Soon though, we’re approached by several frat guys who want to dance with us. One of them seems pretty into me, hands sliding on my hip, trying to yell in my ear to talk to me, but I’m not paying much attention because I’ve finally spotted Jared and Andy in the corner of the room. Now I can feel Mr. Fratboy’s hands slide down my side, fingers grazing the indentation of my bare waist where my shirt has rucked itself up and then flowing over my hips in my tight jeans. And he keeps talking, saying something about my name, whether I want another drink and some other nonsense that I don’t hear and don’t care to ask him to repeat.
After a few moments, I look up at him briefly and tell him my name and then lose sight of Jared and Andy and try to pay attention to my new sleazy fratboy, nodding my head to whatever he’s saying. Mostly though, I’m focused on my dancing, on not spilling my drink and bringing the precious alcohol to my lips every few minutes. I’ve gotta keep the stream of calming syrup pretty steady or I know I’ll falter. Speaking of which, it’s time for another drink, so I leave Mr. Fratboy for a moment and am soon back and he’s still there, waiting for me. And my cup is almost overflowing, the foam sloshing, so I take a few moments to suck down a few gulps of the froth and some beer before we start dancing again. And I keep thinking how glad I am that I had some good pre-game action earlier and I’m already getting drunk.
Don’t’cha by the Pussycat Dolls thumps over us, the lights dimmer now, a strobe somewhere flashing in my eyes making everyone light and then dark and I feel his hands roaming over my hips and I lean back, grinding against his crotch. Hannah is in front of me, dancing close, with a guy behind her as well. At least someone is paying attention to me… I guess beggars can’t be choosers. Suddenly my guy backs away and there is no one there for a moment. I’m still holding Hannah’s hand in front of me and the sudden void surprises me and I look quickly and see that someone else is behind me now with a white and red hat. I turn my head again and as the strobe flashes, my eyes meet his golden brown-green ones, very alive, very bright. It’s Jared. Seriously it’s Jared. Jared in a blue t-shirt and jeans, his Red Sox hat cocked sideways like some kind of playa. I look at Hannah and her eyes are wide and I know I must look stunned because I never thought he’d come over to me after what happened last time.
I look over my shoulder again and he’s staring down at me, hands in his pockets, his expression serious, smoldering, turned on and drunk, maybe even angry? I don’t say anything, he says nothing. Holy fuck. Keep dancing. I turn around and face him, dancing for him and him alone and I know he’s watching every movement of my hands over my hips and waist and I know, I just know he can appreciate my body and I know I’m rocking it, grinding down low. I mouth the words to the song and his eyes on me are so intense, studying me, then he smiles this little angry-sexy-fuck-me grin and his fingertips reach out and touch my hip right above my belt, warm against the slight sheen of perspiration that coats my skin and it’s all I can see, my eyes focused on that contact, him touching me. It’s hot, wicked fucking hot and so is he. His fingertips burn my skin. And it’s an invitation. I don’t stop. I move closer, my hands on his chest, slowly moving up and around his neck and we’re touching from hip to shoulder and I keep moving, grinding myself into him, hearing the beat of the music, following it, mesmerized, amazed that he’s dancing with me.
I keep my eyes down because it’s almost as if I don’t want to know what his expression is saying now. If he laughs or breaks the moment I feel like I’ll thrash him. I focus on how my body is moving, where his hands are, the status of my almost empty cup. The song is perfect, doesn’t he wish I was his girlfriend? Doesn’t he wish he had a hot raw girlfriend like me? I concentrate on the words, especially the part about “a freak like me” and it’s making my pulse race with excitement. His hands follow the beat, moving over my hip, butt, waist, the small of my back, one sliding up under my tiny tank top, the other hooked in my belt loops, pulling me in closer and closer and closer. Crushing me to him.
I look up suddenly at the pressure, my chest mashed against his. He’s looking down at me, very serious or is he angry, like he wants to hurt me? Wow. His mouth is quirked, but his lips look full and kissable and he’s damn sexy, absolutely gorgeous, his face slightly tense, but eyes sparking, alive, almost like violence or pure electricity. On impulse, I thread my hands around his neck, two fingers holding the edge of my dangling cup behind his back and pull him down to me. I need to kiss him, like I did the first time at the frat, our mouths inches from one another then he goes all the way, his burning mouth pressed to mine, sending a shiver down my spine at our contact.
I kiss him deeper, opening up, like sex standing up, my body writhing against his, our lips locked, tasting one another, my arms around his neck, his tightening around my waist. It’s fucking hot. I’m throbbing with lust. Fuck me, my body is whispering, louder and louder and I really can’t ignore it much longer. And his hands are everywhere and I’m still dancing with him, grinding myself against him, feeling his rock hard thighs against mine, his taut abs, my fingers in his soft hair. God he’s a good kisser. I’d let him do just about anything to me right now, I wouldn’t stop him. It’s all I can focus on, him, me, his hands, mine, his mouth, his tongue, his body...
And then he breaks away...
His hand slides off my hip and one from behind my neck, my arms fall away from him. Gone, walking away, hotness suddenly doused with cold. My mouth hangs open as I watch his broad back thread through the crowd.
He’s leaving!!!! And it’s so fast that I’m lost, I can still feel his warm mouth on mine as I watch him disappear. Finally I step back, dizzy with disbelief. I look around me, people still dancing, couples grinding, a girl looks over at me, smirking, while a guy rubs her hip. I imagine her laughing. “Haha, he left you!” And even Hannah is gone, gone off with Andy, no doubt, thinking me fine with Jared, especially when we started to make out on the dance floor. Fuck! Did he want to humiliate me? Suddenly a heavy sense of being alone washes over me. I gaze around, find a direction and I’m out of there, looking for Hannah.
A weary feeling of depression settles over me as I squeeze through the crowd, seeing couples together, trying to understand why he would just walk away. Is he fucking with me? Why am I always having my feelings hurt? Why am I such a loser? My confidence just evaporated. How I hate him.
My pity party turns to anger in an instant. How can I let him fuck with me like this?! Why would he dance with me for a moment, kiss me back, only to leave again, after everything he said the other night? It’s wicked frustrating! Fuck him! I want to scream because I can’t find my friends in the crowd. Wandering around alone like a stupid friendless girl, people looking at me as if I’m weird because I’m alone. Goddamn it! Now I’m pissed, working myself up into a frenzy of anger. I want a confrontation, now. I’m ripe for it, scanning the crowd for Jared because he’s going to hear it. By God, he’s going to.
There are a lot of people packed into the dim basement and it’s hard to move around, but near the edge there’s room, although it’s dark. Finally I decide to try upstairs, Hannah or Jared, someone has to be upstairs. I wander around the first floor until I find a living room where there are couches set up around an old TV. It’s dark but I can see someone sitting, leaning against the arm rest, head in hand. As I get closer, I can tell it’s him. He looks over at me for a moment, face cold, unreadable and then he looks away. My blood starts to boil. Can he seriously even give me the time of day?!
I’m standing there staring at him and he’s not looking at me and my irritation is growing and growing like an evil cancer or tumor until I want to shriek like some kind of banshee. This is just like every other guy that fucked with my feelings, played mind games, didn’t make any sense. I hate those fucking assholes. I hate Jared. Before I can really think about what I’m doing, I walk in and straddle his lap, feeling bold as all sweet hell. I’m gonna get his damn attention. I’m gonna fuck with him like he did me. Apparently I can be her, that girl. For
a moment I pause, this seems unreal, the world is fuzzy, out of focus. What am I doing? I look at him quickly and he’s still not looking at me. I tense up, totally pissed off. Faccck…God I want to smack him! A quick thought rushes through about the last time I tried this game and how badly I failed. I push that thought away. I. Don’t. Care.
“What does it take to get your attention, Jared?” I ask wiggling my ass into his lap. “Hmmm???”
He doesn’t respond, he won’t even look at me. I want to push him, I want to get a reaction no matter what I have to do. I want him to lash out.
“So basically you’re a passive aggressive asshole to me last time and now suddenly you want to make out with me and then you leave. What the fuck is your deal?” I blurt. I’m so damn drunk, my mouth filter is totally gone.
A tiny niggling thought in the back of my mind warns me of impending embarrassment and catastrophic rejection if I push him too far, but I thrust that thought away. I’m done playing his game, I’m gonna play mine now. And maybe my feelings will get obliterated, maybe I’ll reveal too much, but at this point it doesn’t matter to me, I’ve already been feeling like shit, what more can I feel? Plus I’m drunk. Reckless, stupid drunk. I’ve been here before and I can’t stop. Because making him talk is what matters. When he still doesn’t respond, my anger blinds me.
“You are a fucking bastard, Jared McKinley, and I'm tired of dealing with your bullshit and your fucking mind games!” I growl, shoving my hands against his chest and pushing my chest in its low cut tank top close to his face. He doesn’t move, his face to the side, not looking at me, staring into the darkness as if I weren’t even there.
“Does this get your attention?” I ask, purring into his ear, “What do I have to do? Tell me? Do you want me to be your slut, asshole, cause I’m lonely tonight.” I state, sweet as pie until the word, asshole, that I deliver with as much venom as possible. I wiggle myself provocatively on his lap, pressing up against his hard chest. I lean down and kiss his neck, feeling a fire burst through me.
He’s breathing harder now, but he won’t look me in the eye as I lean back. Finally I grab his chin roughly, forcing his startled eyes to mine. “Do you want to fuck me?” I say snidely, staring into his emotionless eyes, at last seeing a look of frustration mixed with anger cross his face.
“No…I,” he replies and then trails off. No? Faaccck that stings. He quickly glances away, his face again unreadable, and then he struggles to stand, almost knocking me to the ground in his haste. He reaches out, fingers cutting into my arm at the last moment, just barely keeping me from falling over.
After he steadies me, he stalks away, heading toward the stairs and most likely his brother’s room, pushing his way through crowds of people in the hallway. God damn him!! Why won’t he tell me what his deal is?
As he weaves through the crowd and finally starts up the stairs, I follow. I’m not going to let him get away with avoiding me this time. I will hear him say something. It’s like I’m throwing a temper tantrum, trying to get my own way and the alcohol is fueling me. I have a sudden appreciation of my hazy drunken confidence. I’m pretty sure I’ll regret it…but right now it feels damn right. I take the last slug off the cup I’m still miraculously holding and take the stairs two at a time, trying not to trip.
Finally upstairs, I follow him into Andy’s empty room. He probably wants to be alone, but I don’t give a shit, it’s time to find out the truth. As he walks in before me, I clutch at his arm, stopping him dead. I force him to turn around and face me, but he won’t look at me, avoiding my eyes, his face tense as hell. Sketchy bastard, what is his problem?! I pause for a moment, just looking at him. He looks away, pissed maybe, annoyed probably, tired of my shit…oh yes.
“What the fuck, Jared!” I yell, “You are the biggest bastard ever! I start thinking that you might be interested in me and then you don’t call and then seem all pissy and bitchy last time me and treat me like shit. And now you want to dry hump and make out and then walk away. What the fuck is your problem? Why are you fucking with me?!” I push my finger into his chest, trying to force him to look me in the eyes. He’s still ignoring me!
“Oh my God,” I cry in exasperation. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!” I hiss, “I don't know what else to say to get under your skin. You are COLD!! You’re a fuckin rock! At least tell me you don't care, tell me you hate me, tell me something! Tell me I'm ugly, I'm repulsive, I'm anything at all, so long as you take notice of me!” I grind out, my breath coming in gulps. “I can’t fuckin understand you, you’re emotionally fucked and you make no sense!”
He’s breathing harder than normal and his face looks stiff as a corpse and just as expressionless as I jab him in the chest with my finger, pushing him into reaction, trying to make him say anything at all. His entire body is rigid, fists clenching and unclenching. In a final fit of anger and drunken desperation I raise my palms to shove him, smack him, something, willing finally to do violence to him and before I can lash out he pushes me back into the wall.
“No, Victoria,” he says, hands on either side of my head, his expression like fire, burning hot and just as deadly. Now he’s come to life, from a statue into colorful rage. Oh shit, what have I done?
“Victoria, you are annoying as hell, but I can't, absolutely, can’t do this anymore,” he says, eyes searing, lips compressed. I gulp, stunned, my heart in my throat. Here it is, here’s his confession, he hates me, I’m disgusting, not smart enough, not fun, boring, a slut, whatever. Oh damn, I definitely asked for this. I asked to be squashed like the little bug I am. Now I’m not sure I want to hear it. My imagination is running around in circles with possibilities as he pauses, hanging his head before finally looking up at me, eyes sparking with anger.
“You want to know the truth? God knows you’ve fucking asked for it. I want to fuck you, okay? I've wanted to since day one and I can't pretend anymore that I don't. But…you… piss me the fuck off,” he says, his voice clipped as he slides his hand under my hair at the nape of my neck. His eyes are burning, pissed off, angry and then before I know what’s happening, he kisses me, his mouth forcing mine open as shock waves radiate through my body. My mind screaming, Oh MY fuckin GOD!!!
His lips are firm and insistent and his hands are moving all over my body the way they had earlier on the dance floor. Caressing me, massaging me, feeling every part of me with questioning fingertips, reaching up under my tiny tank-top, hot kisses moving from my mouth, searing my neck and over the exposed skin above my neckline and my heart is pounding in exhilaration, my thoughts racing with disbelief that he’s doing this...now! This is what I had imagined, this is how I’ve always wanted him, hot, nasty and fast and my pulse races, skin on fire with his touch.
I kiss him back, my tongue moving into his mouth, tasting of beer and desire. I writhe up against him, my hands wrapped around his neck pulling him in, his hands gliding over me and I feel alive with feelings that are good, energized, not my normal quivering fear. I touch him back, wanting to feel bare skin, pulling up his t-shirt, running my fingers over his smooth skin, feeling the hard planes, the changes in his chest as his pecs move as he skims his hands over my body. God damn, this is hot, kissing him, hard, desire welling up like a geyser inside. And you know what…this time I’m not gonna fuck this up. I’m gonna let him do whatever he wants to do. I need to.
And then, suddenly, he pulls away, again. What??? He pulls back and the air between us is suddenly cold, his hot hands abruptly leaving my body. He just stares at me for a moment, eyes bright and clear, before shaking his head and turning away.
“I want to sleep with you, but I won’t,” he says, looking at me again with what appears to be anguish or crankiness or maybe just some kind of stuck up snob look and then he turns away again, literally walking out of the room as fast as he can move without running. No backward glance, nothing.
I stand there leaning against the wall, trying to catch my breath, trying to clear the sexual fog from my brain with this new c
old information that he just left me again. It makes no sense. I can’t comprehend what just happened. He admitted that he wants me but said he won’t sleep with me?? He kissed me and it was fucking hot, a physical attraction that has burned between us for months, but why the hell did he leave? I thought this was it, this was us coming together, finally, after all this time and now it’s over? I sag down against the wall a heavy dark confusion and depression soon overriding everything else as his words sink in. Warring factions inside me, questions, denial, not understanding a thing. This is some kind of rejection, catastrophic confidence crushing rejection. I’m not good enough for him, for some reason he will not be with me. I start to sob, hot tears running over my cold cheeks. I won’t go after him again tonight. My rage is over, cooled, dead, but my questions still remain.
My Assignment: A poem that describes sound
Funksations
The midnight moon rises and time skips by,
Gaining speed
We wait, smoky and blurred,
Until music emerges
It jumps, leaps, begins to twitch.
Accelerating and coursing,
Setting our bodies into motion
We move inside the music
As energy pours, circles and flows
Adrenaline pumps, setting pistons on fire
Gears meshing, faster and faster
In time with tempo, my body,
A fluid machine in motion
Arching, bending, twisting,
Surging with power and life
Now within the music, patterns appear,
Shapes, distinct and clear
Notes weaving, crisscrossing
With deep resonating melodies
A beat submerges,
Reverberating in the distance
Echoes punched through walls,
Fathomless and muted
Angst Page 20
