by S. M. Soto
Climbing into a white Honda that serves as an Uber, I say two words before we’re taking off: “Aero Club.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Two whiskey shots down, and I’m tipping on the bar stool in the Aero Club. I guess the night’s drinking has finally caught up with me.
My gaze drifts around the expanse of the bar, until it falls on a man in an expensive suit. He’s hot. Fuck-hot. With short-cropped brown hair, and an athletic build, he could be a guy out of a Calvin Klein ad. He must sense the weight of my stare, because he turns toward me with his whiskey in hand. At the look he’s giving me, warmth coils in my belly.
I make a show of licking my lips seductively and lean back on the stool until my tits are on full display. His eyes blaze like the flames of an inferno. They linger on my lips and cleavage longer than most women would feel comfortable with, but not me. Oh, no. His heated stare is empowering.
I can’t wait to bring this man to his knees.
Finishing off the rest of my whiskey, I slide off the stool and saunter over to the suit. Leaning against the edge of the bar, I jut out a hip, showcasing my curves, and give him my best come-hither stare.
“You like what you see?”
He knocks back his drink in one go, cocks his head to the side, and checks me out.
“I might.”
I lean forward into his personal space, and lick the shell of his ear. I watch in satisfaction as he shudders, his hand tightening on the bar top.
“Do you want to play with me?” I whisper warmly in his ear, my lips grazing the shell with each word.
“What’s your game, beauty?” he asks as he backs away, getting a good look at me.
I smile devilishly. “No game.” I shrug. “I just really want to be fucked tonight. But hey, if you’re not up to the task, I’m sure there are many other takers here tonight…” I let my voice trail off, feigning disinterest, as I look around the bar for another possible suitor.
His warm hand trails up my thigh, squeezing just before he reaches the damp heat between my legs. My pussy clenches in anticipation. Sucking my bottom lip into my mouth, I bite down.
Yes, this is exactly what I need after tonight.
Removing his hand from my thigh, he runs it over my aroused nipples and a groan gets caught in the back of my throat.
“I’ll fuck you, beauty. I’m just not sure if you’ll be able to handle it.” He pinches the tightened bud between his fingers and a zing of electricity hits me right in my clit.
Breathlessly, I add, “Oh, baby. The real question is, can you handle me?” His face cracks into a seductive smile that has me reeling in victory.
Bending me over the hood of his expensive car, he slams into me repeatedly. I rest my face on the cool metal of the Mercedes. All the while, I can’t help but think about Izzy and her words. Yes, this is exactly what a girl like me deserves—not someone like Alex. Guilt claws its way up my throat but as the suit’s hips quicken their pace and as his fingers flutter over my clit, I forget why I felt guilty at all in the first place.
As I’m coming around his cock, I feel him stiffen and shoot his load into the condom. Without warning, he pulls out of me and slaps me on the ass. While I’m trying to catch my breath, I finally manage to pull up my thong. The night breeze whips across my bare flesh, coating my body in goosebumps. I rub my hands over my cold arms, trying to heat myself up the only way I can. Suddenly, a piece of paper is flung at me and I barely have time to catch it.
“This was a lot of fun, beauty. Don’t call that number before five. I’ll see you around.”
He moves past me and gets into his car, pulling away without so much as a goodbye. I look down at the square parchment in my hands with a frown on my face.
LAW OFFICES
OF
REYNOLDS & DUNN
James H. Reynolds (760) 555-9065
It doesn’t escape my notice that he never even asked for my name. A despairing wave of guilt engulfs me. It always happens, every time I sleep with someone who isn’t Alex, but this time…this time it’s different. I feel cheap and dirty. I feel worthless. I may enjoy being called degrading names in bed, but that’s not the same. I know when Alex says those things, he doesn’t really mean them. Deep down, he only says those things because he knows it’s what I need to hear. As always, he does everything for me, despite the fact that I’m a cold, heartless bitch.
On shaky legs, I manage to walk back into the bar with my dignity still intact. The thick fog of my alcohol-induced haze slowly dissipates as the night wears on. Somehow, I manage to get home using an Uber, only to find Aliza and Natalia worriedly pacing the living room.
“Where the hell have you been? We’ve been calling you all night!” Natalia shouts the moment I step through the front door.
I stifle a laugh as she splits into two dizzying people. Two angry Natalias is never a good thing.
God, I’m so fucking drunk.
“Two words,” I slur, doing my best to hold up two fingers. “Aero Club.”
“You’re drunk, and you smell like sex, Samantha. Seriously?” The disgust laced in her tone is evident, but I ignore it, as always. I shrug my shoulders, holding in another laugh at the contorted expression on her face.
“We’ve been worried. And by we, I mean your best friends, and Alex. Does that even matter to you?”
Just as I’m about to open my mouth and say something I might regret, Aliza steps in. She gently lays a hand on Natalia’s shoulder and pulls her a few steps away from me.
“Let’s just give Sam the rest of the night until the alcohol wears off,” she says lightly. Turning to me, she smiles sadly. “Go hop in the shower, Sam. While you’re in there, Natalia and I will make you something to eat. Sound good?” she asks in that sweet voice that I secretly love.
“Of course,” I slur while giving Natalia a smug “fuck you” grin. Natalia’s lips curl, baring her teeth, but I spin on my heels, away from her and her damn never-ending morals.
I stumble down the hallway and into the bathroom with a stupid smile on my face. Resting my arms on the edge of the sink, I lean against the counter for support while staring in the mirror. My hair looks like a tangled nest of red, and my eyes are cloudy and bloodshot.
I look like a fucking mess.
I feel like a fucking mess.
My life is just one big fucking mess.
I repeatedly slap the apples of my cheeks to wake myself up from this feather-like state I’m floating around in. My head feels a fraction clearer, so I deem it safe to hop in the shower. Turning the taps to scalding hot water, I start to strip out of my clothes, only to come up short when I realize I didn’t grab a washcloth or towel. Shaking my head and chuckling at myself, I step out of the bathroom toward the hall closet. My footsteps falter as I hear the raised voices from the living room.
“I’m not going to keep doing this. Keep supporting her bad habits.”
“Natalia…”
“No. I’m serious, Aliza. This…this isn’t right. She’s hurting him, and she’s hurting herself. I love her to death and all I want is for her to be happy, but it’s like she doesn’t want that. Instead, she’d rather screw anything with a penis, and drink until she forgets all her bad decisions.”
Her words give me pause, causing an unfamiliar ache to form in my chest.
“So what? You think leaving her to her own devices is better? She needs us, Natalia. She needs the support of her friends. I get that you’ve been in the middle of this back-and-forth shit for a long time, but you know better than anyone what she’s been through in her life. This is her way of coping.”
“Hurting everyone that loves her is her way of coping? Seriously?” Natalia hisses. “That’s a cop-out, Aliza, and you know it. She’s just afraid. She’s afraid of being happy, for once in her freaking life. So much so, she’ll do anything to sabotage herself.”
As quietly as I can, I grab the towels and try to leave without being heard. I don’t need to hear any more.
“Do I thin
k it’s wrong? Yes, of course I do. But I don’t think she realizes how much she hurts the people around her.”
I hurry down the hall back into the bathroom, making sure I slam the door behind me, cutting off their heated discussion indefinitely. Leaning my back on the door, I slide to the floor and rest my head on my knees. There’s an incessant, painful ache in my heart that won’t let up. It makes it hard to breathe.
Inhaling a stuttering breath, I force myself to remember my past, and what’s led me here. I have to remind myself that it’s just me. It’s always going to be me, myself, and I, the only people I can ever count on, because they’re the only ones who truly understand. I’m destructive in more ways than one. I ruin the good things in my life—tarnish the things I love, and that’s just me. I can’t help it.
Strengthening my resolve, I figuratively wrap myself in my destruction, and I revel in it—letting that hard, reinforced steel build itself around my heart once again.
***
I wake up with a splitting headache that threatens to crack my skull in half. It feels like there is a goddamn stampede happening on my cerebellum. Every breath and movement makes the ache in my head feel unbearable. Even fucking blinking is an unnecessary pain in the ass, so I decide I’ll just keep my eyes closed the rest of the day. That is, until someone decides to bang on my bedroom door.
I jolt at the sound, then let out a fatigued groan. Rubbing my fingers over my temples, I will the pounding in my skull to cease. I can’t help but think this must be my punishment for last night.
“Knock on my fucking door again and you will lose all your fingers, one by fucking one!” I growl and wince from the effort it takes to voice those words. My bedroom door suddenly slams open and right there in the archway stands Natalia with a scowl etched on her face. I roll my eyes at her dramatics and flinch in discomfort, again.
Shit. Being hung over sucks.
Natalia crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me. I prep myself for her spiel on what a cold-hearted bitch I’m being. Blah, blah, blah. Yadda, yada, yada.
“Hung over?”
“Yes,” I mumble. Her mouth curls into a devious smile that gives me pause. She whirls around on her heels, sprinting out of the room. I push myself against the headboard, trying to figure out what the hell she’s up to. The throbbing in my head intensifies at this angle, prompting me to frantically rub my forehead.
Did I mention being hung over sucks?
Natalia sprints back into the room with a pot in each hand. I cock my head to the side and raise a brow.
“What the hell—”
Before I can finish my sentence, Natalia starts banging the pots together and the sound is deadly. It pierces my eardrums and makes my ears bleed in pain. It’s the sound of the fucking devil, that’s how bad it is. My head thuds violently and my brain feels like a used pile of mush.
“STOP!”
I cover my ears, hoping to block out the clanging but it’s no use. Her grin widens, and if possible, she starts to bang them together with more force.
“I’m sorry, what was that? Were you saying something?” she yells over her clanging, feigning interest.
I narrow my eyes into thin slits, and somehow manage to climb out of bed and stomp over to her. Grasping her hands holding the pots, I freeze them in midair, staring her down. I’m still dressed in my wrinkled pajamas and my curly hair probably looks ratty, like there’s a bird’s nest at the top of my head. I must look insane.
I breathe a sigh of relief once the bone-rattling noise ceases. I huff out a disgruntled breath and squeeze her wrists in my hands with a little more force than necessary.
“That. Is. Enough.” I growl out through clenched teeth. Natalia’s eyes narrow but she’s still wearing that infuriating fucking smirk.
“Are you sure? I can keep going—”
“NO!” I shout back, eyes wide with panic. “Please, no more of the pots. I fucking get it.”
Her smirk drops instantly, and she straightens. She takes a threatening step forward, nudging her finger against my sternum.
“Get your shit together, Samantha Faye Paisley. Pull that pretty red head of yours out of your ass and make things right.”
I shift my gaze away from her brown eyes that are brewing with anger. Training my gaze on the small spot of mold growing on my window, I do anything to avoid her words that will no doubt chip off another piece of my broken, tattered heart.
“There’s nothing to make right.”
Natalia huffs out a long, tired exhale.
“You’re wrong and you know it,” she whispers, prompting me to look at her. “When are you going to stop punishing all the people around you?”
With that, she turns on her heel, walking out of room, breaking my heart further. My chest caves with pain and guilt. My body trembles in anger as regret roars through my veins, making everything feel heavy.
For the rest of the day, I lay around in bed, berating myself for being so messed up. For being so fucking damaged. I was like a damn broken record, always angry with myself for who I was and the havoc I wreaked around me, but never doing a damn thing to change any of it. To make it all better. How would one, as screwed up as I was, fix this shit? It was an impossible task. One where I knew if I tried, I was destined for failure.
So why shouldn’t I keep making bad decisions?
Being the self-destructive person that I am, I grab the card out of my clutch that’s tossed haphazardly on my carpet from last night and dial the number. I don’t know why I do it. It wasn’t anything special or memorable, but the only thing I can think of is—I love to torture myself. Pressing the phone to my ear, I hear three rings before someone picks up.
“This is James.”
The voice is just as deep as I remember, and I try to convince myself that this was a good idea, after all.
“Well, at least you sound just as sexy over the phone as you do in person,” I purr down the line. There’s a long, drawn-out beat of silence, prompting me to pull the phone away from my ear to check if the call dropped.
“Beauty. Didn’t think I’d be hearing from you so soon.”
Upon hearing his nickname for me, I let a smile tip the corners of my lips. “I guess you do remember me, after all.”
“You’re a hard woman to forget.”
“And how do I know you don’t just say that to all the girls?” I tease in a playful voice.
“It’s not every day I pick up women from the bar and fuck them over the hood of my car.”
“Is that right?”
“That it is.”
“So, what’s your story, James. I’m quite intrigued.”
“Meet me at the Fairmont in Del Mar and I’ll tell you.”
I mull it over for a beat before answering. “Just name the time and day.”
“Tonight.”
And that’s where the clusterfuck of problems began. I wish I could say I was smarter than I really was. And I wish I could say I had the strength to say no to him, but I didn’t. He was what I needed to forget Alex, an outlet I could use for all my frustrations.
I just wished it would’ve worked.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
September 1998
My hands clench at my stomach as another pang of hunger curls in my tummy, wracking through my entire body. A single tear leaks out of the corner of my eye as I wait for Momma to come back from her happy place.
Yesterday, while she locked me in the closet, she didn’t leave me in here for long. I slept a little and the next thing I knew, I woke up to peanut butter on toast and a glass of milk. But that was yesterday. I don’t remember how long I’ve slept, or how long I’ve been in here, but the pains in my stomach tell me a long time.
Shakily, I push to my feet, ignoring the wobble in my knees. For the third time, I try the doorknob, hoping it’ll magically open when I turn it. But it doesn’t.
I jiggle the knob and freeze when I hear thudding footsteps on the other side of the closet door. With each s
econd, they get closer and closer, sending a thrill through my veins. Hope floods my system.
Momma’s back.
My heart pounds frantically and my breaths come in short spurts, clogging the air in the closet.
The footsteps stop.
The doorknob turns.
A stream of light fills the closet.
Only it’s not Momma on the other side.
My stomach bottoms out and bile rises up my throat when I see Cyrus. A smile stretches across his face when he sees me, prompting me to take a wary step back, hidden into the shadows of the closet.
“Hi, pretty-girl.”
I swallow thickly.
“I brought a surprise for you. Can you guess what it is?”
I don’t dare say a word. With fear pumping rapidly through my veins, I shake my head ever so slowly in answer.
“I brought you a Happy Meal, pretty-girl. Are you hungry?”
Tears spring to my eyes as I watch him pull the red and yellow box from behind his back. my stomach grumbles with angry force, sending shooting pains that have me clutching both trembling hands to my tummy.
When I get a whiff of the fries and the chicken nuggets, my fingers dig into my stomach, my nails embedding into my skin. I hesitantly take a step forward and Cyrus’ smile grows larger, as he easily tempts me out of the closet. I dart my eyes around beyond the closet and living room, looking for Momma. The house is unusually quiet. The silence leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
Stay in the closet Sammy, I hear Momma say in my head. Stay in the closet, babygirl.
“Where’s Momma?” I ask warily.
“Momma’s sleeping in her room. She’s sleeping off her happy time. C’mon, she told me to buy you McDonald’s. She knew you were going to be hungry.”
I search Cyrus’ eyes for a few seconds before I nod my head and step out of the closet.
“Good girl,” he says, shutting the door behind me.
As another pang of hunger curls in on my stomach, I reach for the box that holds my Happy Meal.
