I sit on some white marble steps that lead to the pool area. People are less jumping in and more lounging on inflatable animals. I'm too drunk to worry if they're dead or not, but at least it's quiet, at least I can have a fag in peace.

Shit, I don't have a lighter, but before I can kick myself for it, someone falls down next to me; Parker. He brings up a lighter to the cigarette hanging from my mouth, smirking as he does so.

His eyes a bloodshot, with dark circles underneath them; he could have easily just come from a fight or maybe the toilets, snorting shit that I don't wanna know. I can't decide which one's the better option. He lights a cigarette for himself and we both stare out onto the still infinity pool. We're so high up that the lights of Hollywood twinkle below us and it's beautiful, even if I'm starting to believe I fucking hate it here.

Parker's body heat is radiating, and he's still topless.

I turn to him. "Do you not own any shirts then?"

"Who needs to when you look like this?"

I'd thought it before when we'd stood at the door. But, as if I was a kid in some school in Greater Manchester again, I had pushed it down and down until it bled out of my toes and through my shows and into the gutter where no one would find it.

But Parker Watts is fucking gorgeous.

I've never been attracted to douchey, American, baseball cap on backwards with low riding joggers, but as Parker brings his knees up and stretches his back muscles, I see that his lips are thick and his cheekbones could cut me in half. He smiles at something in the distance, and I look to follow his gaze but he's actually looking at me, and I didn't even see.

He smirks to himself, like he's just told an inside joke (I fucking hate those), and lies back on the marble, hands behind his head.

"You ever feel like you're not high enough? Like...we could pierce the fucking sky if we wanted to, Scottie."

"Don't call me Scottie."

"Scottie. Scottie Scottie Scottie..." He goes on like that for a while, singing it, yelling it, moaning it. "Fuck, it's addictive. But, seriously. My twitter hit 20 mil the other day. Twenty million people know who I am. Who else in the world can say that?"

"I can say that."

"Exactly." Parker sits up, and gets real close. "We're so alike, aren't we? In so many ways."

"You're nothing like me. You don't know me." My accent sounds like smacking bin lids together compared to his cymbals.

"I want to know you." Parker blows smoke into my face. His lips are close to mine and

I

can't

do

this.

I've never liked anyone else but Oliver. It's Oliver, always kissing Oliver, always sleeping with Oliver, always. Fucking. Oliver.

I stand and Parker almost falls over, but I don't look back. I charge through the house so I can find Oliver, because I know he wants to leave; I know he's itching to get out of this place like I am.

I'm walking and walking and my legs may fall off soon. I genuinely think they are; I might just become a legless closeted homosexual roaming a party house for the rest of my days. I hear sounds, signs of life, and reach another living room that I didn't know existed and there are people here too. All the lamps are on because the light fixture on the ceiling has smashed. I scan each face, none that I recognize, until my eyes rest on Oliver and Candice.

Oliver and Candice. Oliver and Candice. OLIVER AND CANDICE.

I can't see Oliver, and maybe that's good, maybe seeing just Candice's body pushed up against another body against a wall is better than actually seeing Oliver enjoying himself. Holding and kissing his girlfriend.

But alcohol is not my fucking friend tonight, and my vision is a bright green.

I feel something bubbling under my skin, something stupid and careless, and I smile to myself.

.....

I return to the basement dance floor without drinks but I can't find Olivia anyway. She couldn't have possibly waited this long so I'm not surprised. I feel a cold breeze through my sweat sodden hair and I see topless Parker, off his fucking face and jumping up and down like a madman. I move through people to get to him and they don't seem to care or notice that I'm here or that he's here or that anyone's here. It's fucking glorious, magic even.

Oh, how I've missed being anonymous.

But when Parker sees me, his mouth turns into a hungry grin, and once I reach him, his hands have suddenly found the small of my back through my shirt, pulling me closer and making me dance with him. I never knew I only reached his jaw and that I have to look up to see his face. I'm not leaving now, the bass vibrating through my rib cage and into my toes that have gone incredibly numb.

My arms wrap around his neck, and he brings his lips to my ear, his breathe hot and smokey and smelling of vodka.

"We're so alike, aren't we?" He says to me again. I shouldn't be able to hear it but I can, clear as day.

He bites my bottom lip and pulls on it, and I'm gone.