Tryst Six Venom, page 12
It’s down in my goddamn socks. These saddle shoes are vintage. If she fucked them up, I’ll make sure not even her lowlife brothers can protect her.
She digs in her locker—which is unfortunately in the same row, because Coach keeps lacrosse together—and I stalk over to the cabinet, pulling out a spare Polo.
“You know,” I tell her, fumbling with a clean shirt, “if you didn’t want everyone to see, then maybe you shouldn’t have been practically fucking her in public.”
“We weren’t fucking,” she growls, glaring at me. “As you, and everyone else clearly saw. I guess if I didn’t want people filming, I shouldn’t have expected as much as some simple manners from a stupid, useless cow.”
I slip my arms into the shirt. Stupid, useless…
But I pull it back off and throw it at her. “This should fit your fat tits. Take it.”
She catches it, and I yank another shirt out of the cabinet, making sure it’s a small.
She sets the shirt in her locker, checking her face in the mirror that hangs on the inside of the door. A trickle of dried blood coats the ridge of her ear, and I try not to look at her as she wipes it clean.
A tiny pang of guilt hits me, but I push it away. She made me bleed too, didn’t she? It’s not my fault she has to line metal up her ear with all her dumb piercings. She came at me first.
I lick the cut at the corner of my mouth again, glancing over and watching her throw the bloody wipe on the ground, her lips twisted in anger.
But the fury is in her eyes too, and I know she’s still upset.
I pause, confusion seeping through. I know I deserved her anger. I’d have been furious, too. And I honestly wasn’t going to post the video. That wasn’t my plan originally, but…
I grind my teeth together and close my eyes, blinking long and hard. Olivia kissed that girl everywhere. Everywhere.
I stare off into my locker, the bra like sandpaper on my skin. I peel it off, dropping it to the floor.
I mean, if I did that with my boyfriend in a public place, I’d be a slut, right? I might even get into trouble, because sluts don’t represent Marymount at lacrosse games.
Marymount girls are good girls. We’re discreet.
And now she knows.
I stand there, the air grazing my bare breasts as she digs in her locker.
She brushes down her blue, green, and black plaid skirt as chills spread across my body. She tightens her high ponytail, fluffing up the messy hair and smoothing out the loose tendrils that hang around her ears, the posts and small rings there glinting in the lights as the flesh of my nipples hardens.
I can’t look at her, but I see everything.
She stops moving and lets her head fall, both of us breathing in sync. Quiet and alone, but so crowded.
“Why do you want me to hurt you?” she asks, her voice suddenly soft.
I don’t blink.
Why?
Why?
My chin trembles. Because…at least it’s something.
At least I have that.
My brother’s picture hangs inside my locker door, and I absently rub my thumb over the faint, hidden tattoo on the inside of my middle finger. He would’ve been fourteen this month.
My insides shake, and I grab the prescription bottle, tapping out a ten-milligram blue pill. I pop it into my mouth, the bitter dust starting to dissolve on my tongue before I swallow.
I pull out a clean sports bra and pull it over my head, followed by the shirt as she takes off her dirty one. And I can’t help but look.
The contours of her stomach are tight and smooth, and I slide my eyes down her legs, the curves on the backs of her thighs mesmerizing.
But then she holds her hand out to me, and I look up, seeing a package of wet wipes. I stare.
“You want them or not?” she barks.
“Piss off.”
And she throws it. The package hits the side of my head, and I growl, letting it fall to the ground.
“There’s a drop of blood on the back of your neck, dumbass,” she tells me.
I almost laugh. What? Does she feel guilty about hurting me or something? It’s not like she should. I got her good this morning, didn’t I? That video had eighty-five-thousand views before I took it down at three a.m.
But, of course, by then it had already done its damage. What’s on the internet stays on the internet somewhere.
Jesus, what did I do?
I grab the package off the ground and pull out a wipe. “Where?”
She pauses a moment, staring at her locker, and then stalks over, taking it out of my hand. Pushing me back around, she wipes off whatever is on my neck, and my thighs are burning with her touch. God…
“It’s going to take every ounce of pull I have to protect you,” she says. “You know that?”
Protect me?
“Once my brothers find out what you did,” she warns, “their women will rebuild your fucking face.”
“I’m not scared of Tryst Six,” I say over my shoulder.
My father eats that side of town for breakfast.
But then I hear the click of her blade behind me, and I stop breathing.
“Take out your phone,” she tells me.
“What for?”
I turn around, meeting her eyes, both of us eye to eye.
Her arm hangs at her side, the blade in her hand. “Do it.” She cocks her head, calm. “I’m sure you have notifications by now.”
Notif—
What did she do?
I quickly turn around and grab my phone out of the locker, turning it back on.
It lights up, loads, and in a moment, I hear dings and see tabs pop up.
Clicking on one, I watch as YouTube loads, my heart pounding hard as the same video I posted—and deleted—starts playing again. The jewelry in Olivia’s ear glimmers in the moonlight, and her flowing, white tank top makes her slender neck look warm and tan as she bends it back for the girl to kiss.
The account is registered to Vaudevillian Vix—not me—and it already has seven-thousand views.
I drop the wipes. “What did you do?” My eyes lock on her.
“You wanted it up, so it’s back up.”
“But I took it down,” I growl.
Goddammit, I took it down. I look back at my phone, scrolling the comments. Why would she do this? When did she do this? Before the fight? After?
“They won’t trace it back to you,” she assures, walking back to her locker and tossing the knife in. “It came from my phone.”
So why repost it then, if not to screw me over?
“Take it down.” I charge over to her. “Take it down now.”
I don’t want people to see this. It was a mistake.
“You’re not scared of Tryst Six?” She fixes her lip gloss in the mirror, extra red against her black shirt and black hair. “Well, I’m not scared of you, baby. Do what you will. Leave it up—forever if it gets you off.” She turns and looks at me. “Every degrading comment and joke is for your pleasure, so enjoy it.”
Son of a bitch!
I push her aside and pull her phone out of her locker. “Take it down now.” I hold her phone out to her, but before she can take it, I pull it back and swipe the screen, trying to do it myself. “Unlock this!” I yell at her. “Goddamn it, Jaeger!”
She pushes me back into the locker and grabs her phone. “Scared now?” she taunts. “Huh? Feel violated when you’ve lost control of your property? How does that feel?”
I raise my hand, pointing in her face and shouting, “Take it down!”
But she grabs my wrists and twists them behind me, and I whimper at the ache as she backs me up into the lockers again.
“Because why?” she whispers in my face. “Say it. You’re afraid, aren’t you?”
I shake my head. She presses her forehead into mine hard, but I push back, giving as good as I get while I try to wrangle my hands free.
“You’re afraid, because your life is sad, and you want to gut anything that’s different.” Her breath falls on my lips, and I feel a light layer of sweat cover my back. “Anything that makes you feel strong, because at least it’s not dull, and it’s too painful not to feel, isn’t it? You’re afraid of me, because some day you’re going to wake up and remember that that video is still there, but I’m not, am I? I’m gone, living, and you’re not, because your brain is still in the fucking gutter.”
A sob lodges in my throat, and my body shakes.
She shakes her head at me. “You’re just afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” I tell her. “I’m…”
But I swallow, pushing the word back down my throat.
I’m… Tears fill my eyes, and I tighten every muscle in my body, forcing myself to get my shit together.
But I’m lost. She’s holding me, and I’m lost. She’s not leaving. Not in six months. Not ever!
She stares at me, and I clench my fists behind me as our noses brush and I hover a moment from her lips. “Livvy, I…”
She can’t disappear. Time will stop. It has to. I can’t see her go. I…
My mouth rests open, the need to feel her overtaking me. I can’t…
I can’t…
I can’t stand it. I touch her mouth.
I layer my lips with hers—grazing, brushing, inhaling as she stops breathing and I just feel her and feel every inch of my body suddenly burn like a firework about to pop.
And then, all at once, we’re in the shit.
She releases my hands, and we both grab onto each other as she pushes me into the lockers again, our arms and hands wrapping around one another as her mouth sinks into mine.
I moan. Yes. Fuck, yes.
Our legs thread together, the heat between her thighs hitting my center, and she slips her hands under my skirt, grabbing my ass through my panties as we go at each other, kissing and nibbling and grinding.
“Liv…” I whimper.
I lick her tongue and groan, kissing her hard and fierce and closing my eyes, because everything is spinning, and my body is on a roller coaster. I’m fucking flying right now.
She lifts my leg, and I can’t stop. Grinding and panting as I slip my hand up her shirt, pulling down her strap, so I can get my hand inside her bra. She dives down to my neck, and I tip my head back, letting her have it all. I want her. I want to feel her and kiss her and touch her everywhere.
Our lips come back together, again and again, eating each other up, kissing frantically. I brush her nipple, and my clit throbs.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” she whispers, shaken. “Are you kidding me right now?”
I know, all right? I know. I wasn’t afraid. I was…
Jealous. I’ve wanted this since we were freshmen, that first day we met, before the fighting started.
And when I knew she liked me, I was so happy, but…
Ashamed. Tears spike my eyelashes, even with as happy as I am right now. I was so ashamed.
She brings one hand up, grabs the back of my neck and takes my bottom lip between her teeth. I pause, savoring the fire blazing inside my body.
Our foreheads meet again. “We have to stop,” I murmur.
I fumble and squirm, trying to push her away, damn near wrecked because I’m aching for this. I don’t want to let her go.
But she doesn’t let me. “No,” she bites out in a whisper. Her mouth crashes down on mine again, and I can’t fight. I hold her head, soaking up how soft she is. How beautiful she smells and how hot her mouth is.
I barely notice as she lifts up my skirt and yanks down my panties just enough to bare my sex, but then she fiddles with her own clothes between us, and in a moment, she’s on me. Her pussy rubs against mine, and I pull away from her mouth to moan as she grinds on me, the friction of our skin agonizing.
Agonizing but perfect. It’s hot and wet and…
She grips my ass, her head dipped into my shoulder as I wrap my arms around her neck and meet her rhythm, both of us fucking against the lockers.
“Ugh!” I cry out as she goes at me.
I’m consumed. This is what it feels like. This is what right feels like. It was always wrong before. Kissing someone. Letting them touch me. I never had that burn low in my belly.
I was never hungry.
Until her.
I sink into her mouth again, kissing, sucking, tasting…
At least there’s this. I thought hating her was enough. If I couldn’t have this, at least I had her attention. Even if it was bad.
At least I could destroy what I was going to lose anyway in three months when we graduated, and I couldn’t look at her every day anymore.
But God, I do hate her. Her smile and her red lips. The way she smudges her dumb eyeliner, making her eyes look smoky and captivating, and her wild hair that always looks like it flew through the wind before she put it up in a ponytail.
Her olive skin, how her bracelets make music every time she moves, her chipped, black nail polish, and those stupid biker boots with all the buckles she wears that make her legs so hard not to look at.
The way she rolls her skirt up, and I can’t pay attention in calculus.
I hate it all. How every part of her looks like it has a taste.
I whimper as our pace gets faster, and I feel and hear her breathe hard, in and out as the friction turns heavenly.
And this isn’t even all we can do to each other. “God,” I pant.
She hovers over my mouth. “Come to my shitty house tonight,” she demands. “Sweat with me between the sheets?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
I want to sneak out. Into a dark place with Olivia Jaeger and do things.
All night.
But then a voice pierces the air. “Oh, I know!” someone says.
I pop my eyes open, stopping. What?
Giggles and laughter follow, and I hear the creak of the locker room door.
Oh, shit. Ice courses down my veins as everything goes cold. This can’t…
I can’t…
Oh my God.
Another voice follows. “And then he was like…”
Fuck!
I push at Olivia. “Get off me.”
She stumbles back, and I reach under my skirt, pulling up my underwear.
Jesus Christ. I’m just a world of stupid today, aren’t I? Anyone could’ve seen us.
I step back over to my locker, avoiding Liv’s gaze as I check myself in the mirror, righting my clothes again and tightening my ponytail.
I see the wet wipes on the floor and kick the package back over to her.
Sweat seeps out of my pores as girls round the corner just in time, and I look up, seeing Amy and Krisjen.
They stop, bags slung over their shoulders as their eyes dart from me to Olivia, noticing us there.
“Hey,” Amy says.
Both of them stare at Liv, struggling to contain their smiles until Amy finally breaks down in laughter like the cat that ate the canary. Another punch of guilt hits me about the video. I cast a glance at Olivia and see her ignoring all of us as she pulls on a short, black leather jacket.
She won’t meet my eyes.
“Are you okay?” Krisjen asks me, giving my back a sympathetic brush of her hand as she passes to her locker.
The knots in my stomach start to ease. I don’t think anyone saw us.
The last time they saw me was when I was walked with Jaeger to the front office after the fight, so I’m sure they want to make sure I’m not in trouble.
“Are you kidding?” I steel my spine and swipe my finger under my eye, fixing my eyeliner. “Nothing is tastier than a piece of cake.”
They both laugh at my jibe, and I dart my eyes up again, finally catching Olivia’s.
Her head is turned toward me, staring at me with a mixture of pride and wrath.
Someone clears their throat, and I blink, seeing Amy turned toward Olivia.
“Would you mind?” Amy asks her.
Liv looks over her shoulder at her.
“I don’t feel comfortable changing in front of you,” Amy explains.
I clench my jaw.
But Liv remains silent.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to dull the embarrassment for Liv and tell Amy no one wants to look at her pancake nipples, but…
I don’t. Liv stands there for a moment, as if waiting for something, but I just ignore her and finish touching up my face.
Her locker door slams closed, and I jerk, seeing her move out of the corner of my eye and walk toward me.
She strolls past, knocking my shoulder with hers as she goes. “Don’t cross the tracks.”
And then she’s gone, her threat hanging in the air as the locker room fills with the P.E. class coming in.
I almost laugh. She’s rescinding her invitation for Night Tide, I guess.
Lucky for her, I love getting on her bad side.
“CLAY.”
I draw in a breath, pulling my head out of the clouds where it always seems to be now, and turn around.
“Take these to the kitchen,” my mother says.
I take the tray, the empty bowls on top clanking together as I carry them away.
Fondue with Father is one of the many dumb alliteration-inspired events Omega Chi sponsors every year, members of the alumni never missing an opportunity to sweep back into town to support the sorority and the school.
And maybe show off that new Birkin, of course.
I toss a glance over my shoulder, seeing poor Father McNealty drowning in a sea of moms, daughters, aunts, and grandmothers, all of them wanting to hear about how that new collection of first editions to the library they donated is making all the difference, or if their ‘hefty’ contribution was used to buy new buses or the latest computers.
The latest computers… I shake my head, dropping the tray onto the counter and hearing a dish break just as I turn and leave. I keep walking.
The best athletic equipment, the highest-quality organic food in the cafeteria, the most state-of-the-art science lab…
On-site tutors, language learning, counseling, and college prep.
Liv Jaeger benefits heavily from the people she loves to look down on. Her family makes no donations, and although our tuition is steep, it would never be enough to cover the overhead Marymount incurs if you figure in utilities, taxes, salaries, staff… These women here, however shallow to her, are necessary to the success of the school that helped her get into fucking Dartmouth.
She digs in her locker—which is unfortunately in the same row, because Coach keeps lacrosse together—and I stalk over to the cabinet, pulling out a spare Polo.
“You know,” I tell her, fumbling with a clean shirt, “if you didn’t want everyone to see, then maybe you shouldn’t have been practically fucking her in public.”
“We weren’t fucking,” she growls, glaring at me. “As you, and everyone else clearly saw. I guess if I didn’t want people filming, I shouldn’t have expected as much as some simple manners from a stupid, useless cow.”
I slip my arms into the shirt. Stupid, useless…
But I pull it back off and throw it at her. “This should fit your fat tits. Take it.”
She catches it, and I yank another shirt out of the cabinet, making sure it’s a small.
She sets the shirt in her locker, checking her face in the mirror that hangs on the inside of the door. A trickle of dried blood coats the ridge of her ear, and I try not to look at her as she wipes it clean.
A tiny pang of guilt hits me, but I push it away. She made me bleed too, didn’t she? It’s not my fault she has to line metal up her ear with all her dumb piercings. She came at me first.
I lick the cut at the corner of my mouth again, glancing over and watching her throw the bloody wipe on the ground, her lips twisted in anger.
But the fury is in her eyes too, and I know she’s still upset.
I pause, confusion seeping through. I know I deserved her anger. I’d have been furious, too. And I honestly wasn’t going to post the video. That wasn’t my plan originally, but…
I grind my teeth together and close my eyes, blinking long and hard. Olivia kissed that girl everywhere. Everywhere.
I stare off into my locker, the bra like sandpaper on my skin. I peel it off, dropping it to the floor.
I mean, if I did that with my boyfriend in a public place, I’d be a slut, right? I might even get into trouble, because sluts don’t represent Marymount at lacrosse games.
Marymount girls are good girls. We’re discreet.
And now she knows.
I stand there, the air grazing my bare breasts as she digs in her locker.
She brushes down her blue, green, and black plaid skirt as chills spread across my body. She tightens her high ponytail, fluffing up the messy hair and smoothing out the loose tendrils that hang around her ears, the posts and small rings there glinting in the lights as the flesh of my nipples hardens.
I can’t look at her, but I see everything.
She stops moving and lets her head fall, both of us breathing in sync. Quiet and alone, but so crowded.
“Why do you want me to hurt you?” she asks, her voice suddenly soft.
I don’t blink.
Why?
Why?
My chin trembles. Because…at least it’s something.
At least I have that.
My brother’s picture hangs inside my locker door, and I absently rub my thumb over the faint, hidden tattoo on the inside of my middle finger. He would’ve been fourteen this month.
My insides shake, and I grab the prescription bottle, tapping out a ten-milligram blue pill. I pop it into my mouth, the bitter dust starting to dissolve on my tongue before I swallow.
I pull out a clean sports bra and pull it over my head, followed by the shirt as she takes off her dirty one. And I can’t help but look.
The contours of her stomach are tight and smooth, and I slide my eyes down her legs, the curves on the backs of her thighs mesmerizing.
But then she holds her hand out to me, and I look up, seeing a package of wet wipes. I stare.
“You want them or not?” she barks.
“Piss off.”
And she throws it. The package hits the side of my head, and I growl, letting it fall to the ground.
“There’s a drop of blood on the back of your neck, dumbass,” she tells me.
I almost laugh. What? Does she feel guilty about hurting me or something? It’s not like she should. I got her good this morning, didn’t I? That video had eighty-five-thousand views before I took it down at three a.m.
But, of course, by then it had already done its damage. What’s on the internet stays on the internet somewhere.
Jesus, what did I do?
I grab the package off the ground and pull out a wipe. “Where?”
She pauses a moment, staring at her locker, and then stalks over, taking it out of my hand. Pushing me back around, she wipes off whatever is on my neck, and my thighs are burning with her touch. God…
“It’s going to take every ounce of pull I have to protect you,” she says. “You know that?”
Protect me?
“Once my brothers find out what you did,” she warns, “their women will rebuild your fucking face.”
“I’m not scared of Tryst Six,” I say over my shoulder.
My father eats that side of town for breakfast.
But then I hear the click of her blade behind me, and I stop breathing.
“Take out your phone,” she tells me.
“What for?”
I turn around, meeting her eyes, both of us eye to eye.
Her arm hangs at her side, the blade in her hand. “Do it.” She cocks her head, calm. “I’m sure you have notifications by now.”
Notif—
What did she do?
I quickly turn around and grab my phone out of the locker, turning it back on.
It lights up, loads, and in a moment, I hear dings and see tabs pop up.
Clicking on one, I watch as YouTube loads, my heart pounding hard as the same video I posted—and deleted—starts playing again. The jewelry in Olivia’s ear glimmers in the moonlight, and her flowing, white tank top makes her slender neck look warm and tan as she bends it back for the girl to kiss.
The account is registered to Vaudevillian Vix—not me—and it already has seven-thousand views.
I drop the wipes. “What did you do?” My eyes lock on her.
“You wanted it up, so it’s back up.”
“But I took it down,” I growl.
Goddammit, I took it down. I look back at my phone, scrolling the comments. Why would she do this? When did she do this? Before the fight? After?
“They won’t trace it back to you,” she assures, walking back to her locker and tossing the knife in. “It came from my phone.”
So why repost it then, if not to screw me over?
“Take it down.” I charge over to her. “Take it down now.”
I don’t want people to see this. It was a mistake.
“You’re not scared of Tryst Six?” She fixes her lip gloss in the mirror, extra red against her black shirt and black hair. “Well, I’m not scared of you, baby. Do what you will. Leave it up—forever if it gets you off.” She turns and looks at me. “Every degrading comment and joke is for your pleasure, so enjoy it.”
Son of a bitch!
I push her aside and pull her phone out of her locker. “Take it down now.” I hold her phone out to her, but before she can take it, I pull it back and swipe the screen, trying to do it myself. “Unlock this!” I yell at her. “Goddamn it, Jaeger!”
She pushes me back into the locker and grabs her phone. “Scared now?” she taunts. “Huh? Feel violated when you’ve lost control of your property? How does that feel?”
I raise my hand, pointing in her face and shouting, “Take it down!”
But she grabs my wrists and twists them behind me, and I whimper at the ache as she backs me up into the lockers again.
“Because why?” she whispers in my face. “Say it. You’re afraid, aren’t you?”
I shake my head. She presses her forehead into mine hard, but I push back, giving as good as I get while I try to wrangle my hands free.
“You’re afraid, because your life is sad, and you want to gut anything that’s different.” Her breath falls on my lips, and I feel a light layer of sweat cover my back. “Anything that makes you feel strong, because at least it’s not dull, and it’s too painful not to feel, isn’t it? You’re afraid of me, because some day you’re going to wake up and remember that that video is still there, but I’m not, am I? I’m gone, living, and you’re not, because your brain is still in the fucking gutter.”
A sob lodges in my throat, and my body shakes.
She shakes her head at me. “You’re just afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” I tell her. “I’m…”
But I swallow, pushing the word back down my throat.
I’m… Tears fill my eyes, and I tighten every muscle in my body, forcing myself to get my shit together.
But I’m lost. She’s holding me, and I’m lost. She’s not leaving. Not in six months. Not ever!
She stares at me, and I clench my fists behind me as our noses brush and I hover a moment from her lips. “Livvy, I…”
She can’t disappear. Time will stop. It has to. I can’t see her go. I…
My mouth rests open, the need to feel her overtaking me. I can’t…
I can’t…
I can’t stand it. I touch her mouth.
I layer my lips with hers—grazing, brushing, inhaling as she stops breathing and I just feel her and feel every inch of my body suddenly burn like a firework about to pop.
And then, all at once, we’re in the shit.
She releases my hands, and we both grab onto each other as she pushes me into the lockers again, our arms and hands wrapping around one another as her mouth sinks into mine.
I moan. Yes. Fuck, yes.
Our legs thread together, the heat between her thighs hitting my center, and she slips her hands under my skirt, grabbing my ass through my panties as we go at each other, kissing and nibbling and grinding.
“Liv…” I whimper.
I lick her tongue and groan, kissing her hard and fierce and closing my eyes, because everything is spinning, and my body is on a roller coaster. I’m fucking flying right now.
She lifts my leg, and I can’t stop. Grinding and panting as I slip my hand up her shirt, pulling down her strap, so I can get my hand inside her bra. She dives down to my neck, and I tip my head back, letting her have it all. I want her. I want to feel her and kiss her and touch her everywhere.
Our lips come back together, again and again, eating each other up, kissing frantically. I brush her nipple, and my clit throbs.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” she whispers, shaken. “Are you kidding me right now?”
I know, all right? I know. I wasn’t afraid. I was…
Jealous. I’ve wanted this since we were freshmen, that first day we met, before the fighting started.
And when I knew she liked me, I was so happy, but…
Ashamed. Tears spike my eyelashes, even with as happy as I am right now. I was so ashamed.
She brings one hand up, grabs the back of my neck and takes my bottom lip between her teeth. I pause, savoring the fire blazing inside my body.
Our foreheads meet again. “We have to stop,” I murmur.
I fumble and squirm, trying to push her away, damn near wrecked because I’m aching for this. I don’t want to let her go.
But she doesn’t let me. “No,” she bites out in a whisper. Her mouth crashes down on mine again, and I can’t fight. I hold her head, soaking up how soft she is. How beautiful she smells and how hot her mouth is.
I barely notice as she lifts up my skirt and yanks down my panties just enough to bare my sex, but then she fiddles with her own clothes between us, and in a moment, she’s on me. Her pussy rubs against mine, and I pull away from her mouth to moan as she grinds on me, the friction of our skin agonizing.
Agonizing but perfect. It’s hot and wet and…
She grips my ass, her head dipped into my shoulder as I wrap my arms around her neck and meet her rhythm, both of us fucking against the lockers.
“Ugh!” I cry out as she goes at me.
I’m consumed. This is what it feels like. This is what right feels like. It was always wrong before. Kissing someone. Letting them touch me. I never had that burn low in my belly.
I was never hungry.
Until her.
I sink into her mouth again, kissing, sucking, tasting…
At least there’s this. I thought hating her was enough. If I couldn’t have this, at least I had her attention. Even if it was bad.
At least I could destroy what I was going to lose anyway in three months when we graduated, and I couldn’t look at her every day anymore.
But God, I do hate her. Her smile and her red lips. The way she smudges her dumb eyeliner, making her eyes look smoky and captivating, and her wild hair that always looks like it flew through the wind before she put it up in a ponytail.
Her olive skin, how her bracelets make music every time she moves, her chipped, black nail polish, and those stupid biker boots with all the buckles she wears that make her legs so hard not to look at.
The way she rolls her skirt up, and I can’t pay attention in calculus.
I hate it all. How every part of her looks like it has a taste.
I whimper as our pace gets faster, and I feel and hear her breathe hard, in and out as the friction turns heavenly.
And this isn’t even all we can do to each other. “God,” I pant.
She hovers over my mouth. “Come to my shitty house tonight,” she demands. “Sweat with me between the sheets?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
I want to sneak out. Into a dark place with Olivia Jaeger and do things.
All night.
But then a voice pierces the air. “Oh, I know!” someone says.
I pop my eyes open, stopping. What?
Giggles and laughter follow, and I hear the creak of the locker room door.
Oh, shit. Ice courses down my veins as everything goes cold. This can’t…
I can’t…
Oh my God.
Another voice follows. “And then he was like…”
Fuck!
I push at Olivia. “Get off me.”
She stumbles back, and I reach under my skirt, pulling up my underwear.
Jesus Christ. I’m just a world of stupid today, aren’t I? Anyone could’ve seen us.
I step back over to my locker, avoiding Liv’s gaze as I check myself in the mirror, righting my clothes again and tightening my ponytail.
I see the wet wipes on the floor and kick the package back over to her.
Sweat seeps out of my pores as girls round the corner just in time, and I look up, seeing Amy and Krisjen.
They stop, bags slung over their shoulders as their eyes dart from me to Olivia, noticing us there.
“Hey,” Amy says.
Both of them stare at Liv, struggling to contain their smiles until Amy finally breaks down in laughter like the cat that ate the canary. Another punch of guilt hits me about the video. I cast a glance at Olivia and see her ignoring all of us as she pulls on a short, black leather jacket.
She won’t meet my eyes.
“Are you okay?” Krisjen asks me, giving my back a sympathetic brush of her hand as she passes to her locker.
The knots in my stomach start to ease. I don’t think anyone saw us.
The last time they saw me was when I was walked with Jaeger to the front office after the fight, so I’m sure they want to make sure I’m not in trouble.
“Are you kidding?” I steel my spine and swipe my finger under my eye, fixing my eyeliner. “Nothing is tastier than a piece of cake.”
They both laugh at my jibe, and I dart my eyes up again, finally catching Olivia’s.
Her head is turned toward me, staring at me with a mixture of pride and wrath.
Someone clears their throat, and I blink, seeing Amy turned toward Olivia.
“Would you mind?” Amy asks her.
Liv looks over her shoulder at her.
“I don’t feel comfortable changing in front of you,” Amy explains.
I clench my jaw.
But Liv remains silent.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to dull the embarrassment for Liv and tell Amy no one wants to look at her pancake nipples, but…
I don’t. Liv stands there for a moment, as if waiting for something, but I just ignore her and finish touching up my face.
Her locker door slams closed, and I jerk, seeing her move out of the corner of my eye and walk toward me.
She strolls past, knocking my shoulder with hers as she goes. “Don’t cross the tracks.”
And then she’s gone, her threat hanging in the air as the locker room fills with the P.E. class coming in.
I almost laugh. She’s rescinding her invitation for Night Tide, I guess.
Lucky for her, I love getting on her bad side.
“CLAY.”
I draw in a breath, pulling my head out of the clouds where it always seems to be now, and turn around.
“Take these to the kitchen,” my mother says.
I take the tray, the empty bowls on top clanking together as I carry them away.
Fondue with Father is one of the many dumb alliteration-inspired events Omega Chi sponsors every year, members of the alumni never missing an opportunity to sweep back into town to support the sorority and the school.
And maybe show off that new Birkin, of course.
I toss a glance over my shoulder, seeing poor Father McNealty drowning in a sea of moms, daughters, aunts, and grandmothers, all of them wanting to hear about how that new collection of first editions to the library they donated is making all the difference, or if their ‘hefty’ contribution was used to buy new buses or the latest computers.
The latest computers… I shake my head, dropping the tray onto the counter and hearing a dish break just as I turn and leave. I keep walking.
The best athletic equipment, the highest-quality organic food in the cafeteria, the most state-of-the-art science lab…
On-site tutors, language learning, counseling, and college prep.
Liv Jaeger benefits heavily from the people she loves to look down on. Her family makes no donations, and although our tuition is steep, it would never be enough to cover the overhead Marymount incurs if you figure in utilities, taxes, salaries, staff… These women here, however shallow to her, are necessary to the success of the school that helped her get into fucking Dartmouth.
