by Sarah Tork
I walk to the counter.
“I’d like to order!’ I shout, and the worker comes from the back.
How rude, leaving me here to wait. God, where is customer service these days!
“How can I help you?” the server asks me as if nothing is wrong.
My eyes roll.
“I want a small hot chocolate,” I order. “I want a small amount of whipped cream on top, do you understand?”
The server stares at me.
“Yes,” he says.
“And sprinkles. I want some sprinkles on top too, do you understand that?” I continue.
“We don’t have sprinkles for drinks,” the server replies.
How dare he speak to me in that tone! I wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this. I am only here because Xander is going to come—sigh— home soon.
“Whatever!” I tell him sternly and look away. I hear a rumbling sound and in a flash, my drink is slid across to me. I pay the miserable worker and grab my drink, taking it to the front where I’ll patiently wait for my love to return.
Oh Xander, can’t you see how much I love you? I think, as I slide onto the stool and peer into the drink.
Ugh…commoner drinks.
Chapter Seven
*Marisa*
Shampoo.
Aftershave.
Cologne.
These three items dangerously invade my nostrils as soon as my arms wrap around Ben’s shoulders.
And it is very dangerous, because I could feel my eyes desperately wanting to roll back as if I’m simmering in ecstasy after the first sniff.
Totally not good, and yet, so freaking fantastic. Like I said: dangerous.
The slow song playing invites many more of the partygoers to the dance floor, and every inch of it is soon crammed with feet. I feel Ben’s arms squeeze around my waist, pulling me further into his embrace.
This is not good.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I whisper to him, tilting my head back to look him in the eye. His soft brown eyes take me hostage for a moment before he speaks.
“Dancing, isn’t that obvious?” he answers softly.
Oh God. Sweet Ben. How could I forget? Sweet Ben is a deadly assassin in the emotion department all well on his own. He’s showing this side of himself for a reason. I just have to figure out what his plan is and what he really wants.
“It is obvious, but you know what I mean,” I reply back, mimicking his tone, but with a touch of assertiveness.
“Do I?” he asks, not blinking.
Great, now we’re playing the question game. I look away first.
“Whatever,” I murmur, and concentrate on swaying my body to the music instead of against his hard body.
GOD!
There’s that good old trouble inside me, stirring.
“Can you like – give me some space, please?” I ask him as I pull my body away from his; but his arms tighten in response and pull me in again.
“I’m good where I am,” he murmurs.
“Yeah? Well, I’m not, so a little space, please,” I pull back again, and this time he doesn’t pull me back in.
“Better?” he asks.
“Much,” I reply and look back at his face. I find his jaw clenched and his eyes slightly angry.
“What?” I ask defensively.
He looks away and shakes his head.
“What’s the problem now?” I ask him, and he turns his eyes back to me accusingly.
Why is he staring at me like I’m the one who’s torturing him? He’s the one who did me wrong.
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell him and he looks at me confused. “I understand, though.”
“What are you talking about?” he asks me warily. I lean in a little.
“I know what it feels like to chafe down there . Be sure to tell your mother to use baby powder tonight when she’s changing your diaper right before you go night-night, okay?” I tell him, doing my best to keep a straight face. It’s really hard.
It takes him a moment to catch on, but when he does, he looks like he wants to chew me out, show me how things ‘really are’.
Wouldn’t I like that now? I smile snidely at him as he shakes his head in disbelief. All of a sudden, the song ends. I let go and pull out of his hold forcefully.
“Song’s over, nice dancing with you,” I tell him abruptly, then leave him standing alone on the dance floor. As I sit back down, I glance back at the still-crowded dance floor. He’s not looking at me; instead, he’s hunched and flailing his arms around as if he’s angry.
Which he has no right to be, because he is the villain in this story, not me. Maybe someone else pissed him off and he has the right to be angry ; but not with me. The crowd breaks a little, and my eyes widen when I see Mom and Gwen standing with their arms wide open in shock as Ben says something to them, turns around, and quickly walks off the dance floor.
Clearly brooding.
But again, not my problem. Before, when he acted like a little bitch whenever he didn’t get his way, he’d turn into this sensitive prick and everyone would get on their hands and knees to make him feel better.
Nobody more than me, but even I had my limits.
As Ben makes his way off the dance floor, Mom and Gwen don’t dance when the DJ plays the next song; instead, they bow their heads next one another and are having a discussion.
Probably about their failed attempt to get Ben and me together, to rekindle and get married, and live happily ever after. Then, I’d become a bigger doormat than I was before, and that’s only because I would feel so guilty for putting the precious Ben into such a state for over five months.
Ugh!
Perfect timing, the terrible twosome turn around and I see their greedy eyes scouring the room for the criminal that is me. I feel the sting of both their eyeballs when they finally locate my ass sitting in the spot I’ve been in practically this entire evening.
They’re giving me the death/poor-excuse-for-a-human-being glare; add a shake of the head and a roll of the eye and they’re done. They give me their backs and return to their friends to get jiggy with it, not wanting to let me ruin this fabulous evening like I’ve always done in the past.
They aren’t going to let me win this time, ruining their carefully laid plans is the last straw. I will no longer be getting their careful attention.
I don’t deserve their time.
So inconsiderate and rude of me. Jesus, why can’t I just open my eyes and see that I’m just so lucky to even have a catch like Ben in my life? I mean, who else is going to see me like he does?
A prized possession, the rose of his flower garden, the Earl Grey tea in his tea collection, when I’m really just an Orange Pekoe, the store brand version, but I’m graciously being treated as if I am Earl Grey. I should have considered that and appreciated it.
Um no!
Fuck them! I may be just the store-brand version of Orange Pekoe in their eyes, but I know that I’m more than that. In fact, I’m the store-brand version of Orange Pekoe that comes in a packet of twenty, wrapped and rivaling prices of the top-selling tea in the aisle. So suck on that, bitches!
My mouth feels parched, so I get up and go to the bar for a Coke instead of a mixed drink. Whatever is left of the evening, it’s in my best interest to remain as alert as possible.
“A Coke, please,” I order once I reach the bar. I lean against the marble countertop as the bartender grabs a cup when I think I hear someone whisper my name. I twist my neck toward the voice. I blink once when I glance at the entrance doors and see Daniels’s head peeking through from the hallway.
“Daniels?” I mouth, surprised at him as he waves me over. I hold up a finger for him to wait a second while I turn and grab my Coke from the bartender. Daniels nods and steps back into the hallway. I quickly glance around the lively room, nervous that someone would see and tattle. Daniels is a part of Xander’s world, a world where I don’t want anyone here to know I have any involvement in.
>
That’s the last thing I’d need, the nosy gossips of the crowd Mother ran around with to go and tattle to her that her daughter is meandering with a strange man whom she had just met and trusted so quickly.
It would be hunting season all over again, with a barrage of wild and dumbfounded screeches about how much of an idiot I am. I don’t need them to remind me of my faults. I do that well enough on my own. So a quick glance around the room is an absolute must as I nonchalantly make my way toward the exit.
No one is staring, or if they are, I don’t notice, and will get it from them later.
Here’s hoping that won’t be the case. I haven’t been back for a minute and I’m already getting shit about how much my behavior needs fixing. I can only imagine the torture the next conversation or scolding is going to be.
I bet they are salivating for the next excuse they can use to tear me a new one. I shake off the nervous jitters as I open the door enough that I can slide my way through without anyone noticing. I enter the hallway and find Daniels waiting for me.
“Is everything okay, am I taking too long?” I ask him worriedly.
“No everything is okay. I’m fine. It’s just, Mr. Barns has been trying to contact you for the last half-an-hour, and he’s called me to pass along a message, considering my near location.” Daniels replies politely and professionally.
“He called you to come and tell me to pick up my phone?” I ask him slowly, slightly bewildered.
Daniels stares at me for a few seconds, I can literally see signs of apprehension pass over his face before he straightens out, returning to his courteous professionalism.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Gellys, but if you can just give him an answer, all will be okay again,” Daniels requests with a small smile.
I nod. “Okay.”
“Alright, I’ll be going back out to the car. Whenever you’re ready, just wave and I’ll see you from a spot I have right next to the entrance; I’ll pull up right to the front,” Daniels says.
“Alright, thanks.” I nod once more, and Daniels takes that as his cue to leave. As he turns around, I remember my manners. “Hey – wait! Are you hungry? I feel so bad, you waiting in the car for hours while I’m in here.”
“I’m okay. Thank you, though.”
Daniels nods. “I’ll be outside when you’re ready.”
“Okay.” I watch him walk away and wish I could just go with him, but the party still has a good couple of hours left in it, and I know if I leave this early, it won’t go down well. I know I said earlier - that I am prepared for anything they had for me - but honestly, right now, I’m fucking exhausted from holding a shield up and pretending like what they have to say doesn’t bother me.
Everything everyone does inside that room bothers me. The worst: Ben’s cheating hands having free rein over my back as we danced. I wasn’t planning on being that close to him, like, for the rest of my life.
Not after the way he had treated me. Touching my body was a reward he did not deserve, but selfishly took without bothering to ask me if it was okay.
I would have said no, or at least made up a stupid reason why I couldn’t dance; but I was caught in a tough spot and had no choice but to concede for that one brief moment.
Fuck, did I just prematurely wave the white flag? There isn’t even a white flag ready and waiting for those people in there. There is no plan to concede; there is however, a backbone ready and waiting to smash their verbal warfare. They’re a team, an army, who’ve been patiently awaiting my return whilst prepping for battle against my scorned self.
The wounds are still healing from their burns. I take a deep breath and slide the door open enough so that I can squeeze my body through. The DJ keeps the dance theme going and begins blasting a very loud track that has everyone excited and jumping all over the dance floor.
That’s good, nobody noticed me leave. I scoured the room for a few seconds as I make my way over to the table to get my bag so I can see how many missed calls I’d received from Xander.
A.K.A that sneaky son-of-a-bitch who doesn’t understand the concept of the word ‘No’. Whatever it is that he wants from me later on, I think enough is enough. He’s gotten enough laughter from my careless behavior, there needs to be no more of that. A simple way of making sure things go my way for once, use the brain, trust instincts when they point out random good looking sketchy dudes who take an interest in you, then declare they have a fetish that you have no desire to be a part of.
So, yeah.
As I make my way toward my bag that I can see sitting by itself at the kids’ table, from the corner of my eye a hand flailing out catches me off guard. I turn my head and see Gwen and Mom consoling an angry Ben. The music is too loud, I can’t hear a word. Right when I reach the table, Mom catches me looking and gives Gwen a nudge. Their eyes instantly set on me narrowing, while their injected lips do their version of a snarl. Ben turns around to see what they are scowling at, and once he sees it’s just little old me, he looks away and shakes his head. He then turns and walks away while Gwen and Mom shout something at him with their arms out.
What is the princess-boy upset about now? Is he upset about having to stay at the party when he could be out making out with a specific short, red-headed slut?
I can see how that would make him angry; I mean, it single-handily ruined our relationship of five years.
I turn my face right away as a small smile threatens to break out, which is the last thing I need the people here to see; me being happy would make them suspicious. I lean over the table and grab my clutch when something in the air around me switches. I feel a certain danger approaching, and my heart begins to beat faster.
Shit.
“Where were you just now?” Mom’s voice screeches accusatorily, but not loud enough for any of her precious party guests to hear her lose it. I slide the clutch underneath my pit and raise an eyebrow.
Hold the fuck up, in that tone – yeah, I don’t think so. I turn around, finding Mom and Gwen with the annoyed scowls on their faces. Simultaneously, they fold their arms across their chests.
Oh Mother, you never will learn, will you? You can’t talk to me like you did before. I suck in some air, getting the motors running inside my passages; I’ve got a treat for them. Well, a treat for me, punishment for them. What can I say? They should have known better.
Now they’re going to get it.
Activating Marisa in humiliation mode……commenced.
I give them a small smile. “I was looking for the bathroom when I realized I forgot my bag,” I hold up my clutch to them. “I need to change my tampon-”
“Marisa!” Mom hisses, interrupting me rudely while looking left-to-right in case anyone heard.
I keep going. “My flow these past few days has been off the charts, crazy heavy. I’m bleeding everywhere, thank God, I brought extra TAMPONS IN MY BAG!” I tell the clearly-shocked duo while holding out the bag. A few people around us stop what they are doing to pretend they’re not listening. It isn’t the whole room I’d have liked, but one person listening in on my period rant is enough to get Mom’s blood boiling.
Her eyes are bulging out as they seethe angrily; her head begins to twitch. Gwen holds on to Mom’s shoulder to calm her down and reassure her that probably, yet again, I’m joking. I better nip that conclusion in the bud right now.
“I’m not joking,” I tell Gwen sternly. I tuck my clutch back underneath my armpit and hurriedly head out the room. By the time I make it outside, I feel my heart beating against my chest.
Wow…I did that. I just freaking did that. And if felt fucking amazing! Normally, I would have felt the shame right after pulling a stunt like that, but I don’t feel bad and Mom should know.
She should know that it is a lie, because she knows, or should know, that my cycle starts at the beginning of the month, not in the middle.
Shouldn’t a mother know when her daughter’s cycle is? I’m sure when Darcy eventually gets her period, Mom won’t forget that.
So, shame on her for forgetting when I get my period; she deserves that lie. I am not on my period; in fact I am as clean as a whistle down there.
Xander probably wouldn’t be happy about that either; but what can I say, I douche regularly.
My clutch vibrates underneath my arm; it reminds me of Daniels asking me to check my phone. I take out my phone mid-buzz while walking toward the bathrooms at the end of the hallway.
I’ve missed three calls and received ten text messages, all from Xander.
What the fuck does he want? I think while turning into the ladies bathroom. It’s one of those bathrooms that has no door, but there’s a curved passageway before you actually get to the toilet stalls. I check each stall for the cleanest one and pick the last one, which is the handicapped stall. The toilet has a seat cover, which is great, because I need to sit. My feet are killing me. Six-inch heels are no joke.
I don’t rock heels that often, maybe a couple of times a year. I’m more a running or tennis shoe girl. That’s not to dog my brand new fab BCBG heels; I’m just saying what my feet prefer, and what my body can handle more on a daily basis, are flat shoes.
I sit on the toilet seat cover and unlock my iPhone. The time is 9:15pm; Xander has called me three times, once at 8pm, then 8:30pm, then again at 9pm. He probably called Daniels right after that to come and inform me to pick up his most important phone call.
What the hell does he want now? Does he want to know how dirty my thong is and if I got any lady juices on them yet? That disgusting prick! He won’t let up on this shit!
I check his messages.
Xander: 7:30
I can’t wait….
Xander 7:32
Answer me…
Xander: 7:50
You know I always get what I want…I’ll be seeing you later…it’s a fact.
Xander: 8:10
Tried to call you….hope your dad’s party is going well…I’m having a good time too, a real good time…
Xander: 8:15
Tell me how good of a time you’re having…then I can tell you about mine…it’s so good right now…
Xander: 8:35
Why will you not answer your phone? I find it ridiculous that you can’t answer a simple phone call or text! I need a status update…when are you coming over?
