Exposed: An Anthology

by Brooke Cumberland

  Dee and I spend about two hours perfecting our hair and faces. Her shoulder-length brown locks are curled and perfectly in place, bouncing as normal. She curled my long hair and pinned it to my scalp to keep it off to one side, leaving it to fall down the front of my body, effectively keeping my back fully exposed. I have to admit, she may have missed her calling. Her makeup is done similar to mine, heavy and club worthy. She lined my big light green eyes with heavy liner and shaded my lids with a stunning combination of silver, black, gray, and white. My blush is perfect, but my lips are the focal point—lush and a bold fire-engine red.

  Grabbing my new dress, I step into my room to put this piece of torture on. I may have realized she was right, and I do look good, but that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy showing off basically every inch of skin. Baby steps would be nice, not taking off running.

  I stand in front of my closet for the longest time, just taking it all in. Tight red dress, perfect hair, and flawless makeup.

  If I weren’t me, I would think this chick was stunning. But I’m me, and I’m currently picking out every single flaw. Breasts look too big, even with my height disadvantage I have way too much leg, way too fucking much back, heels too tall…I could keep this up for hours. Fortunately for Dee, she picks that moment to come walking in.

  She looks stunning. Everything my dress lacks and doesn’t cover, hers does. She has a simple black dress on. The hemline hits her about the same place my dress does—vagina level. Or at least it would be vagina level if she ever were to bend over, sit, or generally take a deep breath. It’s form fitting, hugging her curves, and making her ass look fantastic. I have always been jealous of that girl’s curves. She is slender with everything right where it should be. A great ass and a great rack. Where my dress lacks a complete back, hers is dangerously close to playing with nip-slip central. The front is cut right down the center, ending with a point at her breastbone.

  “Holy shit, Dee… If you move wrong, your tits are going to come flying out.” Gaping over at her, I’m sure I look ridiculous.

  “Very funny, Izzy. Tape, honey. I have these girls so taped up there isn’t anything falling out of here.” She lifts her arms up and does some weird gyrating, hip-swirling move. I can’t tell if she is dancing or trying to fly, but true to her words, her tits stay put.

  Whatever. More important issues here. Like, how the hell am I supposed to walk in five-inch heels? I am a ballet-slipper, flip-flop-loving, girl. I haven’t worn heels like this ever. When I was married to Brandon, he wanted me to stay small. Heels weren’t allowed because they would make me dangerously close to his height.

  “Is there any way I can wear my flat sandals, Dee? I swear I will end up breaking my neck tonight in these things. How are you walking in yours?”

  “All in the mind, girlfriend. And no. You will not ruin that dress with flats.” She practically spits the words out.

  Mumbling under my breath about the benefits of having health insurance for when I fall and break something important, I pick up my skyscraper heels from the bed and follow Dee out my door, down the hall, and into the living room.

  Greg walks over with a smile on his face, looking pretty damn handsome himself. He is dressed in dark slacks and a light blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his strong arms.

  “Looking nice, ladies.” he says, throwing a beefy arm over my shoulder and pausing mid-step into the kitchen.

  It takes me a second to register that he stopped walking, so I end up a few steps ahead of him. I hear his sharp intake of breath and turn around. His face has lost the smile and a thunderous look has taken up residency.

  “Iz, where the fuck is your dress?”

  “You’re looking at it, G, or lack of it. Dee’s handy work. You know how she is. Last time I give her free range over my outfit, that’s for damn sure,” I reply with the exasperation clear in my tone.

  He’s looking at me like I have grown two heads and started speaking in tongues. Quickly, I look down to make sure all my girly bits are still tucked in their rightful places. Looking back up, I meet the still pissed glare of Greg.

  Confused, I ask, “What?”

  “What? Fucking hell. How am I supposed to protect you when you are walking around naked?” he booms.

  “Seriously, this isn’t that bad, I think. Plus, Dee was so happy. It’s just a few hours of wearing this thing. It really is okay, as long as I don’t bend over,” I try to joke, but I can tell he still is not thrilled with my lack of dress.

  What can I say? When he decided to adopt me as his little sister, he went all out. I don’t have time for this big brother act at this point. As much as I appreciate it, he is keeping me from my alcohol and my ticket to Forgetville. I’ve managed to keep the claws of my past from taking root all day; I’m not going to let them take over now.

  Turning around, I continue my walk to the kitchen, where Dee is giving me a knowing eye. Picking up the shot she just poured, I down it and then hold my arm out for a refill. Chuckling she pours me another before turning to address Greg.

  “Well, big boy, you ready to have fun?”

  “Yeah,” grumbles Greg. Grumbles and rumbles… It sounds like someone isn’t too happy with my lack of concern for his big brother worries.

  “Are your friends still meeting us here?” she asks, peeking a look over at me to see if I caught this new development.

  “What friends?” I ask both of them.

  “My boys. Don’t worry about it. They’re meeting us at Carnal later. They got held up,” he replies, his tone still sour and his eyes still glaring right at me.

  Dee looks over with confusion, not understanding why he is so bent out of shape over an outfit.

  “Seriously, G, you need to get fucking laid.” I laugh at him, trying to lighten his mood.

  He looks sharply at me, “Are you fucking kidding me, Iz? You two are practically fucking naked, and you expect me to be okay with that?” Pointing over at Dee, he says, “At least one of you decided to wear something.”

  I look over at Dee, with her short black dress and tits still breaking the laws of gravity and don’t understand how he thinks she is less naked than I am. I look back at Greg, who has decided that pacing is a better method of dealing rather than sitting silently and fuming.

  Whatever. I don’t have the patience for this shit. Not tonight.

  “Get over it, Greg, seriously. I do not need a fucking dad tonight. You know what I need? My best friends, alcohol and a good time. I don’t want to deal with you being a little bitch because you have some misguided worry someone might find this look attractive. I don’t care and don’t have time for your shit.”

  I throw my heels down on the island, grab the bottle of tequila from Dee, and take a long pull from the neck, enjoying the burn it takes down the back of my throat. I look up and notice them both looking at me with unmasked sympathy. They know how hard this weekend is going to be, especially now with the added shit from Brandon. I’m sure they are coming from a good place with their worry; I just don’t want any part of it. If anything, Brandon has effectively helped me get through the hardest hurdle by throwing it in my face yesterday. Literally. My birthday weekend, also known as the day I lost the last piece of love I had ever known.

  “So, Greg,” Dee starts, trying to steer our minds off the heavy shit, “who is meeting us there again?”

  “My boys from my Marine days,” he states, keeping his eyes lined with mine.

  I pause for a moment, looking down at my shot. Still, after all this time, I can’t help the shudder that passes through my body at the mention of the Marines.

  God, I miss him.

  Greg is watching me closely. He knows about my past, so he knows what that one little word does to me. We don’t talk much about it, but he knows enough. I think he has just as big of a problem talking about those days. He never has told us why he was discharged. I know he was injured; I just don’t know how. I figure he will talk if he wants to.

 
I glance over at Dee, who is giving me a knowing look, and she quickly changes the subject. We make small talk for about an hour before grabbing our stuff and heading off to Greg’s truck. Both Dee and I have a nice healthy buzz going on.

  We are all pretty silent during our thirty minute drive into Atlanta and Club Carnal. Living just outside of the city has its perks sometimes. I forgot how much I missed Georgia, having grown up an hour from where we settled in Hope Town. I still remember sitting at the rest stop and Dee pulling out a state map. She looked over with a huge smile and told me to pick, so I did. Hope Town is perfect, everything we hoped it would be for two friends starting over.

  I haven’t been back home to Dale since I left at seventeen. Too many memories I wasn’t ready to revisit. Most of those memories are happy ones—my parents and our life before they were taken from me too early, leaving a scared and heartbroken teenager. When I left, at the time I didn’t care what I was leaving behind. Now that my parents are gone, there is nothing left there. He already left, so what is the point now?

  Shaking myself off, I quickly push the painful memories back into the box in my mind I marked ‘do not fucking go there.’ I have worked hard to beat the past, and at thirty years old, I finally feel the ‘healthiest’ I have ever been. I don’t feel the fear daily. I surround myself with positive and generally happy people; negativity doesn’t own a place of my soul anymore. The pain is still there, just not as sharp as it once was. I am happy, or at least I am on the road to getting there.

  I see the street Carnal is on up ahead, and the line already out the door and down the sidewalk. Well, Iz, I think, time to put that game face on and enjoy the night.

  Chapter Four

  Club Carnal is located just inside of Atlanta, in an old converted warehouse. It’s been the club to go to since it opened four years ago, and Dee and I have enjoyed it a time or two since we moved to town. It’s a classy club, dress code and all of that, valet standing at the curb, and a line that is never less than a hundred people.

  Another benefit of coming with Greg? He knows people—everyone, it seems. He pulls up to the curb and tosses his keys to the young kid playing dress-up as a valet. After helping Dee and me out of the car, he saunters off to chat with the huge burly man standing guard at the door and shakes his hand. They do that weird man hug thing and exchange a few words, glancing back a few times at Dee and me. The bouncer nods once and lets us in. I swear, Greg can get anything he wants.

  As we walk down the dark hallway leading into the main room, I can feel the music pulsing through the air. Lights are dim but bright enough for me to see the sea of bodies rolling with the beat. I ignore it all and head straight for the bar. It takes Dee and Greg a minute before they realize I have left their sides for my one-woman mission to become completely blitzed. When I leave here, I plan on being a blacked-out, stumbling drunk.

  Signaling the bartender, I order three shots of tequila and tell him to keep them coming. Pointing over at Greg, I say, “He’s paying.”

  Greg shakes his head but pulls out his wallet and hands his credit card over to the bartender to start a tab.

  “Bottoms up, bitches,” I say, quickly downing all three shots.

  *~*~*

  We spend about an hour at the bar, just taking in the atmosphere and the general vibe of the place. Well, Dee and Greg might be taking it all in, but I’m too busy keeping my drinks flowing. Dee was keeping my pace, but she isn’t on the same mission I am. Her goal is fun and mine is to become numb.

  I steal the second Jack and Coke the bartender put down before she can drink it. I look at her, smirk and down it.

  “Seriously, Iz…you can’t even pretend to share?” She has a small frown on her face. She knows what I’m doing and she isn’t happy about, it but being the friend she is means she will stand by my side and catch me when I fall.

  I have just ordered us a round of Tight Snatches—vodka, peach schnapps, orange and cranberry juice—when I catch their eyes on me. At first, I think they are reacting to my decision to only order off-the-wall drinks, but when I look closer, I see it—the concern, the worry, and the uncertainty on how to proceed.

  I pick up my drink and announce, “All right, let’s fucking party! You’re only thirty once. Whoooohoooo!” I’m screaming; why am I screaming again?

  Giggling, I look up at Greg, catching his eye as he looks down at me with his stoic face. He shakes his head, accepting that his friend is well and truly sloshed. I can see his lip twitching from trying so hard to remain the untouchable bodyguard.

  The hell with this.

  Laughing even harder, I grab their hands and drag them out to the middle of the dance floor. Belatedly, I notice how much easier it is to walk on these sticks when you can’t feel your legs. Lesson number one for hooch wear—be drunk. It might make dancing more of a challenge, but I’m not feeling a thing and it is beautiful.

  The song changes to the familiar beats of Macklemore & Ryan Lewis’s ‘Can’t Hold Us.’ It fills my ears and pounds into my bones. Throwing my arms up, I turn around and look up at Greg, who is still trying his hardest not to laugh. I let the music take over my body, invade my muscles, and penetrate my soul with the pulsing rhythm.

  I can feel Greg behind me now, unmoving—nothing different there. Dee is moving right along with me, just as enthralled with the music as I am. She looks over at me with a knowing smile. I give her the first real smile I have felt all day. She knows how to move. We used to be regulars in the club scene during college…before Brandon, that is.

  With a wink to clue her in to my intentions, I turn around and wrap my arms around Greg’s neck. Even with my heels, I have to come way up on the balls of my feet just to reach him. Smiling, I begin to move with his tall frame, which isn’t an easy task. His hands finally grab ahold of my hips and dig in. Dee peeks around his from his back and gives me a smirk, and we start grinding together.

  I can feel the rumbles of his voice against my chest when he whispers in my ear, “You’re lucky I love you, baby girl.” I laugh up at him, noticing that his expressionless face is finally smiling.

  He hates dancing, but Dee and I have made it a mission, on the rare occasions we go out, to torture him as much as possible. He knew this was coming; it doesn’t mean he has to like it. He puts up with this because he wouldn’t dare leave our sides. He knows what kind of trouble the two of us could get into.

  When the song ends, we head off laughing to the bar, once again, with the excuse to rehydrate. Maybe that’s the case for them, but for me it’s all about replenishing the alcohol I just burned off on the dance floor. I can feel my buzz slipping and we can’t have that.

  *~*~*

  We’ve been at Carnal for a few hours now. The last time I even attempted to gain the time, the hands on the clock started dancing. I ask Greg, who says it’s a little after 1:30 in the morning; sure, we can go with that.

  Dee and I have been taking turns ordering the most outrageous drinks we can think of—with the help of our phones and Google, of course.

  “Gimmie two Golden Showers, bartender!” I scream across the bar. When did someone take my last drink? What was that one? A blow job, I think. Yes, that was it. We spent a good fifteen minutes laughing our asses off after making Greg drink one.

  He is currently giving us a look of extreme displeasure. He can act as mad as he wants, but yelling for Greg to deep throat his blow job was hilarious. Just ask the customers around us. They certainly laughed loud enough.

  Even during times like this, when you know he could be doing something better with his time, he wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else. He’s been a constant presence in my life since that day he showed up with Dee. The big brother I never had, always there when I needed him the most. I can tell by the way he keeps looking around the crowd that he has slipped back into that protector mode; it’s almost like he constantly thinks something is out to get him. Or me. I shiver. Brandon isn’t ever far from my thoughts, especially not after the package
. I can tell when Greg looks at me like he is afraid I might break at any moment that his thoughts are the same.

  Dee’s slurred voice interrupts my thoughts with a high-pitched screech. “YO, bitch, drink up! I got you one of those Pull-Down Pussy things. No…it was the Pussy Panty Pull-Down? Fuck.” She spits the word out with so much frustration she almost falls off her stool. She looks over at me and I can see that she’s trying to decide if she is more confused over the correct drink name or how she got to the club to begin with.

  “That’s not right, Dee! Greg! Greg, tell her the right pussy! You know pussy, right, Greg?” I laugh up at him, tilting my head to the side, wondering why his frown is wobbling.

  “You two are driving me fucking crazy. Just because I know my pussy doesn’t mean I know this shit. I eat it, and when drinking it down, I damn sure don’t do that out of a fucking glass. For shit’s sake, get some motherfucking water next time. Fuck me, the right pussy.” He shakes his head at us both. “If you touch one more drink with fucking pussy in the title, we are gone, got me?”

  Well. He thinks he runs this show, does he?

  I look over at Dee, who is trying hard not to bark out a laugh. Holding up my arm, I signal the bartender over. Again.

  “What’s next, my beauties?” comes his flirty question.

  “Well, since pussy is off the allowed list, how about you surprise us? Either a Slow Comfortable Screw or a Screaming Orgasm. Bartender’s choice.” I hear Greg’s annoyed curse even over the beating bass surrounding us.

  I’m still laughing when Dee screams that our song is on. “Come on, Iz, it’s our song! Get up! Let’s go shake it.”

  “Every fucking song is your song, Dee,” Greg deadpans.

  Laughing, I spin around on my heels and run smack dab into a brick wall. Fuck, that hurt.

  I put my hands up and try to orientate myself with my surroundings; I focus, or at least I try to. Wait a minute… Since when do brick walls have heartbeats? There is no way that is normal. What the hell kind of club is this?