. Beat just shrugs: as far she's concerned they aren't causing a disturbance. Noah grabs my arm, bursting blood vessels and belief as she drags me away, down the cobbled road and onto the main high street. She jerks me to a halt and snarls something in my ear. It slices through my flesh and my mind tries to hold onto her eyes as she watches my incomprehension. My shoulders and legs sag against a shop window and she sighs in frustration. I say something and feel a release of energy curdle in my stomach and travel up through my wind pipe. It explodes in little bubbles of giggles and self-loathing. My eyes move down below her neckline and another explosion of giggles flurry their way across my vision; little bubbles of happiness multiply as my chest heaves to catch up with them. I am consumed by madness and I happily let it take control. I would give anything to let it take control; underneath my skin the black dog is perpetually gnawing his way out.

An irate blur stings my cheek and I am left reeling. Faster than they came the bubbles pop and I watch them splutter before disappearing forever. A tidal surge of desperation washes all of my happiness clean away. My hand cradles my cheek as I look to Noah. “I can't believe you hit me.” I whisper, trying not to cry. I make my eyes go wide and my lips tremble before repeating myself. “Well, you deserved it.” Noah moves back and places her hands on her hips and bridles; a pair of eyes watch us from around the corner but my shadow can be burned into extinction tonight. Noah takes my hand so gently that I start to cry, moisturised fingers rub the red varnish off my nails in circular motions. The paint crumbles into the pavements and a pigeon mistakes it for food. Noah holds my hand tighter and I have to let her.