Wayward Girl
Chapter 1
“Don’t grab me, Jace,” I try elbowing the bulky man grabbing my shoulder. The heat swims around the club with a vibrant pulse, making a tiny bead of sweat tremble under my short, messy hair. But Jace won’t let go, and my tiny waist struggles to squirm away. “Go find your girlfriend!”
He tightens his grip, but not by much. His calm, softer side stops him from being a complete asshole. “I’m trying to stop you from making a stupid mistake. I know you’re not a whore, so stop trying to be one.” He narrows his gaze to meet my lime-green eyes until I see that he’s not trying to win me over in bed, but is making an effort to save me from my own stupidity. It sends me in awe for a moment before I snap out of it and he asks, “What are you trying to prove?”
I furrow my eyebrows with confusion. I wasn’t aware that I was proving anything.
“You are beautiful,” he stares right into my eyes. I wasn’t expecting this. Then, as if my mind had spoken directly to him, he whispered, “Sex isn’t a favor, an apology, or business. It’s not a one-way deal. It’s love. And there is nothing between you and Carter that constitutes itself as love.” His lips come so close to mine that I can taste the remorse in his last breath. The infant glaze that hangs over his eyes hovers for a few minutes, as I stand there, mystified and speechless, in a crowded room that smells like a combination of smoke and sweat.
All I could form in my mind was: I have to get to Carter before it’s too late and he decides to form my face into a rotten peach. “Can you let me go, please?” My voice comes out as a soft beg, and he lets me go with those regretful eyes I will soon no longer bare to look at.
I look around me first to make sure everything is as it was five minutes ago, and then make my way up the stairs to the third bedroom where he said to meet him at. After passing a crowd of seniors from my school, Eastwood Academy, and watching as my group of friends, the only juniors who are allowed into this exclusive party, sit on the couch playing “I have never” with an array of shot glasses floating around them, I find myself gliding up the stairs like a prisoner on death row. Only, I’ve tasted death before, and this certainly won’t be my last.
The spiral staircase finally meets the second floor. My satin black boots tap lightly on the marble floor as I weave through drunken teenagers and very annoyed servers. The third door on the right comes to me all too soon, and I take a sharp breath in to prepare myself for yet another painful night. Before I head in, I look down at my outfit, a loose fitting, black satin top tucked into the front of my best dark low-rise skinny jeans. In a few minutes, everything will be off anyways, but at least I will know how cute I looked before.
I let my tall boots click three times on the marble before I open the heavy door to a dark lit bedroom. The first thing I see is an enormous bed with dark brown, plush blankets covering it from post to post, and Carter spread out in the middle. His head rests between two pillows with his long arms stretching out on either side of his body. Three fingers on his left hand wave towards me twice, signaling it’s my time to join him in his solitude.
When I start to move towards the bed he snaps once and croaks in a deep, syrupy voice, “Don’t forget to close the door,” and I trace back a few steps to lightly click the door shut, a part of my voice sneaking through the crack to beckon a scream, a plea, or anything to get me out of this situation, this life. But nothing escapes and I stand, just as before, a pathetic little statue chipped of worthiness and scraped with dirt.
Moving onto the bed, I sit on my knees beside Carter, who is taking pieces of my mousy brown hair into his own pale hands, curling my ends around his long fingers and clenching down. I bite my lip from the pain this creates as it pinches my scalp. “I haven’t seen you all night, Lacey. I missed you, you know?” He stares into my face, but my head is turned so I’m looking at the door. I want this to be over. “Give me a kiss,” he puckers up with a devilish smile plastered across his face. I count to three and force my lips against his, counting and counting, until he moves away, obviously pleased.
“Oh, come on,” he places his hand on the side of my cheek to move my face towards his. “Turn those beautiful lips up and give me a smile.” Before he can do anything, I dissociate myself from everything, losing all connection to my body, the room, his awful stench of Ralf Lauren, and paint a smile that I can’t feel. “That’s better,” he coos. “Just like that…”
Before I have time to count to ten, I think that it’s already started, and so I sit back and let him have it. My mind is gone, I can’t feel anything, and all that I am thinking about is my bed at home and how this is going to happen all over again in a few hours.
He tightens his grip, but not by much. His calm, softer side stops him from being a complete asshole. “I’m trying to stop you from making a stupid mistake. I know you’re not a whore, so stop trying to be one.” He narrows his gaze to meet my lime-green eyes until I see that he’s not trying to win me over in bed, but is making an effort to save me from my own stupidity. It sends me in awe for a moment before I snap out of it and he asks, “What are you trying to prove?”
I furrow my eyebrows with confusion. I wasn’t aware that I was proving anything.
“You are beautiful,” he stares right into my eyes. I wasn’t expecting this. Then, as if my mind had spoken directly to him, he whispered, “Sex isn’t a favor, an apology, or business. It’s not a one-way deal. It’s love. And there is nothing between you and Carter that constitutes itself as love.” His lips come so close to mine that I can taste the remorse in his last breath. The infant glaze that hangs over his eyes hovers for a few minutes, as I stand there, mystified and speechless, in a crowded room that smells like a combination of smoke and sweat.
All I could form in my mind was: I have to get to Carter before it’s too late and he decides to form my face into a rotten peach. “Can you let me go, please?” My voice comes out as a soft beg, and he lets me go with those regretful eyes I will soon no longer bare to look at.
I look around me first to make sure everything is as it was five minutes ago, and then make my way up the stairs to the third bedroom where he said to meet him at. After passing a crowd of seniors from my school, Eastwood Academy, and watching as my group of friends, the only juniors who are allowed into this exclusive party, sit on the couch playing “I have never” with an array of shot glasses floating around them, I find myself gliding up the stairs like a prisoner on death row. Only, I’ve tasted death before, and this certainly won’t be my last.
The spiral staircase finally meets the second floor. My satin black boots tap lightly on the marble floor as I weave through drunken teenagers and very annoyed servers. The third door on the right comes to me all too soon, and I take a sharp breath in to prepare myself for yet another painful night. Before I head in, I look down at my outfit, a loose fitting, black satin top tucked into the front of my best dark low-rise skinny jeans. In a few minutes, everything will be off anyways, but at least I will know how cute I looked before.
I let my tall boots click three times on the marble before I open the heavy door to a dark lit bedroom. The first thing I see is an enormous bed with dark brown, plush blankets covering it from post to post, and Carter spread out in the middle. His head rests between two pillows with his long arms stretching out on either side of his body. Three fingers on his left hand wave towards me twice, signaling it’s my time to join him in his solitude.
When I start to move towards the bed he snaps once and croaks in a deep, syrupy voice, “Don’t forget to close the door,” and I trace back a few steps to lightly click the door shut, a part of my voice sneaking through the crack to beckon a scream, a plea, or anything to get me out of this situation, this life. But nothing escapes and I stand, just as before, a pathetic little statue chipped of worthiness and scraped with dirt.
Moving onto the bed, I sit on my knees beside Carter, who is taking pieces of my mousy brown hair into his own pale hands, curling my ends around his long fingers and clenching down. I bite my lip from the pain this creates as it pinches my scalp. “I haven’t seen you all night, Lacey. I missed you, you know?” He stares into my face, but my head is turned so I’m looking at the door. I want this to be over. “Give me a kiss,” he puckers up with a devilish smile plastered across his face. I count to three and force my lips against his, counting and counting, until he moves away, obviously pleased.
“Oh, come on,” he places his hand on the side of my cheek to move my face towards his. “Turn those beautiful lips up and give me a smile.” Before he can do anything, I dissociate myself from everything, losing all connection to my body, the room, his awful stench of Ralf Lauren, and paint a smile that I can’t feel. “That’s better,” he coos. “Just like that…”
Before I have time to count to ten, I think that it’s already started, and so I sit back and let him have it. My mind is gone, I can’t feel anything, and all that I am thinking about is my bed at home and how this is going to happen all over again in a few hours.