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If it weren’t obvious that they were undergarments, they might be kind of hot.
“I could make it for you,” she says. “But better.”
She moves in, placing a hand on my tummy, and I ignore the skip in my heart.
“Maybe a little see-through here with some embroidery,” she explains, “piece them together, and add some layering to give it dimension. Tighten up the bodice with some light and subtle gold and pink accents to complement the shoes…”
I envision it in my head as we look at me in the mirror.
For some reason, I have no doubt she’ll pull it off if I let her, and I’d even love it.
If I let her.
She turns her eyes on me again, standing in front of me and looking up and down my attire. “We can keep it this same shade of white. It’s a perfect color, really.” She meets my eyes, looking at me dead-on. “You won’t even see the cum stain when he drunk-ejacs all over you in the back seat of the car after the ball,” she says.
The ever-present knot in my stomach pulls tighter, and I hold her gaze, unfaltering. Excuse me?
“Because ladies in your world don’t talk about those things.” A smile curls the corner of her mouth as she inches in, whispering, “You just go home in tears and do things with a pulsating showerhead that God didn’t intend for sweet, little southern girls to do, right?”
My blood runs ice cold, and I grit my teeth, the heat of her breath an inch away, falling across my lips as I curl my fingers into fists.
“Try it tonight,” she says, staring at my mouth. “You might like it.”
She snatches the dress out of my hand, and I suck in a breath as I watch her not miss a beat as she steps backward off the riser and leaves.
God, I hate her. I watch her disappear, no comeback or witty response spilling out of my mouth before she’s gone, and I’m left standing there and feeling stupid.
Drunk-ejacs... Is she serious? I don’t even have a detachable showerhead.
I raise my eyes to the mirror again, the excitement I want to feel for the ball or the prom or anything coming out as nothing but a hard beat in my chest that makes me sick instead. And it’s almost like she knows that. Like she knows something’s wrong.
Liv Jaeger has been a bloody nuisance since the day I met her, but sometimes I’m not even sure what bugs me so much about her. She stays in her lane, doesn’t she?
But I love pushing her. I love it like nothing else.
Tearing off the undergarments and kicking them to the side, I dig in my bag for the Valium and tap out two pills into my hand. Throwing my head back, I pop them into my mouth and dry swallow before quickly dressing.
I have to get out of here.
Pulling my gray hoodie out of my bag, I slip it on and take my gear, creeping out to the lobby. My mom stands out front on the sidewalk, conversing rather robustly on the phone still. Someone must not be down with the whole crêpe idea, I guess.
I sneak out through the back, pushing through the alley door and don’t see Lavinia or Liv as I make my escape.
Pulling out my Evian bottle, I finish off the rest of the vodka, tossing it into a dumpster as I pass.
I hate her. The ball will be special. I’ll have fun. This is who I am.
I’m lucky.
I inhale, filling my lungs as I pull my hood up and put my head down, moving through the dark streets. I turn off my phone, so my mom can’t track me, and tuck my hands in my center pocket.
I cross Bainbridge Park, spotting a couple of guys loitering by the bathrooms. The skateboarder who sells smack nods to me, and I nod back, passing him. I head down the hill to Edward Street.
Stopping in front of the large, cream-colored stucco house decorated like a cottage, I look around and see the empty, dim street, lit only by lamplight. No cars drive through the neighborhood. All the families inside their homes.
Pulling my hood lower, I sneak around the side of the house, see the basement light on, and squat down, pushing open one of the windows, slipping inside before I’m spotted.
I step down, the freezers cooling the room, making chills break out across my legs, and my nostrils instantly sting at the scent of the cleaning liquids used in here regularly.
I rub my thumb over the small tattoo on the inside of my finger, feeling like I’m exhaling for the first time all day. It’s weird how that smell has become a comfort. Thanks to fantastic ventilation and industrial strength deodorizers, I wouldn’t even know there was a ‘decomp’ in the cooler right now if I hadn’t been here when he arrived a couple days ago.
