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Chapter 8
JADE
Pure bliss, to be in full control of our minds, to have a grip on our emotions, and be aware of our behaviors. It is a state of being that makes you feel complete and eternal happiness. It’s all anyone aspires to reach.
All except me.
I thrive on the hindering feelings of anxiousness and despair. I prefer the sensation of losing all inhibitions, my mind going hazy, and not having to worry about the judgments and unsolicited opinions associated with my less-than-ideal upbringing. The only thing that makes me feel anything other than complete numbness, lies at the bottom of a bottle. I understand drinking away your woes isn’t the most efficient of coping mechanisms, but it’s the one that seems to work for me, at least in the moment.
I sway back and forth to the rhythm of the music blaring from the speakers above, bottle of gin in my hand as a blurry Stella and Ruby follow my movements in perfect synchrony. This is the only way I can find any sense of normalcy nowadays, to be completely out of my usual element. Suffocating in a tumultuous crowd, drowning my sorrows in a bottle of liquor, and hoping to wash away the underlying fear and agony that seem to be the only feelings I can’t get rid of.
“I need another drink,” Ruby shouts out, barely audibly over the screams emanating from Halsey as she sings about how glad she is to never have had a baby with her ex-lover. I lift the bottle in my hand, but she cringes, shaking her head, “Absolutely not, you know I’m a vodka gal, besides, I need a smoke.” She turns to look quizzically at Stella who watches us with glossy eyes and sweat dripping from her strawberry blond curls. Have to give the girl some credit, she’s learned to keep up with the two of us, though I’m not entirely sure that’s a good thing.
Stella raises her hands abruptly, “Oh no, you know I don’t smoke, I hate cigarettes,” she says, in dismissal of Ruby’s invitation.
Ruby flicks her slick black hair over her shoulder as she pulls a perfectly rolled joint out of her black, strapless, leather dress. “That’s not what I’m going out to smoke Stella,” she sneers, waving the joint in her hand. Stella’s eyes go wide, as she watches Ruby turn and stalk away like it’s the most normal thing to strut around with a join visibly in her grip.
“Wait,” she shouts, making Ruby halt in her tracks. The smug bitch turns back to us with a triumphant grin. “I’ve never...” Stella trails off.
“You don’t have to Stella,” I say, glaring at Ruby, giving her awhat the fuck are you thinking scowl.Though all the Red Dragon does is roll her eyes at me. “Ruby stop being a bad influence on her,” I add, bringing the bottle in my hand up to my mouth to take a long swig.
“Well, look who’s talking,” Ruby says, pointing at the now half empty bottle in my hand.
“Don’t worry Jade, I’ll just do it once, like a hit right?” Stella asks, genuinely curious and oblivious to the ins and outs of smoking weed.
“Yeah Jade, don’t worry, she’ll only take a hit.” Ruby’s sarcasm is evident in her voice, while a taunting smirk crosses her lips as she takes Stella under her arm and walks off toward the left side of the club exit leading out onto a patio used for smoking.
“Bitches,” I sneer, my drunk ass paying no attention to the fact that they left me in the middle of a crowded dance floor, alone. We came back out toTormentin Galen Grove, preferring the animosity of a crowded nightclub where not everyone in its vicinity goes to our school. Here we have locals, out of towners, and of course your regular privileged punks, but everyone is preoccupied by the bright lights, the intoxicating smell of smoke, musk, and alcohol, and the calamity of the music blaring all around us. Better than any old house party if you ask me, even if said house parties are thrown in multimillion dollar mansions.
Here there is no small talk, no snide glares, no jealous bitches watching our every move. In this environment we are nobody, and although my classmates continuously find the need to remind us of ournobody status, contrary to what they believe, we are their favorite outlet for entertainment and gossip. As much as they hate us, they sure as fuck love to talk about us.
The dance floor becomes overwhelmingly crowded, as my awareness of where I am begins to make me formidably anxious, and I immediately feel the urge to run away. Of course, I choose instead to take another swig of the liquor in my hand. Fuck, it definitely should be a problem if the gin tastes like water at this point, but I shrug it off. I’m about to walk off toward where Ruby and Stella ran off to when my song comes on. “Yes this is my song!” I shout out to no one in particular, and not one soul turns to look at me. Unable to resist, I begin to sway once again to my girl Madison Beer who essentially tells a guy to fuck off and that she will not be going home with him.
I move to the rhythm, running my hands up and down my body, feeling the sweat-clad skin of my stomach in my white strapless top and matching mini skirt. Yeah I have a banging body and damn right I flaunt it everyone be damned. Visions of Sebastian’s hands replacing mine cloud my drunken mind, taking over as flashbacks of us at the cabin, on New Year’s Eve, after Ace’s birthday party, and every time in between come rushing to me. Especially just last week when I ran to him and he fucked me like he never has fucked me before, hell better than I’ve ever been fucked. The way his rough hands gripped my waist, his lips trailed sensual circles around my neck, kissing, licking, and sucking my sensitive skin. But most importantly, the way he takes control of me, his hand wrapped around my neck, my arms restrained above my head, and my ass imprinted with the shape of his palm.
It makes my feministic values look like shit were anyone to ever find out how I like to be fucked, but feminism be damned. I’m a woman, I like sex, and I like it rough. Not to mention preferably by the dark haired, silver-eyed, brutal sex god.
Strong hands suddenly come around my waist covering mine as a hard, warm body comes up against me. Alarms start ringing in my head at the intrusion, but I’m too far gone to react. Especially when a thick erection forcefully pushes against my back. Instead of pulling away like I should, instead of turning and slapping the fucker for groping me, I give into the sensation of his arms wrapping around me and calloused hands roaming over my overly sensitive flesh. Hot breath blows across the nape of my neck as I lean back, giving him more access to do what I need him to do. I close my eyes ensuring I don’t catch a glimpse of my stranger and kill the mood, my mind envisioning Sebastian, and my body praying it were him.
“Fuck,” a deep moan escapes my mystery man’s lips and I feel it reverberate within every inch of me, sending electric currents through me like a car’s dead battery that just got jump started.
“Mhm,” I moan in response, allowing myself to fully give into the sensation of his lips which find the most sensitive spot of my neck, the dip right above my collarbone, and trailing around to my nape. His thick erection pushes deeper into me and has me practically panting in desperate arousal. “Yes,” I cry out softly, as his hands find the heated skin of my inner thigh, his right knuckles grazing me through my soaked thong. I can feel my wetness as it pushes against me, and practically come in the middle of the dance floor from the crass touches of a drunken stranger.
What the fuck am I doing?
I don’t get the chance to react to my own question, I don’t even get the chance to pull away before my lustful daydream bursts. “Such a naughty little slut aren’t you Little Wolf,” he growls out, deep and tantalizing making my skin curl in response.
Well fuck me.
It takes me all of five seconds, would have been two but I’m fucking wasted, before I turn and come face to face with my groper, and fuck me what a face. I should have stayed facing away from him, because everything I thought I was going to yell at him for doing what he just did to me in the middle of a crowded nightclub, is gone. Poof. Like I was never able to form a coherent thought or sentence. Deep gray eyes watch me with a prowess I’ve never seen before, lust mixed with rage. It’s fucking invigorating.
“Sebastian,” I whimper, like a fucking needy slut. God I hate that word. I mean don’t get me wrong I use it from time to time combined with the word whore, but mainly to insult girls like Kinsley Carlyle who forcefully try everything in their power to seduce a man that wants nothing to do with them, men that belong to another, but not because they’re just trying to get laid. I mean why should men be the only ones who get to have all the fun, finding random fucks everywhere they go. Why can’t we, modern day woman, fuck for fun.
“I’m no slut,” I add, my voice low and breathy sounding exactly like what I’m telling him I’m not.
He huffs, turning away from me for just a moment before speaking, “You’re grinding that sexy little ass, rubbing against a fucking stranger,” his hands move low to grip my ass, “letting him put his hands on that delectable little cunt, which might I add belongs to me,” he pushes in closer to me his erection gliding perfectly in between my legs, “in the middle of a crowded dance floor drunk out of your mind. Yet you want me to believe you’re no slut,” he sneers, his glare turning dark and mischievous.
I’m pissed, hell I’m fucking fuming, I swear if I were to look in the mirror I’d find smoke coming out of my nostrils, and fire out of my eyes at his crass words and groping. Even if it feels so fucking good to have his hands all over me, my thong soaking wet, and my nipples hard and visible in my top. He doesn’t get to come here, put his hands all over me, and call me a fucking slut, when he’s just as bad, actually way worse than me.
