A short special thing in the beginning:

I don't know if anyone is going to read this little thing before the story but I felt like telling you guys something. I don't write and cannot write a completely fictional story, the plot mainly. When the plot first comes in my mind, it comes from the things I observe around me. It is a simple idea, some instances of my life and I mix it with fiction. The other stories that I'm currently working on, also have a non fiction plot at their heart. But that doesn't make the story non fiction. Other than the core idea of the story, necessarily the climax, I tend to turn everything into fiction. If you think Heathens.... is a typical story of romance and fights, it's not. It may not feel like it as of right now but soon as the sub plots are unravelled, it'll be clearer to you as to what I'm trying to say.

Thank-you for reading it so far. All the love. R.

***

"Stella?" A gentle tap on my shoulder breaks my reverie which had been glued to the trail of Tristan's now vanished figure. I turn around to see Franco, his cheek flushed red, which I suppose is due to his extensive drinking tonight. "Your lips are dry and cracked. Want me to get you some water?" He asks, concerned clear on his face.

I lick my lips almost immediately and nod.

"You do know that licking them makes them crack even more right?" He tilts his head in question.

"Geek." I swat his arm, playfully. He shakes his head, giggling and walks away. Within seconds he is back with a bottle.

"Thought you'd need more that a glass of it." He says, handing it to me.

I hastily drink it, being dehydrated. I'm so hungry that I can hear my stomach making noises and thus making me drink the water even more as I cannot spot any food here.

I scrunch my nose as the teenagers increase the volume of the base. The room fills up with even more people and soon everyone is grinding on each other like rabbits.

"Want to go somewhere peaceful?" Franco asks, cringe obvious on his face.

"Gladly." I sigh exaggeratedly, crossing my heart.

Franco leads me upstairs, to the second room in the lobby. The room is white, too white but soothing.

"How do you know Edward's place so well? Weren't you, as I recall, afraid of him?" I ask, sitting on a grand couch, too pretentious for my taste.

"I've been here quite a lot of times before." He answers, sitting next to me.

"You must really love being his punching bag." I chuckle and he joins in. The room is peaceful and I finally feel a little better tonight. You can't tell if there is music being blasted downstairs, the whole aura of the room is different than it was downstairs.

"I'm friends with Joseph." He explains.

"I always thought you were the lonely boy." I admit it to Franco. "I'd never have thought you had any friends if I hadn't seen you at best with Joseph."

Franco smiles and so do I.

Everyday that I have spent since I came under the radar of the A List has been like a race; racing to your death, and betting on who dies first. But Franco is like the calm after the storm; after the rain has left me drenched and shivering, he is the sun peaking through the clouds and finally healing me with his shine. I never would have thought this for anyone, but Franco feels family.

"Stella." The door bangs open and Edward walks in. I swear to god, I won't even think about them from now on, because everytime I do, they magically appear on front of me.

"What?" I ask him, rolling my eyes.

"Let's get you home." He says, nodding to himself.