by Nola Marie
I give a shrug. “Couldn’t find anything I wanted.”
I reach to grab my phone out of my pocket but it’s not there. “Have you seen my phone?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. Then moves to sit beside me. Except I need to find my phone. Maybe Josie has texted me. “Could you help me look? I don’t want to miss any calls.”
She bites her lip for a second but agrees. After a couple of seconds, she pulls it from between the couch cushions, handing it to me.
No texts from her. Nothing.
I throw back the drink Erica handed me, the third I think, feeling it burn all the way down. She crawls back to my side on the couch, running her hand up my thigh and her mouth over my neck.
In the back of my head, I feel like I should stop her, but all of the blood has started flowing south and the alcohol is further enhancing the fog in my brain. So instead of stopping her, I drag her mouth to mine.
A while later, our clothes are strewn everywhere, and my cock is hard as steel. I’m not sure how, but we manage to make it into my room. I’m a sloshed, drunken mess after another drink when she pushes me back.
“I don’t think this is a good idea, Erica,” I manage to spit out through my lust and alcohol induced haze.
“Sshhh,” she tells me, “let me make you feel better.”
I go to argue until she slides down on me and all other thoughts fly out the window. I can’t make out a thing in the dark room except the feeling of her wet pussy sliding down on me again and again. A noise that sounds a lot like the door that leads from my bedroom to outside makes me hold her still. My room is too dark tonight. Even the moon is hidden behind the clouds, so I listen.
“Oh, God, Angel you feel so good,” Erica moans.
Then there’s another gasp. One that makes my blood run cold. One I definitely don’t want to see this – to be here. I don’t even attempt to turn on the lights. Don’t want to see who I know is there. But the lights come on anyway. At the foot of the bed, I see Josie standing there in nothing but her underwear.
“Fuck,” I yell shoving Erica off of me.
I don’t know what the fuck is going on. I have no damn clue why Josie would show up dressed like that, but it’s not important right now.
What is important is what she just walked in on and the look of devastation on her face. “Josie,” I say trying to get to her, but Erica is pulling me back to her. Before I can get loose from her hold, Josie is out the door. I finally get out of Erica’s grip. I throw on some clothes and run out the door to try to catch her but it’s too late.
What happened that night has crossed my mind more often than not. You’d think after all these years, it wouldn’t even be a passing thought, but it passes just as much as ever.
Tonight, I can’t get it out of my head. That particular chapter of my life never closed. I never found out why she was there or dressed like she was. It was so unlike Josie.
Not that eighteen-year-old me hadn’t thought about her standing before me just like that probably half a dozen times. But I never ventured there. Josie was just too – good. She was sweet and gentle and impressionable and perfect. It never made sense to me how she was able to maintain her wide-eyed naivety given the bullying she endured. Just more evidence to her goodness.
Very different from me. By the time I was eighteen, I was already on my way to alcoholism and drug addiction and had been sexually active for a few years. Maybe it was my rebellion against my negligent mother and overworked father and their divorce. But she was my compass. Any time I began to get in too deep, Josie was there to pull me back.
Until that night. After that night I had to navigate on my own. I have been failing miserably I might add. I drink too much. Get high too often. I tried the whole relationship thing with Erica and failed, and before and after her, I never see the same woman long enough to get attached.
Not that I could. I’ve never been able to feel anything for a woman other than sexual attraction and lust. They never made me want more. Want to be better. No one ever felt like they could get in my head and under my skin in all the right ways.
Maybe it’s why I’ve always wanted answers. Why I need to know what happened. I get seeing that hurt her. I get it was probably embarrassing as hell. But why did that mean she had to shut me out?
And needing those answers over a decade later is why I find myself leaning against the wall of the diner from last night. I’ve seen her through the window. I know she’s working and I won’t confront her at her job. I know she wouldn’t be working here if she didn’t need the money. I have no idea why she would need the money, but I can guess.
I’ve seen the news. Hell, what her father did is making headlines everywhere. I’m sure it’s part of why she’s in New York. I can’t imagine the hell she was going through in L.A.
The media has even alluded that she is under investigation herself. There’s no chance in hell that Josie would be involved in anything like that. It doesn’t matter if it’s been a day, year, or century, I know that Josie is a good person. No matter what our personal history may be, I know she’d never be involved in anything that would hurt others.
I’ve been standing here for nearly an hour freezing my ass off, waiting on the diner to close. Waiting on the neon sign to go off. Finally, I watch as the lights go off. That neon sign goes dark. The locks click. She’ll be coming out any time now, and several minutes later she does with another girl and a man.
“Josie,” I call out as they round the corner. I watch as her spine stiffens then turns slowly my way.
And for a split second, under the low lights of the sidewalk, I’m transported back in time as I take in the skirt and t-shirt along with the messy bun on top of her head that is so reminiscent of seventeen-year-old Josie. She pushes her glasses up on her nose and I find myself glad she still wears them.
“Who are you, buddy?” the guy asks as he sizes me up. I’ve probably got a couple of inches on him and about forty pounds which is saying a lot because I’m not bulky by any means. I’m cut with long, lean muscle, but bulk it isn’t.
“It’s okay, Jerry,” she tells him with a smile.
“You sure, sweetheart?” he asks with a hand on her shoulder that I have the urge to rip off.
“Yes. He’s not going to hurt me,” she tells him while maneuvering subtly so that he’s no longer touching her.
“All right. See you tomorrow,” he tells her while looking me over one more time.
I give him a sarcastic, cocky smile and wave. Basically, shooing him off to which he responds with a middle finger.
After they are out of ear shot, she turns to face me fully. We’re probably six feet apart but neither of us moves to close the distance. She crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her tits up.
For just a small, neanderthal of a second, I wonder if they’re real because I damn sure don’t remember those. I quickly chase the thoughts away because a lot of her has changed since we were teenagers.
“Why do you know where I work?” she asks suspiciously.
“Maddox and I saw you last night when we stopped in.”
I notice her eyes go wide for a second. A second that tells me she felt me too. She still feels me too.
“What do you want, Angel?” she asks in irritation.
“To talk,” I tell her with equal irritation.
“We don’t have anything to talk about. We aren’t friends. We haven’t seen each other in years. We’re practically strangers.” Her words are full of callousness and ice. Her eyes, on the other hand, blaze with fury and hate.
“If that’s true, then why do you keep looking at me like you want to roll me down a hill of razor blades into a lake of alcohol?” I challenge.
Her lips quirk up with a bit of a smirk. Like she’s visualizing what I just said, but she doesn’t reply.
“I want to know what the fuck happened that night? Why every time I tried to talk to you after, you ran the other way? Why you avoided and ignored me?” I demand w
hen I give up on any kind of response from her. “I want to know why you cut me out of your life without any kind of warning?”
Her eyes narrow behind the pink plastic frames. “Fuck you, Angel. You know exactly what happened that night.”
“If I fucking knew, I wouldn’t be asking years later,” I yell at her.
She turns to walk away from me causing my ire to grow. “That’s right, Josie. Walk away. Just like every other damn woman.”
She halts her steps but doesn’t turn around. “You know I thought I was over this,” she tells me softly, voice so low I have to strain to hear. Then her back straightens and her lowered head lifts. “I fucking hate you, Angel Martin.”
I grit my teeth and clench my fists. “Yeah? Right back at ya, sweetheart.”
Josephine
With my head down, I amble my way to the cafeteria. I do my best to avoid any undue drama. I don’t need any more attention brought to me than just my existence provides.
I step into the cafeteria, and the first thing I see is Erica sitting with Jason Wexler and a few of their other friends.
“I mean it’s pathetic really,” Erica says loudly. “She must know the only reason he let her hang around him was because he felt sorry for her.”
“I still can’t believe she showed up like that,” Jason cackles. “What in the world would make Grossie Josie think she has anything anyone would want to see? I bet Angel’s eyes bled.”
Angel walks up to the table looking down at them with a look of curiosity. “What made my eyes bleed?”
“Grossie Josie,” Jason cackles the name they stole from the Drew Barrymore movie when we were seven.
“Grossie Josie, huh?” he repeats with a grin as he sets his things in the seat.
My heart spasms, shutters, and shatters hearing that from his lips. He’s always been the one to protect me from the bullies. He was the one to make them all back off of me our entire lives, but now he’s just joining in the torment.
Not able to watch any longer, I leave back out of the cafeteria door. I make my way to the bathroom. I find an empty stall and sit and cry.
I don’t know how long I’m in there, but I try to quickly pull myself together when I hear the door open. I hold my breath in hopes that whoever it is will leave quickly without knowing I’m here.
“Josephine?” I hear Eden’s voice call out.
Relief surges through me for a millisecond before I open the door and throw myself into her arms as sobs take over.
I walk into the office tired and drained from the memories that filled my dreams with puffy eyes and a red nose that no amount of makeup could cover. I thought I cried my last tears over Erica and Angel the day I graduated high school.
Seeing him brought so many memories to the surface. Not all of the memories were bad, but it’s those memories that make the bad ones so much more painful.
Camilla looks at me over her coffee mug, one perfectly arched brow raised in question. “Are you okay?” she asks sweetly. “You look like you’ve cried half the night.”
I heave a sigh. My shoulders slump and my head hangs in defeat and exhaustion. “Did you cry half the night?” she asks with concern.
“I just had a really long day yesterday,” I tell her not wanting to rehash it right now.
The look on her face tells me she’s not letting it go that easily. “Does this have anything to do with a certain bass player?”
I draw in a harsh breath as anger, frustration, and so much more course through my entire being. I pull self-consciously on the sleeves of my shirt, burying my hands. An old habit when I get nervous that I thought I’d broken. Just like biting my nails, but that went out the window last night. “It has everything to do with that -,” I pause on another breath with gritted teeth, biting my tongue. Hate him or not, Angel is still a client of the company, so I have to be careful what I say. “It has everything to do with him.”
“You promised me an explanation. Now explain,” she demands with a click of her tongue. Her dark eyes pierce through me, demanding answers. She isn’t going to take no for an answer. Her manicured nails tap impatiently against the desk as she waits for my response.
I haven’t been easily intimidated in years. I let go of my childish insecurities when I entered college. I shed the worry over my glasses. Being nearsighted isn’t something I can help, and I refuse to wear contacts every single day or get corrective surgery. I started taking dance lessons to help with my two left feet and clumsiness.
Then came my discovery of fashion. I’m not sure what took me so long. Maybe because I spent my entire high school career trying to be invisible. But when I found it, the baggy, oversized clothes were thrown in the trash.
But right now? Every single insecurity I’ve ever had is running rapid and rampant through my head. I push my glasses up on my nose with so much self-consciousness, I literally feel like that awkward teenager again. Even my posture is slumped and caved in on myself.
I remember how Erica made it her life’s mission to make my life a living hell, even before she and Angel got together. Every day she would corner me in the girls’ locker room to give me a hard time about being a four-eyed, bug-eyed freak or taunt me over my acne prone skin. She would try to pull my clothes off of me because of how self-conscious I was of my body.
It became so much worse after that night. I remember he called me dozens of times for weeks after it happened. I eventually planned to go see him. I wanted to talk things out.
Then I saw Erica telling a group of people how desperate I was, and Angel just sat there. They never saw me, but it didn’t matter. After that day, I also became the desperate slut. On many occasions, I would find condoms shoved into my locker until it overflowed. Slut and whore were even written across it a time or two. Then there was the time I was trapped inside the locker room for hours because she and her friends stole my clothes or the time that they shoved me into the tiny janitor’s closet. Not to mention -.
“Josephine?” Cami asks with concern, drawing me out of the memories.
A shiver runs down my spine and tears threaten to spill over. I look at Camilla who is still waiting for my response. “I knew Angel in high school,” I tell her being vague.
“Oh, no. There’s more to it than that,” she chastises me. She flings her dark hair over her shoulder then leans back into her chair waiting again.
I squeeze my eyes shut as that damn tear finally spills over. “We were friends once. Best friends. God, I had the biggest crush on him. I thought I was in love with him. One night I was at the library studying, and he texted me. He said he loved me and needed me. That he wanted me. He asked me to come to his room that night. I did. Wearing nothing but my cutest underwear and a long coat. Except, he was already in bed with the girl who made my life miserable.”
Tears continue to spill, and I silently curse myself for letting something so long ago still bother me. We were children. I was a child. Childish things are not something a grown woman should dwell on.
I finish telling her the rest of my high school horror story. It always makes me feel a little weak and pathetic when I let what happened bother me. So many teenagers face bullying just like I did. Many of them probably face worse. Far, far worse. What happened to me is probably a drop in the bucket of high school terrors, and I hate letting it get to me like I’m the only one who’s ever gone through it. It makes me feel like I’m being ungrateful that I did make it through the other side stronger.
“Oh, honey,” she says coming around her desk about to pull me into a hug, but I stop her before she can.
“No. Don’t hug me. Don’t pity me or feel sorry for me. It was a long time ago, and I’m being stupid to let it get to me like it is.”
“Josephine, it’s not stupid. Do I think you should let it bother you? No. But no one should have to go through that. It doesn’t matter the extent; bullying shouldn’t be tolerated. I can’t believe the ass just let her treat you like that.” Her deep brown eyes blaze with indigna
nt anger.
“It is fine, Camilla. It was just seeing him brought back so many memories then when he showed up at the diner last night -.”
“Wait. He what?” she jerks back in shock. Her red lips fall open in surprise. Her olive skin begins to flush red as her eyebrows draw down. Anger is falling off her in waves.
“When I finished my shift last night, he was waiting.”
“What the hell? What did he want?”
I let out an indignant huff. “He had the audacity to ask me why I stopped being his friend. Accused me of abandoning him.”
“Damn,” she says softly. Her brows furrow in confusion, looking at me with questions. “Why the hell would he ask something like that?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” I say firmly. “I’m never seeing him again.”
A strange look crosses her exotic features. She pulls a dark lock and begins to twirl it nervously. “Actually, Josephine, you will.”
“What do you mean?” Dread begins to pool in my gut at the sympathetic look she is giving me. “Just spit it out Cami,” I demand.
“Melissa has chosen me and, because you are my assistant, you, to go on tour with Sons of Sin as their wardrobe crew.”
“What!” I screech in a very undignified, unladylike tone as the dread increases tenfold. “I can’t. I have to work the diner and the restaurant. And what about your clients?”
“This is part of my job. It’s something I’ve done before many times. I know how to handle my clients virtually, but I told you before you started that your other jobs would eventually have to go,” she tells me with her arms folded across her chest. All sympathy from moments ago has evaporated from her face.
“I can’t afford to quit my other jobs,” I argue.
“This will pay enough that you can and build your resume at the same time,” she counters. “Look, obviously I can’t force you to go -.”
“But I’m out of a job if I don’t,” I finish for her.
“In a nutshell,” she nods. “Finding a replacement wouldn’t be hard. Finding someone I actually like would be, but the choice is ultimately yours.”
