Hot Stuff

by Virginia Page

  The scent of coffee wafting in the air, calling to me, promising me warmth, promising me flavor, promising me comfort. When I entered the kitchen, Sophia filled up a coffee cup for me. I was impressed when I saw she had ground up coffee beans herself. Everything at the table was quality.

  "Pull up a chair," she said. "After breakfast you've got an appointment."

  "Appointment?" I asked.

  "I'm buying you a makeover," she said. "You need your teeth whitened and a facial. I just hope they can get a brush through your tangled hair. You’re a mess. It’s time for you to grow up."

  Ouch! My feelings were slightly bruised. What was Sophia trying to say? Did I really look that bad? Did she think I was a complete and utter loser? Was I the hot mess she was portraying me to be?

  I distracted myself, hoping to calm down, focusing on the food. My coffee was dark, rich, and just the right temperature. My bacon was crispy just like I enjoyed, snagging several pieces, gobbling them down, taking my frustration out on the food, masking my pain. The hash browns were flaky and crispy on the edges with caramelized onions, smelling delicious, making my lips water. Excited about my eggs over-medium, I sighed, dipping my toast in the yolk, my hand stuffing my face repeatedly, making nom nom noises. I was sure my mouth was a mess, but I didn’t care. I was experiencing Nirvana. If only there was a man who could make me feel as much pleasure.

  After breakfast, we went shopping. I got my makeover. We had to make several trips carrying all the dresses and high heels she had purchased for me. She treated me as if I were queen for the day.

  Later that night, Sophia and I had an old-school girls-only slumber party, watching romantic comedies on television, gossiping about stuff, discussing hot guys we had been with in each of our past relationships. Both of us wore comfy pajamas Sophia had bought just for our get together. She ordered a bunch of guilty pleasures for us to eat, a deep-dish Chicago-Style pizza, also getting us two pints of each of our favorite ice-cream flavors.

  Sophia poured herself a glass of wine and then another and another and another. Her voice somewhat slurring, she smiled wide. I was glad to see she was enjoying herself, but I stuck with drinking ice cold cola.

  We sat up late chatting throughout the night about famous men we had crushes on. It went on until the wee hours. She wanted me to drink some wine, but I was hesitant to do so, but didn't want to insult her, so I only sipped from the glass she’d poured for me from time to time.

  Sophia started her regular banter regarding how much of an ass William had been in the past and how little his cock was. We both giggled, the room instantly filling with girl talk. We were bonding, both able to look back on our past mistakes, laughing. Although, Sophia enjoyed ridiculing him much more than I did. I didn't want to think about William at all, because he was a reminder that I didn't have Chloe. It made the idea of getting her back seem much further out of my reach. Feeling horrible for not seeing Chloe, I hoped she was safe. I couldn’t help but think that William would leave Chloe alone with Hannah. Hannah had never watched Chloe careful enough in the past. What would make William believe anything had changed? I noticed Sophia had been watching me while I was in my head daydreaming.

  "I saw Hannah over at William's yesterday," she said. "It looked like she was only babysitting though."

  "What were you doing over there?"

  Sophia's face turned red, looking down in shame, her bottom lip trembling. She tried to changed the subject, but I wouldn’t let it go.

  “What’s going on, Sophia?” I asked.

  Sophia just sat there reluctant to answer.

  “Please tell me,” I said.

  Fidgeting around in her chair, Sophia backed away from me slightly.

  “I needed to see him,” she replied. “I couldn’t help myself. I still have feelings for him. I know he’s a jackass, but I wasn’t thinking straight. Sometimes I reminisce about the good times we had. I’m so sorry.”

  Sophia sighed.

  I bit my lip, trying to avoid saying something I might regret, something that might get me thrown back out onto the streets.

  Sophia moved further away from me. She must have thought I might reach over and smack the shit out of her or something. I tried my best not to react, holding in my feelings, clinching my fists, trying to keep myself together.

  “I know I’m wrong for holding onto the past, but I don’t know how to move on,” she said. “I’ve been stuck in this unhealthy love-hate cycle ever since we’d split up.”

  Then Sophia’s eyes changed, and she frowned, swallowing to catch her breath.

  “Us getting back together isn’t possible,” she said, “so I’ve decided I’m going to make him pay. I’ll irritate him every chance I get, every day if I have to.”

  Sophia got choked up for a moment, her chin trembled as she rubbed her puffy, watering eyes.

  “I never stopped loving him,” she said, her voice wavering as she covered her face, turning away from me.

  Hearing those words made me feel awkward. My heart started racing. I didn’t know how to respond. Sophia had shared more than I cared to know. Just when I thought she was done, she fell into a crying rant about how she used to drive by our house, just so she could see William, but when he saw it was her, he’d just flip her his middle finger. It had gotten to the point, where I think she was beginning to share too much, and I needed her to stop because I couldn’t take it anymore. My feeling of resentment had grown, and I didn’t want to ruin my temporary living arrangement just yet. Feeling enraged, my muscles tightened, but then after a moment, I came to my senses, consciously breathing, trying my best to calm down, hoping to control my temper.

  After hearing Sophia tell me about the incidents from her past everything made more sense to me. When William would get a weird look on his face when a car passed the house, I wondered if he’d known the driver. Hannah had never gotten her driver’s license, so I’d known it couldn't have been her.

  So, the secret was out. Sophia had been working on getting William back while he was still with me. I didn't know how to react.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?” she asked.

  Sophia's eyes welled up.

  "I hope you can forgive me," she said.

  "For what?" I replied.

  "For not letting go."

  "You can have him,” I said. “Be my guest."

  "I don't want him anymore," she replied. "I just want to be a thorn in his side."

  Something about the look in her eyes told me otherwise. She was obviously still madly in love with him. Feeling sorry for her, I knew being with William was a dead end. He was never going to treat any woman with respect. Being good to a woman just wasn't in his nature.

  "Is that why I'm here?" I asked.

  Sophia looked away, not saying anything for a moment. Then she tried to change the subject.

  “We should get some snacks,” she said.

  Her attempt to distract me with food insulted my intelligence. I wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily.

  "Why did you help me?" I asked. "Why are you letting me stay with you?"

  Sophia covered her face with her hands.

  "Please tell me," I pleaded.

  "I only asked you to stay here, because I knew it would drive William crazy," she said, "but that was before I knew you."

  I couldn’t believe she told me the truth. I’d expected her to make up something.

  "Now we’re good friends," she said. "I enjoy having you here. I’ve been so lonely."

  Sophia wiped her eyes, sniffling.

  I did appreciate her honesty. Sure, my feelings were hurt, but I understood completely. I was ever so grateful things worked out in my favor, otherwise I could still have been out in the cold scavenging. I decided to try not to let Sophia's motives bother me. I couldn’t jeopardize losing food and shelter.

  We didn’t speak for at least an hour. Before too long we both passed out cold.

  Chapter 19

  When my m
other was young, she was the head cheerleader and prom queen. My father played football and caught the eye of my mother while she cheered him on during his football games. That was how they’d met.

  My mother was petite and lovely. Her hair was natural blonde, and she had a gorgeous figure. She’d been voted in her high school yearbook most beautiful girl in the school. Never had a care in the world because she was one of the beautiful people. Everyone adored her.

  When I was a child, struggling with weight issues, my mother would ridicule me, monitoring everything I ate, nitpicking all of my choices.

  She’d commonly said, "You'd better watch out. If you get fat, no man will ever want you."

  Worst of all, my mother would wait until one of my friends was over, so she could pick on me with an audience, so I avoided having friends over at all costs. I could tell she loved making me miserable because she’d get a smile on her face every time she said something hurtful. I used to cry myself to sleep after such embarrassing situations.

  My friends would give me treats from time to time, like candy, cookies, and cupcakes, which I’d hide under my bed and in the back of the closet. At night, after suffering from my mother attacking me all day long, I’d cry, feeling hopeless, taking comfort in eating my snacks, masking and numbing my pain. Of course, my late night eating only made things worse, because I’d gained extra weight, which caused my mother to ridicule me even more. It was a vicious cycle, compounding as the years went by. One I’d followed all through my early years.

  If that wasn’t bad enough, I’d also been bullied in school due to my weight by all the mean kids. I’d cried, sitting alone on the playground, hoping that they’d stop picking on me. I’d told my mother, but she warned me that I shouldn’t fight. She’d told me to turn the other cheek. Her advice didn’t work, only making me more vulnerable, the other kids acting like I was helpless, an easy target. My father heard about me getting my ass beat and told me I’d better fight back. The next day when a bully came after me, I’d punched him right in the eye. Nobody could believe that I’d defended myself. I’d let lose my newfound temper, which was difficult for me to control. I was sent down to the office on a daily basis, but I didn’t care, because I vowed I’d never take anyone's shit ever again.

  My mother would accuse me of doing wrong even when I wasn't doing anything. I was a good girl, who took pride in being the best I could be until it didn't matter any longer, me becoming jaded. I was going to get blamed no matter whether or not I did something wrong, so I’d figured I might as well have the so called fun that was getting me punished. Looking back, it was a mistake, but at that time I’d felt justified in my actions. Rebelling caused the blood to course through my veins, making me feel alive.

  Maybe my mother had been right about me all along. I decided I wanted to be beautiful, so someone would love me. But how could I become beautiful? I looked in the mirror and saw all of the flaws my mother repeatedly pointed out, mocking me every chance she’d gotten.

  After my realization, I was heading for my teenage years, and I grew up fast, too fast.

  My mother had become more aggressive, expecting me to become a cheerleader and home-coming-queen to follow in her footsteps. Of course, I’d always been a tomboy and didn't want to get all dolled up in dresses and makeup. After a while my mother wore me down, and I realized she wasn't going to give up, so I embraced the idea of being girly, wearing makeup and dresses. I’d become skinny, as my mother always wished for me to be. She put me on a strict diet and had me exercise every day, and I shed the weight quickly.

  Before too long, guys, who were seniors in high school, started pursuing me when I was a freshman. I was going to parties and hanging with a crowd who weren't the type of people I wanted to hang out with. I’d become one of the popular girls, more popular than my father would have approved of. I’d always been a bookworm, so more times than not, I’d be carrying around a book. The popular crowd made fun of those who read for pleasure. Their attitude toward reading had been that people should only read in school, and if they could help it, not at all. It never made sense to me why they would make fun of people for being smart, but they did it often. It ate me up inside to hear them ridicule others. Dumb people making fun of smart people seemed backwards to me. I’d shut my mouth and just smiled hoping to fit in. As long as I was smiling, nobody ever questioned me. They would just smile back.

  My mother was so proud of me because I’d become one of the popular girls. My father would yell at me and call me a slut and a tramp, because of all of the makeup and the provocative outfits I’d wear. His face would turn all red, and a vein would throb and pulse on his temple when he’d catch me leaving the house half-naked. My mother and father would bicker about me almost every night. I couldn't win because they each wanted the opposite for me. If I did what my mother wanted, my father was upset, and if I did what my father wanted, my mother would be upset. It was a losing battle.

  They would each cause me grief in their own ways. That had been the reason I began acting out. I'd decided I was going to ruffle each of their feathers, so I’d become reckless and promiscuous. I dyed my long brown hair bleach blonde, teasing it out like the other popular girls.

  I dated nearly every guy in school who was high status. My reputation with the other girls left a lot to be desired, but I’d become popular with the guys anyway.

  Most of the girls in school didn't like me because they’d heard so many rumors, and the guys they had crushes on were always pursuing me. They all treated me like an outsider. After a while, I spent all of my time hanging out with the guys, because they’d accepted me. Having grown up as a tomboy, it seemed natural to me.

  Eventually, the guys had gotten jealous of each other. They’d become territorial regarding me. Questions had been raised like, “Why weren’t you home last night? I’d tapped on your window, and you’d never answered. Where were you? Why were you with him?“

  With all the perceived competition, each of them were vying for my attention.

  By the time I’d gotten to my later teen years, my innocence was ruined almost every night of the week by one guy or another. I’d become the liberal girl, who everyone wanted to take a turn with.

  After a while even the guys treated me badly because they’d decided I was too easy. If a guy wanted to date me, and I said no. He’d spread rumors to other guys warning them that I’d slept with everyone, which was a major exaggeration. Of course, the stories always got blown all out of proportion. I’d never understood why if a guy slept with a lot of girls, he had a badge of honor, but a girl exploring her sexuality was perceived negatively.

  One night when I was younger and having sex with a guy, who had secretly climbed in through the window, I’d forgotten to lock my door. I’d become careless for some reason. Maybe I wanted to be caught.

  My parents walked in on me while I was having sex. At that moment, the guy was fucking me most aggressively. I hadn’t noticed they were there until my father grunted and cleared his throat. I opened my eyes, discovering my parents standing next to the bed watching with expressions of displeasure, mortified. In our family, it was the end of trust.

  "You fucking tramp!" my father shouted as he slapped my ass.

  "I told you I heard them having sex," my mother said.

  My father grabbed the guy, who was absolutely naked, by the scruff of his neck as if he were a small pup, pulling him out of the house, throwing him off of the porch, dragging him all the way down to the curb.

  Meanwhile, I covered myself up, hiding my face, hoping to disappear, hoping it was all a bad dream, hoping to survive the aftermath.

  My mother stood next to me crying.

  When my father returned to my room, he shouted at me and called me a fuckin’ no good whore. The vibration of his voice cut right through me, rattling my soul.

  Chapter 20

  "How could you do this to us?" Mother asked. "I guess all of the rumors were true. I didn't want to believe the ladies at the beauty salon
, but now I've seen it with my own eyes."

  I fought to get out the words to apologize for everything I’d done, but I wasn't sorry, so I didn't. I was a product of my mother’s and father’s lunacy. They were the ones who created the little monster lying down naked in front of them fornicating. I wasn’t born that way.

  In a way, I’d become free, because I knew being their little girl was over, so I could start being a woman full time. They would have to think of me as an adult from now on, after what they had just seen me do.

  Rustling from the other room startled me. I wondered what my father was doing. I’d hoped he wasn’t too hard on the guy he’d dragged out. Why hadn’t he come back yet?

  My father stomped back into my bedroom, wielding a black leather belt in his hand, a furious look on his face. I sunk deeper between the covers, attempting to fully cover my body, because he was about to whip my ass. He folded the hard leather in half and grabbed both sides of the belt, pushing his fists together, then yanking them outward quickly, causing the belt to make a loud cracking noise. Each time he’d snapped the belt, I jerked and trembled. He grabbed the covers with his dominant hand and yanked them completely off of me, exposing my naked body. As he reached for me, I kicked and screamed, trying my best to get away from him, but his strong hand grabbed me by my hair, him pinning me down, manhandling me, humiliating me.

  My mother begged him not to hurt me, but his eyes filled with rage. Nothing would have been able to stop him. I’d never seen him that angry before.