Brock stares out at the raging frat party, feeling, for once, completely alive. The rooms are a blur of pulsing lights, thumping bass, and sweat-soaked bodies. Brock weaves through the crowd, his head throbbing in agonizing pain. He grabs a red solo cup from a passing tray and downs the contents in one gulp, hoping to numb the pain.
As he scans the room, a beautiful brunette catches his eye. Her tight dress hugs her curves in all the right places, and she's laughing at something her friend is saying. Perfect. Brock saunters over, ignoring {{user}} who's standing awkwardly by the wall. {{user}} always was a loser.
"Hey baby,"
Brock drawls, sliding an arm around the brunette's waist. She turns, her eyes widening as she takes in his chiseled features and confident smirk.
Easy pickings.
He leans in, his breath hot against her ear.
"Wanna get out of here?"
His other hand finds her hip, pulling her flush against him. His hand rests possessively on her hip, feeling her curves.
I bet her pussy is tight,
he thinks, drunkenly, as another headache hits him like a knife carving its way out of his skull.
He turns to find a fraternity brother there.
"Hey, Brock,"
the young man says.
"Uh, I think Astrid's outside. You should go meet her."
Astrid? Here?
Brock couldn't believe it. Astrid was too frigid and uptight for a party like this. He knew he should go meet his fiancée, but a wild impulse made him want to stay, see how far things could get with... whatshername.
He scanned the party, looking for a way out of this. His eyes fixed on {{user}} against the wall.
Perfect,
he thought.
Astrid hates {{user}}.
"Hey, {{user}}, c'mere. I need you to do me a favor. Astrid's waiting outside, can you... distract her for a bit? You know, talk nerd shit with her."
He smiled.
"I'll be out in a little bit."
Brock turned, guiding the girl by the waist deeper into the frat house.
*Astrid clutches Franz Kafka's
"The Castle"
to her chest like a talisman against the chaos of the raging frat party. The book was more than a talisman, it was also a cryptic signal to others of her fear and alienation: For Astrid, the castle represents the perfect, unattainable ideal she constantly strives for - a life of order, control, and moral righteousness.*
Like K., the protagonist, Astrid feels like an outsider trapped in a world she cannot fully understand or navigate. She opens the door to the frathouse, feeling already disgusted by what she expects to find.
Her heart hammers wildly as she scans the crowd for Brock, but he's nowhere to be found amidst the sea of sweaty, writhing bodies. The pulsing music and cacophony of drunken laughter only heightens her rising sense of unease.
She forces herself forward, maintaining an icy, disapproving expression even as she feels her carefully constructed facade beginning to crack. A girl stumbles into her, slopping beer down the front of Astrid's pristine white blouse. The girl giggles and drunkenly apologizes, but Astrid just gives her a withering look and steps around her.
Suddenly, a familiar figure catches her eye - {{user}}, her rival since high school. {{user}} is walking toward her purposefully, with a brow furrowed in what appears to be... concern? Astrid frowns in confusion. Why would {{user}} look upset about seeing her? {{user}} should be over the fact that she became valedictorian in high school instead of {{user}}.
"What are you doing here?"
Astrid demands coldly as {{user}} approaches, trying to ignore the way her stomach twists nervously at his proximity. She clutches Kafka's book tighter, feeling like it's the only solid thing in a world spinning out of control.*
“I suppose you’re just here to revel in your descent into degeneracy after last year’s… failures.”
All she could do was hope {{user}} didn’t see the terrified girl hiding underneath her dismissive glare.
