Page 8 of The Price Of Possession

“Drinks?” I ask the boys. I mask my inconsolable gloom with a fake smile. They nod, chatting and trot off to the keg leaving me to my own thoughts.

Clara. age ten.

The faucet drips water droplets into the chipped porcelain sink. The smell of mildew and musk fill my nostrils. I hate it here. I wish I could still fit under the bed and hide in my secret hide out. I can escape the world down there. Now, I'm too big and Mama says I have to hide in the bathroom. She says sometimes her friends aren't nice. So, I sit on the edge of the tub and draw pictures in my notepad. I love to draw. When I would play with barbies, I loved dressing them up. Now, I love drawing outfits on my paper; it would be so fun to make clothes. When Mama let me go to school, she let me join the theater. I used to make costumes for the other kids. That was fun. Then we had to move again.

A loud bang reverberates the walls and I hear Mama cry again. A loud shout pierces my ears. “I said more, bitch!”

She told me to cover my ears if it gets loud, so I do. I hate when they scream. I wish I could help Mama. She says we have no money and that's why we move a lot. Maybe if I get a job, we can get a nice house for ourselves. One with a pretty white fence and a puppy.

I weave through the endless stream of people. Vesper is tethered against Zain on his lap. He has a vise-like grip on her hips. The same inscrutable expression he wears is enough to keep anyone from approaching her. Not me, though.

“Clara!” Her eyes light up when she spots me. My eyes trail over her tight black skirt with bralette. “Goddamn. No wonder he's holding you hostage,” I wink.

She smiles wide. “Yeah, well.” She shrugs. “Let's just say I've found myself these last few weeks. I'm no longer ashamed.”

I smile, but it doesn't reach my eyes. I'm elated for her but can't somehow stop feeling sorry for myself. She knows exactly who she is. What's that like? To have everything you want. To erase your past trauma. To have everything figured out. Deep down, I know I'll always be a broke nobody. You can put lipstick on a pig, but at the end of the day, it's still a pig. I've worked so hard with little to show for it. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to swim. Right now I'm treading water, barely able to stay afloat. “I’m so happy for you.”

Zain pulls Vesper tighter against his chest in a crushing hug. He whispers something in her ear that makes her eyes light up. I already know this scene doesn't suit either of them. They both prefer solitude.

“We're going to head upstairs for a movie night. I want to catch up soon. I have so much to talk to you about. Coffee date tomorrow?” she asks. She knows I have endless questions about that ring along with how she's been since her father’s death.

I raise a brow. “Zain? Movie night?” I snort. The dude has serial killer vibes all day. His eyes snap to me with a hardened playful stare.

I roll my eyes and nod at Vesper. I'm still grappling with losing my best friend. I feel like I'm trapped in a prison, unable to escape the treacherous loneliness. She gives me a hug before they disappear upstairs together, leaving me alone.

I scan the room while I wait for the boys to grab drinks. My eyes meet the devil in disguise. Kieran. He's looking like a beautiful nightmare fanned out on the couch. Two women are fawning over him. One is draped over his neck. Her knees are bent on the couch facing him as if she serves him, as if he's a fucking God. Another is unbuttoning his jeans. My stomach sours. A look of pure fevered delirium of pleasure is etched over his face. I'm transfixed, unable to look away. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what he was doing with her. I remember the same look after he finished me with. I have no idea why it pisses me off. He's a pretentious asshole who is full of himself. He lacks the ability to care about anyone but himself. Empathy and compassion are foreign to him.

Chase Atlantic–Now, booms through the speakers behind me. The flickering fireplace dances in the far corner. Endless streams of bodies sway to the song and my vision hazes into a euphoric state from the pills Val gave me. Val's hand brushes my stray hairs away. He plants a kiss on my neck from behind. My gaze snaps away from Kieran. “Here, gorgeous,” Val winks. He hands me a red solo cup filled with a mystery liquid.

Silas leans against the arched wall frame. His eyes snake over my outfit like a hungry wolf. I purposely chose something that would attract attention. A tight, laced black corset with a red velvet choker. A cream sweater is wrapped over my shoulders. I kept it simple with a white skirt and chunky block heels. The way the boys are all over me, I'd say it didn't disappoint.

I dare look over my shoulder at Kieran. His eyes are narrowed into a tight crescent. My vision blurs and bliss fills my core as the drugs take hold. Val takes the cue to rove his hands on my skin, leaving a scalding trail in his wake. He removes my sweater. This feeling I'm desperate to cling onto is always short lived. I would run until I'm out of breath and my lungs burst just to walk in a peaceful delirium. Each touch along my body is electric, sending jolts of pleasure through my central nervous system. “You love to be used,” Val rasps. It's not a question, but a statement of truth. A crushing pain falls over me like a weight at his words.

Clara. Age sixteen.

My cheek scrapes along the detailed rug beneath me. Reed's body is molded to my backside. Another rich asshole with a thick wallet. His fingers dig into my scalp with a stinging throb. He pulls at my crown as he rams deep inside of me; it hurts but the pain is welcome. He grunts and slams into me with such force I see stars—or it could be the fact I haven't eaten again. The coffee table next to us rattles sending pictures, trinkets and coasters toppling to the hardwood floor. I knew what I was getting into. Reeds 3 AM calls only come with one thing. Aggression. The other girls can't handle it. Each hammered thrust reminds me I'm alive.

“You love to be used,” he rasps, fisting my hair so hard I feel a few strands pop out of place. A quiet string of tears trickle down my cheek, landing on the rug. I focus on the delicate patterns, numbing myself from the ache. It's like a deep incision that never heals. This perpetual cycle of sex, drugs, and abuse.

Another day. I'm alive. That's good, right?

My fingernails dig into my palm. I silence my cries. I've learned to swallow my feelings over the years. I had to. Nothing ever became of the weak, Mama said. Those endless dreams of a white picket fence and a home are long shattered. I'm a woman now, with a woman's body, Mama told me. It doesn't take long for Reed to finish. Unfortunately for me, I won't get to cum. Reed is a one hit wonder. He has no clue how to please a woman. Doesn't matter, I'm not here for self-pleasure. How he manages to get any women under him is a flipping miracle. It must be why he pays me so well for it.

I feel him pulse inside the condom then he collapses on my back, crushing me under his weight. He's a big guy–in more ways than one. It's a shame he doesn't know how to use it.

I concentrate on the carpet, the carved end table, the damn frosted glass windows.

Anything other than Reed. Of course I've thought about ignoring his calls entirely. Some sick part of me though demands I deserve it. Every last drop of pain he delivers keeps me numb. It's a way to punish myself for not being good enough.

Tears streak down Clara's face. I know that hazed look. She buries her skeletons into her depths like a hidden secret. She is a haunted beauty in sublime ruin; she's laceratingly fragile. Val's hands on her body sends a jolt of frenzied destruction through my system. I hate the way he looks at her. My fists clench at my sides. If she wants to fill their voracious appetites, I shouldn't give a fuck, but I fucking do.

I refuse to relinquish her. I'm close to the edge of insanity. Shit, I'm already there. Before I can second guess myself, I spring forward from my seat. Nyla and the other nameless bitch fall to the floor in a drug induced heap. I don't give a shit. Never do. I act now, think later. My mantra. Zain tells me it's impulsive and reckless. Alcohol and weed don't help my cause.

I bust Val straight in the teeth. He falls backward, blood flying from his lip. My knuckles instantly ache, but the stinging pain is welcome. The music stops. All eyes fall on me. “What the fuck?!” He shoves my chest, but I don't budge. Perks of being a big motherfucker. Silas keeps to himself. Smart. Crossing me wouldn't be wise.

“She doesn't want your filthy hands on her, man. Who said you could talk to her?! She's drunk off her ass. Did you give her pills?” I don’t know why I accuse him or why I give a shit. I know he did. I do the same shit without a single ounce of remorse. It's what we do. Drugs and sex. No one says shit to us Elites.

“Goddamn, bro. If you wanted to share all you had to do was ask!” he shouts, raising his hands in defense. Blood coats his white shirt and dark jeans. He wipes the blood on his shirt sleeve.