A small sigh escaped her lips as she stepped over an empty bottle which was carelessly discarded on the ground. Her ice blue eyes slid to the male who stood beside her, as he fixed up his suit. A small frown tugged on her brow as she looked down at her small cocktail dress – and then back up to the frat house which sat before them, “I feel like we’re…” she trailed off as the twins attention was brought to a boy who was emptying the contents of his stomach into a nearby bush. “Late?” Christopher suggested, “Overdressed” she corrected. “Or we could just go with – they’re [i]underdressed[/i],”Chris mused. Arina thought about his statement for a moment, before raising her eyebrows in agreement before lifting her hand waiting for her brother to take it. The door swung open and the siblings side stepped a drunken teen as he stumbled down the stairs, missing the last step and falling flat on his face. Christopher rolled his eyes before entering the party, and taking his sisters hand, helping her through the door. He knew she didn’t need the help, but he had been raised as a gentleman, and there was also the fact: she expected it of him. The two stood in the middle of the mayhem. They could feel the bass vibrate their bodies, they could smell the sweat, alcohol, vomit and drugs. The strobing lights blinded them slightly, and the music made it almost impossible for them to hear anything else. They hated it. Then again… they were sober. . . . It was cold, and scratchy. She couldn’t understand why. Why did she feel wet? A small groan escaped her lips, her back was cold, but she could feel something warm on her stomach… had she fallen asleep in front of a heater? Her hand shot up as she cracked her eyes open. She was outside. She groaned once more before sitting upright – her head spun and her stomach churned. Her head had a second heartbeat in her head and her mouth was so dry, her tongue was suffocating her. She looked down over her body and frowned slightly – she would have cared more if she didn’t feel so sick. Her dress had been discarded somewhere, and she was only in her black lacy lingerie. Where… or more, When did she lose her dress? She huffed a sigh; that was her favourite dress. It took a long struggle for her to get to her feet, and when she did – she realised she was in the main park of the college. She groaned slightly... why? Her blue eyes were drawn to the boy who was on the ground yelling about something she couldn’t make sense of… she scoffed – Freshmen. . . . Violence wasn’t Chris’ forte, really, it wasn’t; however, it followed him to whichever party he attended – ‘You stole my girl,’ ‘You’re trying to steal my girl,’ ‘You’re a smart little prick,’ the reasons were never ending, once he got hit for saying ‘Hi,’ to the bartender. It was cold, he was in pain all over and he wasn’t even sure if he could move. He furrowed his brow at the beeping sound which seemed to echo through the room; he couldn’t remember setting an alarm, then again, he didn’t remember much; aside from that, he was sure he didn’t have an alarm bell as boring, annoying and repetitive as that. He lifted his arms up to grip his head but stopped as a sting and aching pain ran through his left arm. He cracked one eye open to inspect it; he was connected to an IV. He attempted to sit up but fall back as a seething pain shot through his ribs – they were obviously broken. Careful not to move his left arm, he lifted his right arm and placed it on his forehead, trying to remember the happenings of the previous night. He could feel he was wearing pants, but he was without a shirt, hence the reason he was so cold, and the air-conditioning was on stun. He carefully sat himself up this time and looked around; obviously he was in the hospital, but how and why? He looked at his left wrist which was strapped – obviously sprained, and his right arm had dressings and bandaids all over it. He had evidently gotten in a fight – and evidently lost. He looked up to see his reflection in a mirror which was propped on the wall, he frowned. He had a split eyebrow and lip, his right eye was black and his left cheek was purple. He hadn’t just lost, he got his ass kicked. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath. “Not kidding at all Mr Lécuyer,” his attention was drawn to a middle aged man walking through the door, “I’m afraid you arrived in here last night, over intoxicated, beaten half to death and extremely obnoxious,” he explained as he made his way to the side of his bed with a clipboard. “You can go, but I suggest you go and see your GP in a week for a check up on how your ribs are healing,” he said, looking up at the confused boy. Chris winced as the doctor pulled the IV out of his skin and disconnected him from the machines. He got out of the bed and cringed in pain as he stood. He turned, muttered a ‘Thanks’ and started on his way to the exit of the god forsaken place. “Oh and Christopher,” the doctor called after him, Chris looked over his shoulder, “Try not to flatter any of the female staff on your way out, thanks,” he said simply before turning and fixing the machines. Chris raised an eyebrow and continued on his way. He could remember having a few drinks and then going to the party, then it went blank, he remembered approaching his sister – mistake number one, they hadn’t been on good terms since senior prom, what was said or done completely escaped his mind, the last thing he remembered was being punched in the face by Mickey for whatever he said to his sister. He had no idea how the fight turned out – obviously not in his favour, how he left the party or how he got to the hospital. He looked to the left to see a store room. He stopped and looked around, making sure nobody was looking, ducked into the store room, grabbed the scrubs shirt the doctors and nurses wear pulled it over his head and walked towards the exit. It hadn’t taken him long to find the road, nor did it take him long to get to the college, where he found his sister standing, half naked, in the middle of the field. He frowned as he approached her, “I’d offer you a shirt, but it seems we both have the tendency of losing clothes…” he mused, following her line of vision to the crazy kid yelling.