by Bella King
“Hey, you, girl,” the voice shouts again. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Shopping,” I yell back, but I know I shouldn’t have said anything. Now he knows what I sound like. Can that be used in court?
“Drop that shit and put your hands up,” the man in the front growls, but I’m already making a run for it.
One of the bottles slips from my arms, falling on the floor and shattering behind me. I guess Flint will have to be happy with two bottles of vodka. It tastes like paint thinner anyway. I don’t see why he didn’t ask for wine instead.
One the way out, I spot a cooler. Inside are an array of canned drinks, including diet coke. Here I am, risking my ass getting shot for a single diet coke for a man who does nothing but boss me around. If this doesn’t snap me out of being such a pussy, I don’t know what will.
I take both bottles of vodka into my left hand, then yank open the door to the cooler with my right. I grab two cans, since I’m thirsty as well, and rush toward the door.
“I said freeze, bitch,” the man at the front of the store yells.
I hear a loud blast as I charge through the front door, using my shoulder to push it open. The shop owner is shooting at me. The man must be nuts to want to kill a young woman like me over a few bottles of vodka. I’m convinced that everyone in this town is crazy.
“Go,” I shout as I run toward Flint. Why the hell is he waiting right outside the shop? Isn’t he afraid that someone will see him?
Flint turns around, running with me down the sidewalk.
“This way,” he yells, leading me into a small opening in the trees beside the sidewalk.
I duck down, following him as he rushes through the bramble. Twigs and leaves slap against my face, arms, and legs, but I ignore them. I’ve been through enough pain not to care anymore. After a moment, we break into a clearing in the woods, but Flint doesn’t slow down.
I stumble over protruding roots and jagged rocks littering the thin path through the thick shrubbery and forest. The slanted sunlight flickers through the treetops as I struggle to keep up with Flint. I doubt the store owner will have followed us into the woods, but Flint isn’t taking any chances.
Finally, after nearly half a mile, Flint stops and spins around. He smiles at me, like our sprint in the woods was nothing more than a leisurely walk to him. Either I’m sorely out of shape, or he’s an athlete. I would speculate that it’s a bit of both.
The dirty bandana has slipped down from my face and now hangs around my neck. I pant, my lungs aching as I draw in sharp breaths.
“Tired?” Flint asks, walking up to me.
I bend over, wheezing in the humid air.
“You should run track if you’re going to make a habit of this,” he says, snatching a can of diet coke from my arms.
I look up to see the thin spray of carbonation fly from the top of the can as he cracks it open. His face is one of pure joy, but I’m not finding this especially thrilling. I almost got myself killed for that stupid drink.
“Cheers,” Flint says, holding his drink toward me before throwing it back toward his open mouth. Condensations rolls over his fingers as he chugs the contents. The dark brown liquid pours from the can in a spiral of fizzy sweetness, splashing into his mouth.
I watch with envy as his Adam’s apple moves up and down in his throat as he swallows the drink. He makes it look so good, but that could be because of how attractive he is. To think, we just robbed a liquor store and Flint doesn’t appear to have a care in the world, like he owns it entirely.
I reach for my own drink, convinced by his actions that a cold coke is god’s gift to mankind (and womankind). I place the two remaining bottles of vodka onto the dirt path and crack open my own can, watching the fizz overflow onto the top, agitated by the bounce of our frantic escape.
I lift the can to my lips drinking slowly as I breath heavily through my nose. I gulp down half the can before I look back toward Flint, who has finished his and is crumpling it in his hand. He tosses it into the trees.
“Hey,” I exclaim, lowering my drink and glaring at him. “Don’t litter.”
He rolls his eyes, dragging his feet as he walks into the ivy-covered forest floor to retrieve his empty can. I’m surprised that he even listened to me. I thought I would have to be the one to pick up his trash. It’s another sign that he’s not as much of a lone-wolf rebel as he leads people to believe. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a total jerk, but he has a soft spot somewhere deep inside of him.
“You’re not all that bad, are you?” I ask in a teasing manner as he shoves the crushed can into his back pocket.
“I’m a monster,” he replies, continuing our walk.
I bend over, slipping the large glass bottles of liquid regret into my bookbag. I throw it around my back, the straps digging into my shoulders. It’s heavy, but I can handle it.
“You’re not really a monster, are you?” I ask, hurrying up to walk beside him.
“Why do you want to know?” he asks while digging around in his front pocket.
“I’m just curious. You said you have more problems than I do. That would mean that you’re troubled, but not necessarily a bad person,” I suggest.
Flint pulls a bent joint from his pocket and places it on his lips. The paper soaks up the moisture on his bottom lip and sticks to it, wiggling in the air as he speaks. “Yeah, I do have a lot of problems, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“Is that why you smoke?” I ask.
He pulls a lighter from the small pocket in his jeans. “I smoke because I like it,” he replies before lighting his joint. He takes a drag, then hands it to me.
I put my hand up. “Oh, I think I had enough of that last night.”
“Suit yourself,” he replies, bringing it back up to his lips and inhaling the thick smoke again.
“My parents are divorced,” I tell him, trying to open him up. “What about yours?”
He chuckles. “Everyone’s parents are divorced. You’re not special.”
“Okay,” I say flatly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“My dad was hit by a car when I was ten,” he says. “He loved my mom, unlike Dean. They would never have gotten a divorce.”
“Oh,” I reply softly. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing for you to be sorry about. You weren’t the one who killed him,” Flint says, but the words fall of his tongue like bitter fruits. I can tell that he’s still angry about it, eight or nine years later. I would also be devastated if I lost my dad like that, but I lost him another way. I can still get mine back.
“So, Dean is your stepdad?” I ask, finally putting the pieces together. He must not like him.
“He’s my mom’s husband, so yeah,” Flint replies. “Although I don’t think he should be.”
“My mom hates men,” I say with a laugh, trying to bring some humor into the conversation.
Flint gives me a weak smile before sucking in more smoke. “Some people are just garbage, men and women.”
“I can agree with that. Edyth is a nightmare.”
“She’s definitely a bitch,” he says, nodding his head.
“You should help me with her. Really,” I say.
“I already told you no,” he replies.
“But why not?”
“Because I said so.”
“But why?”
“Amber,” Flint says, turning his head to me and frowning. “Just shut up about her, okay?”
I recoil, wrinkling my nose at him. “Do you have a thing for her or something?”
He groans in annoyance. “No.”
“Are you afraid of her?” I ask, craning forward to see his face.
He turns his head. “No,” he mutters.
“Yeah, right. I bet you are,” I say, shaking my head. “A big tough guy like you, afraid of some skinny bitch.”
“Honestly, Amber. There are like ten girls on the cheer team. It’s unwise to go up against a group like that.”
“Pus
sy,” I say, trying to shame him.
“Fuck off.”
“How about you fuck off, Mr. Pussy,” I reply.
“Shut your mouth before I shut it for you,” I growls.
“Oho, threatening to hit a woman?” I ask, raising my voice.
“I never said I was going to hit you,” he says, his voice low and serious.
“You were going to shut my mouth. That’s what you said,” I reply.
Flint flicks the end of his joint into the shrubbery and turns to me, his eyes glowing with wicked intent. I have no time to react before he rushes toward me, placing his hand against my throat and backing me up against a tree. His grip isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s firm.
I lose my breath as I look into his eyes.
“I said I would shut you up,” he says, speaking each word through his teeth. The muscles in his jaw pop from the sides of his face. “But I didn’t say how.”
Everything moves so fast but so slow at the same time. His lips come toward me and his eyes close. My own lips part, inviting him, accepting him, like he was someone I actually wanted to kiss. But my body know better than me. I might hate him, but my body loves him.
I do my best to hold back a moan as his lips press against mine, but I’m no good at hiding the way that I feel. I speak my mind and wear my emotions on my sleeve. That will be the death of me.
I let out a half-moan, half-whimper as I sink into Flint’s kiss. The taste of his lips is extraordinary. It’s a passionate smokey taste, like a field of straw set ablaze from the heat of sex. It’s the taste of the tension that has built between us being reborn into an even more powerful emotion. It’s the taste of everything I never knew I wanted, but now that it’s here, I have to have it.
Flint keeps his hand on my throat, holding me against the tree as he brings his body closer. I keep my eyes closed, afraid to open them and face the man in front of me. I only feel things, shutting of my vital senses to keep from being overwhelmed.
I feel a prod at my lower stomach, which slides down between my legs. Flint’s erection is raging, anxious to get out of his pants. I can only imagine the power of what he has there. God, what the fuck am I doing? Why am I here like this with such a terrible man?
Oh, but the thrill is bliss, and the danger is good for my soul. It feeds me with a fire that spreads through my core and works its way through my veins, tingling through to the tips of my fingers, and yes, between my legs.
Flint loosens his grip on my neck and lets his hand fall to my waist. He pulls me toward him, pressing my body into his. I feel like a sponge, simultaneously molding to the rigid shape of his muscular body while soaking up the delightful waves of euphoric energy that radiate from his skin.
I can’t ignore the rush he gives me. The hair on my arms stand up so tall that they painfully pull at my skin. A tender heat grows within me as a chill runs through my core. The doubts I had about ever living a normal life now that I’m at Blackstone High have come true. My life can’t be the same as it was before. It never will be.
But this new world, these new people, and this new thrill is attractive. Flint, and everything he stands for, is wrong, but he feels amazing. After so much pain, loneliness, and loss, I’m unable to resist the warmth of a man pressing his body so close to mine that he feeds my soul.
I surrender to the pull of Flint’s ocean of lust, going under at his will, bowing to the power he has over me. I pray that he treats me well, but after what I’ve been through, I wouldn’t be surprised if this was another one of life’s disappointments. Life gives and life takes, and then we all die in the end. It’s not the charming fairytale life I was promised, but it’s the truth.
Finally, Flint pulls his head away from mine, separating our lips from each other. His breath is hoarse and deep, indicative of the intensity that brews just below the surface of his tanned skin. He looks into my eyes. “Now shut up,” he says, then turns away.
Chapter Seventeen
Flint
Amber is into me, and I’m trying not to care. The only problem with not caring, though, is that I’ll never have her if I don’t put in the effort. I’m just trying to figure out if it really is a good idea to mix with her type, and if it won’t come back to bite me in the ass in the future.
A lot of it is just pride. Even with lips sweeter than liquid sugar, Amber is the same type of overprivileged and irresponsible person as the man who killed my father. Every time I look at her, I can’t help but to think that she could be the daughter of the same type of man, having grown up in the same type of neighborhood with the same type of people. It disgusts me.
I know that I’m broken, but I’m also proud to be the way that I am. I wouldn’t change it for the world, and I certainly won’t change it for Amber, even if she is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. The devil comes in robes of silk, wearing a seductive smile on her face. It’s easy to get lured into a trap and forget who I am.
But I still can’t find anything wrong with Amber, especially not after that kiss. I felt that in my bones, and I can say with confidence that I’ve never kissed a woman who kissed back quite like that. She really meant it when she moaned into my mouth and went in further. I had half a mind to bend her over in the woods and do her right there.
I’ve accepted that I won’t get through this without fucking her. I know she wants to, and my head is going to be fuzzy until I pump my sperm between her soft thighs. The male mind is warped, and I know it, so I also know that the best way to straighten it out is to get the lust out of my system. What better way to do it than to have sex?
The party is a fair bet for that. Amber has shut her mouth for the time being, but she walks with a smile on her lips and a swing in her hips. She wants it bad, and the conditions are right for the perfect storm. I’ll have her tonight if it’s the last thing I do, and I’ll make her beg me for it.
The clink of the vodka bottles in her bookbag distracts me from my horniness. I’m thinking about the party now, and how fantastic it’s going to be now that we have the fuel for a wild night. We don’t do parties as often as we’d like to, only because everyone is poor, and most people don’t have access to alcohol.
Now, with Amber around to do my bidding, that has changed. Half the school is going to be over at Blake’s trailer, partying until we all pass out from intoxication. I wouldn’t consider it a real Blackstone High party unless at least one girl gets naked and a few more puke in the front yard. You better believe that it’ll be Edyth’s girls doing most of the heavy drinking too.
I promised Amber that I’d point out Edyth and the girls who wrecked and tagged her car, but she seems to have had enough encounters with them to know who they are now. She doesn’t need my help, and I doubt she’s going to confront them about it either. Amber is a peace-keeper, not a warrior. She doesn’t start shit.
Then again, the courageous influence of booze drives the experienced and inexperienced drinkers alike to madness. You never know who is going to flip their shit when they get drunk. Blake is known for his clownish behavior when he’s had enough to drink, and me, well, I’m not known for anything. I stay in the shadows and observe.
As Amber and I approach the party venue, I can already hear the bass pumping in the front lawn. We’ve taken about two hours to walk here, which means most everyone else has already arrived. Most senior students are late for everything except for a good party, and this is shaping up to be one hell of a celebration.
“I have to stop by my place to change,” Amber announces as we leave the woods through a small path, returning us to the sidewalk close to the trailer park. “What’s the dress code for this thing?”
“There is none,” I reply. “But you’d be out of place with your current outfit. It gets hot in there, you know.”
She smirks. “Maybe just a bikini then.”
She’s testing me, but I’m not so simple. I reply with a shrug. “Wear what you want.”
“Okay,” she says, stopping at the entrance to
the trailer park directly across the street from Blake’s. “I’ll be back in about ten minutes. You can go ahead to the party.”
“Nah,” I reply. “I’ll be waiting right here for you.” I flash her a grin, and she rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t object. If I slip away before her, there’s no guarantee that she’ll actually come. Part of me just wants to show up with the hottest piece of ass at the school, but another part of me just really wants to spend more time with her. She’s addictive.
I stand next to the faded red stop sign at the intersection as Amber hurries off, the sound of glass in her bookbag slowly fading into the distance as she leaves. I cross my arms, staring off into the road as I wait for her to return. I think about nothing, and the buzz from my joint makes that a lot easier. I’ve been considering kicking the habit, but I fear for what waits in the depths of my brain if I don’t constantly sooth it.
Yeah, there’s a lot of shit in there that I wish wasn’t coiled around the neurons of my brain. If I could erase half of the things I’ve seen and done in my life, I would, but that’s not possible. My best bet is to move past it and start life again when I graduate from high school.
“Hey,” a gruff voice shouts from out of the window of a white pickup truck. The beefy arm with a faded tattoo of an eagle hanging out of the window tells me that it’s Dean.
I’m surprised to see him, but I’m not in any mood to be told what to do. I look away from him, staring off slightly to the side so that I can keep him in my peripheral vision.
“Boy, I’m talking to you,” he shouts.
I hear the car engine turn off and immediately feel a surge of adrenaline. If he gets out of that truck and comes after me, I’m not showing mercy on him. I’m done messing around.
“Your mom is pissed you ain’t been home,” Dean says from the window.
I finally look over at him, nothing but detest simmering behind my eyes. I want him to see how much I hate him from my look alone. I shouldn’t have to say a damn word for him to know not to fuck with me.
