Two men stumble in, laughing as they do, and one rushes to shove the door closed behind him. With them they bring the stench of alcohol and weed. The moment I see their faces, I’m sure they’re both high. I can see it in their red eyes, in the flush of their skin, hear it in their strange, giddy laughter.

I’d guess them to be twenty, twenty-one maybe. Just a year or two older than me. And I recognize one of them. I danced with him not one hour ago. Although I can’t recall his name. Only that I didn’t like him. Didn’t like the way his fingers caressed the exposed skin of my back as he spun me around the dance floor.

“There she is,” he says, as if recognizing me, too. His mask is pushed to the top of his head and he licks his lips, allowing his gaze to linger at the swell of my breasts above the bodice of the dress. “That’s the girl,” he tells his companion with a nudge of his elbow.

The other ones eyes are locked on me, mouth hard, set in an ugly line.

“The Bishop girl,” he says. Both come closer, one stopping behind me. “Half-Bishop,” he clarifies.

“The right half,” the other one says, and they both laugh although I don’t get the joke. “Let’s get that thing off your head so we can get a proper look at you,” he says, reaching for the clip holding my mask in place.

“I don’t think so,” I tell him, stepping out of his reach but in doing so cornering myself against the altar.

“Why not? I wouldn’t make a deal with your brother sight unseen. You never know, am I right?”

“I think Manson is the one making the deal, bro,” his friend says and makes a face.

He reaches again and this time when he gets his fingers in my hair I shove at him with both hands, managing to push him backward. He’s off balance because he’s both high and drunk. I realize how much more dangerous that makes him when his eyes narrow to angry slits as his friend laughs.

“Excuse me, I need to get back,” I say, turning to slip away, managing to take a step before he catches my arm.

I stop, look at his hand then up at him. I paste a smile on my face and step closer. My heart thuds against my chest. I’m not sure if I’m more angry or afraid but I know two things.

First, I need to get away from these two or it’s not going to bode well for me. And second, I cannot show my fear no matter what. Some men get a high from that alone.

“My brother is on his way. He won’t like you putting your hands on me,” I say.