Except, I don’t really feel in control of anything at all.
I AM FREAKING OUT.
Erin Xander does not do well with freaking out.
I am in control of all things at all times. My planner is color coordinated and scheduled through the end of the year, with very few dates to spare. I’m already three weeks ahead in my classes, and even still I’m meeting up with Cassie in less than an hour to study. Because I need to be in control, and I’m running out of things I can hold onto.
It’s only Sunday, the auction isn’t until Saturday, and yet I’ve already handled every aspect of it — the food, the drinks, the paddles, the emergency kits, the girls we’ll auction and the transferring of the donations. All done. Handled. As if that wasn’t enough, I’ve also planned half of Spring Break and hand-crafted mason jars for the sorority council meeting at the Kappa Kappa Beta house this Wednesday.
And yet, I’m still freaking out.
Because no matter what I do, I can’t control what will happen after I pee on this stupid stick in my hand. The stick that will tell me if I’m carrying Clinton’s child.
Oh God.
Burying my face in my hands, I drop the stick onto my lap and focus on my breathing. I need Jess, since she’s the only one who knows about my… situation, but she’s not answering her phone and I’ve barely seen her since she walked in on me vomming my brains out at the O Chi party. I can’t tell any of the other girls — especially not Skyler — and yet I can’t wait any longer to take the test.
Chewing my lip and knowing there’s slim to no chance in hell he’ll answer, I thumb through the contacts in my phone and hover over his name. Just seeing it on the screen makes my heart jump and my breath accelerate — even after all these years. Before I can talk myself out of it, I let my thumb drop, dialing his number.
Ring.
Ring ring.
Ring motherfucking ring.
Hey, you’ve reached Kip Jackson. Sorry I—
“Gah!” Hearing his voice springs more memories on me than I’m equipped to handle at the moment. Why did I think it was a smart idea to call the blue-eyed boy who stole my heart so many years ago? Tucking my phone into my small purse, I lift myself from my bed and stare at the pregnancy test. Sighing, I slip it in next to my phone and give myself a once over in the mirror. My eyes are tired, my skin ashen, my hair greasy. I do not look put together. I do not look in control.
At this point, I have no choice.
I need to tell Clinton.
I don’t want to stress him out with thinking about the possibility of a baby if there isn’t one, but at the same time, I need him right now. If there’s one thing Clinton Pennington is good at, it’s being a friend. We both agreed that our little hook up was just us having too much fun that night at semi-formal, and something inside me just knows he’ll be calm and collected through this. He’ll be able to soothe me, tell me it’s okay, and make me feel like whatever the test says — we can handle it. Together.
I walk slowly down Greek row to the Omega Chi house, focusing on my breaths with every step. I’m wearing my favorite Kate Spade high heels, trying to grasp the part of me I feel quickly fading away, and I listen to them click and clack on the pavement as I near the house.
The boys welcome me in, offering me a beer even though it’s only eleven in the morning on a Sunday. I shake my head. “You boys need Jesus.”
“Hey, Jesus liked red wine,” one of the pledges retorts.
He’s got a point.
My throat swells as I make my way down the hall to Clinton’s room. I try to swallow, but there’s nothing there to aid in the process. My mouth is dry, my heart hammering. How the hell do I have this conversation right now?
Loud music is spilling from his room, which brings me some relief because at least he’s awake. I can’t imagine having to stir him from a slumber to deliver this news. Steeling myself at the door, I tap on it lightly with my knuckles.
“Bear? It’s Erin. Uh, can I come in?”
No answer.
The song blaring from inside his room is slow, rhythmic — a sultry R&B song with lyrics crooning how they could fuck the subject of their affection all the time. Growing anxious, I push through the door without another knock.
“Bear, this will only take a min—”
Clinton doesn’t hear me, thank God, because he’s currently buried beneath a pile of sheets and blankets. A girl is leaned against his headboard, her eyes downcast at the movement between her legs. One of her hands is locked on his headboard, the other is tangled in the purple ends of her hair, and if I had to guess, the moans drowning under the loud bass of the music are courtesy of whatever Clinton is doing beneath those sheets.
My cheeks burn as flashes of our night together hit me with rapid speed. Slamming the door closed as quickly as I can, I adjust my purse on my shoulder and storm toward the exit, desperate for fresh air. The girl didn’t see me, even though I was standing right in the doorway. She was preoccupied. As was Clinton.
And I was just about to tell him I need him to be with me while I take a pregnancy test.
Smacking my forehead, I start the walk back to the KKB house, mumbling under my breath the entire time. How idiotic can I be? This is Clinton we’re talking about. What happened between us was a mistake, an accident, a one-night thing. Did I really think he would hold my hand while I peed on a stick?
Throwing a quick wave in the direction of my sisters gathered on the couch, I quickly sprint up the stairs and back into my room, closing the door swiftly behind me. For once, I’m actually thankful that Ashlei isn’t here.
I pull the test out of my purse and make my way to our bathroom, tossing it on the counter and planting my palms to steady myself. Telling Clinton would have been a dumb move, and now that I see it more clearly, I’m thankful he was preoccupied. This is just something I need to handle on my own, even if it feels impossible. After a few deep breaths, I lift my eyes to the mirror, trying to find the courage I need.
You can do this, Erin.
Everything will be okay.
I only half-believe myself, but it’s all I need to make my next move. Grabbing the test, I rip open the package, pop off the clear plastic lid, and squat down on the toilet.
And then I pee on my hand.
A smart girl would have peed in a cup and dipped the stick in, but being that all of my intelligence is wasted in the classroom, my common sense is at exactly level zero.
Luckily, I do still manage to pee on the test strip, so I set it flat on the counter and walk away.
I try playing on my phone.
I try organizing my closet.
I try laying out my outfits for the next week.
Every time I look at my phone, no time has passed.
I open my planner.
I shut it again.
I make sure I have everything I need for my study session with Cassie.
Nothing distracts me, nothing stops my mind from racing with what the results of this test could mean, but enough time finally passes that I can check it.
Everything feels numb — my nose, my ears, my feet. The house is filled with girls, yet everything seems silent as I put one foot in front of the other, making my way toward the bathroom counter. My hand shaking, I take one last deep breath, and then I lift the stick and squeeze my eyes shut.
I open one, then the other, and the tiny screen comes into focus.
“Ready, G-Big?” Cassie pushes through my bedroom door without warning, causing me to curse and fumble the pregnancy test before quickly shoving it in my makeup bag.
“Hey baby G! Yes, all set. Just let me grab my bag.”
“Can we hit Cup O’ Joe’s on the way? I need a pick-me-up,” she says, thumbing through her phone as her bright red hair falls around her.
“Definitely.” I toss my makeup bag, test still inside, into the messenger bag with my books and notes before slinging it over my shoulder. “Let’s go.”
MY STOMACH ROLLS AS I STEP
OUT of my car and pop open my bright pink umbrella. It’s one of those dreary days in Florida — the very few we have — where it’s below sixty degrees and rainy. It rarely happens, but when it does, it seems to take a toll on all of us. We’re usually bathed in sunlight and donning flip flops, so rain boots and big coats don’t sit well with us.
The rain seems absolutely fitting for how I feel, though, so I revel in it. It takes so much effort to smile or even just exist around my sisters right now, knowing how different my reality is from theirs. When I’m alone, I finally get to think, to feel. So, on the way here, I let myself cry — just a little — enough to let a little of the pressure out.
Xavier Rojas’ club makes me feel sick every time I step foot in it, and today is no exception. My feet splash in the puddles as I make my way toward the back entrance. There are a few hours until the club opens, so it should just be me and Xavier and a few of his guards, but that doesn’t make me feel any more at ease. Hands shaking, I pull my coat tighter around my small frame.
The first time I met Xavier, I had tears streaming down my face, snot running from my nose, and a thousand dollars clutched in my hands.
I had danced for money.
And it had broken me.
I can still remember the men staring at me, their hands touching me when the bouncers weren’t looking, their degrading remarks, their dirty money — it’s all seared into my memory. It was almost a numbing experience, being on the stage. I don’t quite remember taking off my clothes, but I can still feel the cold bar grinding against my bare skin. Rock bottom is an understatement when it comes to describing that night. When I handed Xavier that first payment, I knew I couldn’t stomach it again.
So, I found another way.
I sold clothes, shoes, and electronics to give him the second payment. For some reason, Xavier seemed to take pity on me. He agreed to let me pay it over time, but it always feels like his patience is thin, his timeline relative. As I give my name to the outside guard and he quietly ushers me inside the bleak building, I fist the money in my purse, hoping it’ll be enough to buy me more time.
Over break, I saved every penny of Christmas money and thought of small ways to get cash out of my parents. I’m disappointed with myself, but remembering how it felt that night in the club slowly made lying easier until it almost became second nature. I’ll do whatever I have to do to never be in that position again, and once this money is paid, I’m wiping my slate clean for good. Hayden and Kya have ruined pole dancing for me. I never went back to Kitty Heels and I never plan to touch another pole or another line of coke for as long as I live.
“Ashlei, baby,” Xavier greets, standing long enough to wrap me in a hug and kiss both of my cheeks. He’s a short man, all muscles, clean-shaved face and short curly hair. His hugs always engulf me in a scent of cigarettes, ink, and sweat. “Nice to see you again. Come, sit.”
He motions to one of the chairs facing his desk before taking a seat himself, leaning back and crossing his hands over his stomach. I sit lightly, back straight, ass on the edge of the seat. I don’t plan to be here long. It’s always pleasantries with Xavier, but I’ve heard of his darker side. I know Kya has seen it up close.
I never plan to.
“What do you have for me today, sweetheart?”
I shiver at his term of endearment, reaching into my purse for the cash I brought. It’s folded neatly and wrapped in a rubber band. I slide it toward him, folding my clammy hands in my lap as he counts it out.
He sighs, just barely, almost low enough for me to question whether I heard it or not. Lifting his dark eyes to mine, he offers an apologetic smile.
“Ashlei, this isn’t enough.”
“It’s two-thousand dollars,” I croak, my throat dry. It has to be enough.
“You owed me thirty-thousand. You’ve only paid five, and this makes seven. You know it isn’t enough.”
“Please,” I beg, my voice low. My eyes water, and I hate myself for being so weak. “I’m doing all that I can.”
“No!” He screams the word, pounding his fist on the desk and I jump. My heartrate spikes as I wait for his next move. His dark irises are smaller now, his face red, but he pauses, steadying his breathing and unclenching his fist. “No, you’re not.” He levels his eyes and I know he’s referring to dancing. Swallowing, I shake my head.
“I can’t.”
“You might not have a choice.”
“There has to be another way.”
Xavier watches me carefully. “I can’t keep bending the rules for you, kid. If you were anyone else, I would have already killed that pretty girlfriend of yours while you watched.”
I gulp. I’ve tried so hard to keep Bo out of this, not even telling her why Kya showed up at our sorority house at the end of last semester. She’s too pure to be sucked into my black hole.
“I don’t like giving you more time, Ashlei, because it sets a precedent. Other people who owe me are looking at you wondering what it is that makes you so special.” His pudgy fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. “However, I don’t really give two shits what any of those fuckers think about my business, and as it stands, I think we can make a deal.”
My chest is still tight.
He leans back again, tapping the tips of his pointer fingers together as he thinks. “It’s safe to assume you’ll be going on Spring Break with your sisters, am I right?”
“If I can afford it,” I whisper, still focusing on keeping the tears from falling down my cheeks. My stomach is in knots, my eyes tired. It still doesn’t feel like reality. This can’t be my life.
“Tell you what. You bring me at least another five-thousand by this time next week, I’ll make that your last payment.”
Wait, did I hear that right?
“Oh my God.” The tears finally fall, but I’m smiling. Relief — that’s what I feel. “Are you serious? One more payment?” I have no idea how I’m going to come up with another five grand, but it sounds a hell of a lot better than twenty-three thousand.
Just five-thousand.
Five-thousand dollars, and then I’m free.
My heart squeezes.
“Now hang on a second,” he interrupts, holding one hand up. “That will be your last payment, but your debt is still far from paid.”
Sniffling, I adjust my purse on my lap. “I don’t understand.”
A slow grin spreads on his face, and the relief I felt moments ago instantly fades.
“You’re going to sell for me, pretty girl.”
“Sell?”
He nods. “During Spring Break. Weed, coke, Molly. You’re going to be a one-stop-shop, my dear. I’ll give you enough stash to settle the rest of your debt and then we’ll be even.”
“No. Absolutely not.” I stand, hands shaking, bile rising. “I’m not getting anyone else caught up in the shit that ruined my life.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” he snarls, rolling his eyes. “Besides, what other choice do you have? You either take me up on this offer, pay me in full by Friday, or dance four nights a week at my club for the next six months.” His face is stone cold, his jaw set. “I don’t make exceptions like this, Ashlei. You should be fucking grateful. If you’re not, we can take the route I usually take. Ask your friend Hayden how that worked out for him.”
The mention of Hayden’s name makes my jaw drop open. “What do you mean? Did he come back?”
Xavier’s grin is menacing, his yellow teeth on full display. “He didn’t have to, sweetheart. I have my ways of finding even those who try their damndest to stay lost.”
I swallow. “What did you do to him?”
“Refuse my deal, and you’ll find out.”
Blinking, I let two more silent tears stain my cheeks.
And the helplessness sets in.
JESS IS DEVOURING HER PIZZA like she hasn’t eaten in seventeen years as I pour the dressing on my salad in Pie Heaven. Moaning, she licks extra sauce off her thumb and mumbles around the cheese in her mouth.
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br /> “Do not tell the other girls I’m eating this. Erin would kill me.”
“Why? It’s your love handles you’re risking, not ours.”
“Yeah but you know Erin. Sorority image and all that shit. She’s serious about her Spring Break diets.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “My lips are sealed.” She throws me a thumbs up before folding her next slice in half and taking a huge bite. I blanch. “Even if yours aren’t.”
“Eat me.”
I chuckle.
Pie Heaven is a small pizza joint across from campus, usually packed between the hours of midnight and 3 a.m. with drunk students. I’ve been holed up in my room most of the day, running over the conversation I had with Xavier on Monday, debating my options. It seems surreal, to sit here eating fast food with Jess, knowing that if I don’t make a decision soon, I could get hurt. Even worse – Jess could get hurt. Bo could get hurt.
I feel like a weapon of destruction, harming anyone who touches me.
“So,” she starts, chasing her last bite with a large drink of the extra-large Mountain Dew she ordered. “You never did tell me how your twenty-first birthday was.”
Sighing, I take my first bite and grimace a little. Jess’ pizza smells way better than this stupid salad tastes. “You know my birthday tends to get overlooked. Sadly this one was no different.”
“Ugh, so shitty. You would think being born on the same day as Jesus would lend you some good birthday juju.”
“Nope. All it lends you is a lot of combo gifts and no friends to party with. Plus it’s not really the date that screws me over most.”
“Let me guess. All the attention was on Abby and Amanda, as per usual?”
I offer a sour smile. “Abby was just accepted into med school and Amanda made the varsity softball team. So my twenty-first birthday wasn’t exactly the most exciting thing going on.”
I’m the middle child, and as much as it may be a stereotype, the whole “middle spawn is ignored eighty percent of the time” thing is pretty accurate when it comes to my family. My oldest sister is the smart one, destined to be the next family doctor, right behind my father. And Amanda, the youngest, is strikingly beautiful and incredibly talented in every sport she plays. I swear the girl could pick up a broom today and play Quidditch like Harry by the time I went to bed tonight.
Palm South University: Season 2 Box Set Page 5
