Young Writers Society

These were the guys whose parents slaved day and night to pay for their university education and instead of at least trying to make their parents proud, they were here doing something that was never going to help them in anyway, unless you counted building up a tolerance for drinks, and bedroom skills.

It was in the midst of her severely pissed off musings that he appeared.

. Like the sun coming out of the clouds, like the lights coming on after a blackout, like the sight of that impossible dish you tried to cook turning out just right.

“Do you go to Fordson’s?”

Electricity shot through her. It was like she melted into the feeling. She looked at him, hypnotized. All will power was taken away from her. She would do anything he wanted, go anywhere he wanted, be whoever he wanted her to be.

“What’s wrong?” she said, reaching out her hand. She touched his face, dimly aware that his skin was quite cold. “What’s upsetting you?”
“I have to do something I don’t want to do,” he said, looking at the ground. “But I can’t control myself.”
“Do what?”
“Kill you.”
Guilt washed over her. “Do it if it will make you happy. Kill me.”
“It’s not fair. You’re not in your senses.”
“I’m okay,” she said, smiling widely to prove her point. “I’m fine, see? Kill me if it’ll make you feel good.

“Bye,” he said, and touched her forehead.

She glanced at her watch and swore loudly, getting to her feet and making her way through the throng to the exit. A pair of hungry gray eyes watched her go.

The music blared away, melting in [Don't need in] with the drunken calls and horribly off-key singing so prevalent at night clubs, especially Full Moon. Anya crossed her arms, mouth set in a disgusted grimace. Her friend had disappeared, probably with some stranger, leaving Anya alone to suffer. She looked angrily around at the young adults wasting their lives away and spoiling their health. She noticed many from their own university. These were the guys whose parents slaved day and night to pay for their university education and instead of at least trying to make their parents proud, they were here doing something that was never going to help them in anyway, unless you counted building up a tolerance for drinks, and bedroom skills.
It was in the midst of her severely pissed off musings that he appeared. Like the sun coming out of the clouds, like the lights coming on after a blackout, like the sight of that impossible dish you tried to cook turning out just right[I don;t like similies when describing how amazing people are. A little cheesy]. Her heart stopped. He walked slowly, gracefully through the crowd, sidestepping the dancers. He wore a black button up shirt and jeans. He[This is the third time you used 'he' maybe you could try something else? Or you can always join two of the sentences together] caught her eye and she melted into his grey eyes. At the same time she noticed a wariness about him, and a grim expression. [On his face?] 
Before she knew it, those grey eyes were way closer than before.  
“Hi.” 
“Hey,” she said.  
“I noticed you’re not out there ‘shaking it’.” 
“Uh…yeah,” she said, tugging at her brown hair. “Not really a dancer.” 
“Neither am I.” 
“For some reason, I highly doubt that.” 
He grinned. Perfect white teeth. “I’m Aden.” 
“Anya.” 
“Do you go to Fordson’s?” 
“Yeah. You?” 
He shook his head. “I’m a foreigner.”  [Right, through this bit of dialogue you might want to show a bit of body language instead of just having lines of talking. Maybe he smiles, she shuffles her feet, he raises his eyebrows or whatever.]
She smiled and looked away. What the hell was she supposed to say? The most gorgeous guy she had ever seen was sitting right next to her. What should she act like? Should she be all flirty and seducing like her dumb friend? What if he didn’t like those kind of girls and just walked away? Then again, what if he didn’t like un-flirty and un-seducing girls like her and just walked away?  
“You seem to be far above this sort of debauchery," he said, gaze fixed on her. 
Un-flirty, un-seducing intellectual brainiac persona it was. “I guess." 
“You’re way too pretty to be here,” he said, stroking her cheek. Electricity shot through her. It was like she melted into the feeling. She looked at him, hypnotized. All will power was taken away from her. She would do anything he wanted, go anywhere he wanted, be whoever he wanted her to be.  
He stood up[Were they sitting down?] and walked through the crowd. She followed him. He was the only one she could see. He was her world, and nothing else mattered. Everything else dissolved into nothingness as her gaze stuck to his tall, lean back. He held something – a door? – open and she stepped through whatever it was. She turned around. [Too many 'she's.]  
He looked at her with an unwilling expression on his gorgeous face. She was suddenly filled with immense sadness and protectiveness.[Ness, ness. Try something different. 'She was suddenly filled with a strong sense of wanting to protect the man and also a air of sadness.'] 
“What’s wrong?” she said[asked], reaching out her hand. [Take away the full stop.] She touched his face, dimly aware that his skin was quite cold. “What’s upsetting you?” 
“I have to do something I don’t want to do,” he said[Use something that describes how he's feeling more], looking at the ground. “But I can’t control myself.” 
“Do what?” 
“Kill you.” 
Guilt washed over her. “Do it if it will make you happy. Kill me.” 
“It’s not fair. You’re not in your senses.” 
“I’m okay,” she said, smiling widely to prove her point. “I’m fine, see? Kill me if it’ll make you feel good.” 
“I hate myself,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “I’m a monster. I kill innocent people, just so I can stay alive to kill more innocent people.” 
“Anything that makes you happy,” she insisted, holding his shoulders.  
“This is not fair!” he roared, pushing her away. “You’re in university! You have to study, enjoy yourself, get drunk, have the time of your life, then get a job, then meet the love of your life, then get married. You’re not supposed to end up as my meal.” 
“But I want to be your meal,” she insisted. “Nothing else is going to make me happy.” 
“I can’t do this,” he muttered, opening the door again. “Get inside.” 
She walked through the invisible door and turned to see him.  
“You see those seats over there?” he asked, pointing somewhere in the distance.
[New line] She shook her head. “All I see is you.” 
“Of course you would,” he muttered. “Follow me.” 
She followed him, mesmerized. He was so beautiful. He sat down on something and she sat down next to him.  
“Bye,” he said, and touched her forehead.  
Anya blinked and looked at the dance floor. The song had changed. She felt disconcerted. Had she fallen asleep? In a nightclub? She remembered the gorgeous guy and looked around. [He was ] No where to be seen.  
“What the hell?” she muttered. “Must’ve dreamt it all.” 
She glanced at her watch and swore loudly, getting to her feet and making her way through the throng to the exit. A pair of hungry gray eyes watched her go.

“I noticed you’re not out there ‘shaking it’.”

Un-flirty, un-seducing intellectual brainiac persona it was.

She would do anything he wanted, go anywhere he wanted, be whoever he wanted her to be.