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Chapter 3
JADE
New Year’s Eve
It was supposed to be one night.
One night of passion, one simple mistake, one moment of weakness, but a lifetime of regrets.
Because it wasn’t just one night, just like he said, one night would never have been enough. It’s been over a month, and in that month it’s happened countless times, though every time we say it will surely be the last.
We came to an agreement after the fourth time, once we both realized there was no way we were going to be able to stop. No talking, no feelings, just sex. Rough sex, dominant sex, surrender all control and submit to his command sex. Lucky for us, we both significantly lack in the feelings department. So it should be easy, right?
Though, from the moment I saw him tonight, standing there in his dapper three-piece suit, the lapels of his long wool coat perfectly ironed out and looking an awful lot like the star of Peaky Blinders, I was a goner. I love me some Cillian Murphy, but that’s beside the point.
I failed to follow my own set of rules, and tonight felt like another rule breaking day.
It didn’t help that Sebastian looked like the ultimate, charismatic gangster - a cold blooded murderer who despite all his transgressions, or considering them, is loved by many. His hair was the darkest shade of coal and combed perfectly to one side, his eyes like two daunting crystal balls giving me a glimpse into my turbulent future, and his demeanor was of a man quite sure of himself and of what he wanted, and tonight, I’m afraid that is me.
So I stood before him, a jumbled mess of wanton need and an overtly blaséattitude, terrified but overwhelmingly aroused. The way his eyes roamed my body from the tip of my knee-high, silver heeled boots to the cleavage bearing from the top of my sequined bodysuit, made my stomach flutter in need and my eyes cloud with lust. So naturally, I taunted him. Urging him to follow me and get a drink to find out how well I couldplay,like he claimed I was doing by mocking his compliment of my look.
You look so fucking good.
The way the last word sat on his tongue for longer than usual made my heart skip a goddamn beat.Pathetic. My usual no fucks given, stone cold bitch attitude turned into an overly bashful, goody two shoes little girl, well behaved and seemingly virtuous. That is until the promiscuous slut in me came out to play.
All it took was one look, one silver-eyed, provocative glance, one longing stare, and I transformed into a pile of raw nerves, feeling everything I've never felt before all at once. Fear, joy, anxiousness, calmness, confusion, excitement, desire, and worst of all relief. Something about the way he looks at me, like he sees further in, past the gorgeous, crystallized exterior into the hollow depths of bleak darkness and frigid temperatures. He seesme, and it’s relieving. To not have to fake who I am, pretend like I am not completely fucked in the head drowning in mountains of daddy issues and traumas and fear of abandonment. He understands, not sure how exactly as I know nothing of his past, but he does, and it’s relieving to know someone out there sees it too, feels it too. But that’s exactly why I should remain wary. To feel relief around someone is to let my guard down and letting my guard down will never be an option.
Which is why when Sebastian follows me out to the makeshift bar located on the front porch of Ace’s beach house, I make sure my wall is once again fortified, the crystal cage put in place, and the key securely safeguarded where it can never be found. However, I immediately sense that’s not the case with Sebastian Silver. His nearness sends a wave of desire to the sweet spot between my thighs making the hair on the back of my neck shoot up in awareness, and I’m not even drunk yet. That is dangerous.
As we reach the edge of the bar, a young kid standing behind the counter anxiously comes to meet us, his eyes wide as he looks between the two of us awaiting our order, but neither one of us speaks. I watch Sebastian as he casually leans back, resting his elbows on the counter, the sea of people behind him blending into the brightly lit and extravagantly decorated backdrop. “So darling, what will it take for you to let me bury myself in that sweet little cunt again?” Sebastian asks arrogantly, his shrewd eyes watching me awaiting a reaction. His eyes strain slightly as the sexiest smug grin appears on his freshly shaven face. Bastard, so calm, cool, and collected.
I don’t cave, I don’t give him what he wants, which is obviously some snide remark or infuriating tantrum. I simply turn away from him and look behind the bar at the endless rows of liquor bottles stacked up nicely, reaching over and grabbing a bottle of myfriendtequila from behind the terrified looking bartender. They both watch me with curious eyes as I turn and walk away leaning against the porch railing, staring toward the breathtaking view in front of me. Paradise. A peaceful, pleasurable Parádeisos. The full moon cascades down into the sea illuminating it in a blanket of incandescent light, a perfect contrast against the sheer darkness that surrounds it. The hanging lights, bright like chandeliers decorating the entirety of the porch and reaching out to the various canopies set up across the white sand.
Shimmering and glittering like mirror balls, countless teenage girls dance around drinking and laughing, untroubled and blasé. The guys stand in a circle around them, admiring them and surely discussing how lucky they are to have secured both beauty and riches so early in life. These girls will forever be shiny and sparkly trophies neatly stacked upon their shelves ready to bring out only when absolutely necessary or when one needs to brag or be reminded of their greatest accomplishments. And the girls, they are perfectly fine with being accessories and adorning decor. Feminism is non-existent in the world of glitz and glamour, in this wicked world of patriarchal power.
I bring the bottle of Don Julio to my lips, nothing like the Jose Cuervo I’m used to, and am instantly calmed by the pungent aroma, as I tip the bottle back, the sweet and earthy taste of the agave coating my throat in a cooling matter. Others, such as my sister,pussies, gag at the sudden burn of the raw alcohol sliding down their throats, but not me. I ache to feel the intensity of the amber flames as I swallow it down, reminding me that I am in fact alive and able to feel. I’m numb to everything else, mundane emotions, tedious feelings. But it’s nice to feel every once in a while, to be reminded that I’m not just a lonely, but beautifully blessed face.
From the corner of my eye I can see him watching me, I can feel his eyes on me like lasers trying to burn through me, heating my center with their focus and attention. I shiver at the thought of what he sees. I look up and meet his gaze, the mere sex crazed look in his eyes makes me tremble in my knee-highs, imagining how fucking perfect he’d look kneeling down by them as his aching palms travel up my legs, across my thighs teasing me with each and every tantalizing caress, until he roughly grips my ass awakening me, and claiming me with his touch.
The cocky bastard thinks I’m a sure thing and the smug look on his face proves just how right he is. He knows this is happening. Given everything that’s transpired between us since that first night we fucked at the cabin, I don’t blame the bastard, I wouldn’t doubt it either if I were him. However, he’s getting dangerously close to being too much of a good time. I might even go as far as saying I don’t completely hate his company, but like I said that’s a dangerous thing. To fall into a casual routine with him is perilous territory. I know exactly how this will play out, it’s such a goddamn cliche, I can see right through it till the very heartbreaking end. The rich, heartless bad boy and the emotionally unavailable, clearly fucked in the head, rebel orphan. I’ll let my guard down, be cool, calm, collected, and unsuspecting when I’m around him, and that’s when he’ll strike. Like a monster in the gravest of darkness, ready to instill panic. Like a hunter ready to strike, going in for the kill.
He’ll realize there’s not much of a future with someone like me, or he will be made aware. No legacy to be built or history to be made with anobodylike me. I don’t come with a six-figure trust fund, I’m not wrapped in a shiny glimmering package, nor am I accompanied by my own palace and crown. My castle is made of straw and lies in the middle of the crime infested, ghetto forbidden forest, hidden in the overly bleak and sinister woods. I’m like one of those old Victorian gothic castles, dark, ominous, and with demons and gargoyles prowling in the gardens.
Bottom line, to someone like him, I’m a shitload of bad news and unwanted complications, but I fear that’s what makes me that much more enticing. We crave what we aren’t allowed to have, the forbidden fruit that drove Eve to become the first sinner giving into temptation. The forbidden is more desirable. A child will do anything for a piece of candy, a taste of something perilously sweet. The addict will sell their soul for another line of coke or fix of heroin. The gambler will wager the deed to his house, his child’s inheritance, and his entire life's savings for the next sure hand. And the lascivious beast, well he will say whatever it takes to claim what he believes is rightfully his.
In this case, he will be successful in claimingmeas his own, because despite all these valid and verifiable reasons why I should steer clear of Sebastian, well they all turn to shit when he looks at me that way. Like he wants me, like he needs me, like he understands my pain. For someone who’s been left and forgotten her whole life, the first sign of someone giving a shit, whether it be just for a moment, or against my own will, it’s downright impossible to walk away. Because I am certifiably unstable and emotionally deranged, at least that is why I do what I do next.
I tightly grip the bottle of tequila in my right hand and reach to grab another one off the counter with my left. Sebastian watches me with eager eyes as I step toward him, the top of my head sitting just below his chin. I tilt my head upward slightly, not too much whereas I’m in full view of him, but just enough so I can see him through my full, mascara coated lashes.
“Why don’t you follow me and find out,” I coo in my sultriest voice, finally responding to him after getting a hit of liquid courage. I take my bottom lip in between my teeth and without giving him time to respond, I walk off heading back into the house and up the stairs to one of the bedrooms, hopefully one I’ll find empty and with a lock.
???
I can hear my heartbeat thundering in my temples, my footsteps echoing in the hall as I turn right when I reach the top of the stairs. I anxiously take the first door to the left, hoping my sudden disappearance from his view will throw him off kilter as I am immediately regretting my forwardness, and find myself in a large bedroom with white walls and a California king size bed symmetrically placed in the middle of the room. The comforter is also white and looks like it’s made out of marshmallows, like those they show at the fancy hotels on TV, with about six decorative blue and white patterned pillows sitting neatly atop it.
The rest of the room is pretty empty from what I can see, two small night tables beside the bed and a dresser on the opposite wall, as the light shining in from the outside is the only light in the room. But I don’t move to flick the lights on, instead I quietly close the door behind me and walk over to the large built-in windowsill overlooking the beach below. The chaos happening down on the shore seems to make the intensity of the emotions running through me come to a standstill as I watch everyone moving in slow motion. Or maybe it’s just me who is moving at an accelerated speed.
I stand before the windowsill and take a seat upon the built-in bench, setting one of the bottles down on the ledge as I bring the other to my lips taking a swift gulp. It should definitely be a warning sign if I don’t even cringe at the taste of it anymore, but I chalk it up to another of my amazing qualities. Thank you daddy, your daughter is just like you. It’s up there with my inability to feel. My numbness is a talent I believe to be the greatest one can have. At least when it comes to the tedious feeling oflove. Many confuse love as one of our core emotions, but it isn’t. Love isn’t something you feel, like happiness or fear. It’s not a physiological change in your body where the significance of sweating profusely or your heartbeat accelerating is to blame. Love may be a sensation you experience with your whole being, a continuum of feelings of ecstasy that take you to another level, but love is logical. Does it feel good to love someone and be loved? I imagine it does. But the difference is, logically speaking, you know it can never last. People change, feelings evolve, but logic, it’s everlasting.
