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Anya
IgroundmyselfagainstDamien, his tongue caressing mine as his hands gripped my hips, holding me against him.
The music blared around us, bodies knocking into me as they moved in time to the music. The festival was a celebration of international DJs that I didn’t even know, not that I cared.
I was here for the alcohol, drugs, and good times.
All the things Damien was willing to give to me.
“Fuck, Anya. You are so hot.” He gasped as he gripped my bare thighs, my denim short shorts leaving nothing to the imagination.
“Shut up and kiss me,” I said, gripping his hair and pulling him to me. He laughed before devouring me and I flinched as his hand touched my shoulder, running over the heart-shaped scar.
“Let’s get another drink. Maybe another line?” I said, pulling away and trying to hide the panic in my eyes at the touch.
“Sure, babe. Let’s go.” He grabbed my hand, grinning as we worked our way through the crowd. He pulled me into one of the toilet blocks, kissing me before showing me the little baggie with speed.
He put his phone down on the vanity, neatly racking up a line for me before handing me a hundred-dollar bill.
“Ladies first.” He said and I rolled it up, snorting the line and letting out a sigh, handing him the rolled-up bill.
The drugs hit my system, the rush of adrenaline making my heart pound and fingers tingle. When I opened my eyes, I saw my reflection in the filthy mirror.
Mascara smudged eyes, chapped lips, and hollowed cheeks. My blonde hair hung limp around my shoulders, tangled and dirty, the life gone from the once shiny locks.
The girl next door from the country town was gone and in her place was a haunted ghost of a woman.
Damien kissed across my chest, and I watched numbly in the mirror, tangling my fingers in his hair as he reached underneath my tank top to grasp my breast.
I parted my lips as he groaned, whispering his desires but I couldn’t hear him over the roar in my ears.
He unbuttoned my shorts, pushing them down my thighs along with the skimpy G-string I wore beneath before he lifted me to sit on the dirty vanity.
He fumbled with his jeans, lips still kissing wet trails over my chest as he pulled his cock free.
I watched our reflection as he shoved his dick inside me, pumping into me like a bull rutting into a cow.
I almost laughed at the thought as I stared at us, feeling numb as I let him have his way with me. This was my life, every weekend we went to some new dive, drank, racked some lines, and fucked.
“Fuck yeah, babe. You feel so good.” He said and I absently heard myself moan but it wasn’t pleasure. Just a reaction. I don’t remember the last time I came.
My face tingled and I stared at myself, reaching to touch my lips, feeling as though my hand was floating.
Damien groaned as he came, and I vaguely remembered to moan my fake orgasm as he panted in my ear.
“Come on, babe. Let’s get a drink.” He said, pulling his dick out and stuffing himself back into his jeans.
He turned away, racking another line, and left me to clean myself up. I pushed into one of the stalls, not bothering to shut the door as I wiped my thighs and then peed.
“Hurry up,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. I quickly tugged my shorts up, flushed the toilet, and followed him back into the crowd.
I groaned as the sound of my phone vibrating on the bedside table pulled me out of sleep. I squinted at the screen, seeing my mother’s name.
I stared at it, letting it ring out. I hadn’t spoken to her in over a year after I told her I knew she had an affair with a married man, and I was the product of that.
She tried to explain but I didn’t care. I put it back on the bedside table, flopping back onto the pillow. Damien groaned next to me, rolling to his back.
My phone started ringing again and I swore under my breath.
