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And all of this should’ve bothered me. It didn’t. Because I was getting Crisis and he wasn’t telling me because he thought I was easy pussy, he was telling me because he didn’t want guys taking advantage of me. And I knew better than anyone what some guys would do to get pussy.
“Oh, shut up, Crisis.” Dana grabbed my hand and pulled me out from under Crisis arm. “You just want to screw her yourself.”
I slipped my hand from Dana’s after a couple steps, but followed her up the path to the house. Why did I agree to this? I hated crowds and shouting, jeering and drunk men. This was exactly what I’d avoided and yet in some way, I wanted to prove to myself that I could do this. That my past had no control over me. The two episodes today were like a gauntlet to my confidence and I wanted it back.
I had to get it back.
This was normal, a party with school friends. Make a life for myself and forget what was constantly hammering at my head because there was nothing I could do about it.
It took all of five seconds before people noticed Kite and Crisis, and the whispers behind hands became a hum of excitement. I kept my distance to make certain I didn’t land in any pictures. I had to hand it to Crisis, he was good with people as he grinned and shook hands with strangers. He was completely casual and relaxed about being the center of attention. Everything opposite to me.
Kite was a little more standoffish, although he half-smiled and appeared as if he was comfortable, and he probably was in that he was confident, but he didn’t take to the attention like Crisis. Kite was like a jaguar cichlid fish swimming amongst the minnows, casually watching them before he devoured them with one swallow.
Dana pulled me through the kitchen farther away from Kite and Crisis, who were completely surrounded by fans. “Look for Dillon. He’s tall, spikey brown hair and has a really cute smile.”
“You just described half the guys here.”
She laughed. “Yeah, but Dillon’s smile is breathtaking.”
“Don’t you like Kite?”
She shrugged. “Hell yeah. But I’m not stupid. He’s Kite from Tear Asunder. That isn’t happening.”
We found Dillon out in the backyard with a group of guys, some of who Dana knew. She introduced me to them and I hovered, spoke when I needed to and sipped on a beer Dana passed me.
There was nothing I liked about being surrounded by strangers, and strangers who were getting drunk, even less.
I finally managed to sneak away to a dark corner of the patio, sipping my beer that had too much foam at the top and smelled like skunk. I never drank . . . never had a beer before.
I leaned against the brick wall, the rough notches digging into my upper back. There was a group of girls giggling and squealing like hyenas down by the edge of the patio and I didn’t have to guess why they were acting as if they were four-year olds excited to see Spiderman. It was pitiful, really.
“Here.” Startled at the voice coming up beside me, some of my beer spilled over my hand.
A guy I recognized from one of my classes, although I couldn’t remember his name, held out a white plastic cup with another beer.
“No foam. Fresh keg.”
“Thanks. But I’m not a fan of beer.”
He laughed. “Certainly not that one. Skunk, right?” I nodded. “I swear this one will taste much better. They changed the keg. Yours is all foam and probably tastes like sewer water with whip cream on top.”
I half-smiled and so did he. He was kind of cute, with dark eyes that drooped in the corners giving him that puppy-dog look.
I took the cup from him and he dumped my old one into the planter a few feet in front of us. He raised his cup. “Cheers. I’m Kevin. You’re in my Sociology 101 class, with the guy your friend is talking to, Dillon.”
I didn’t raise my cup to his or tell him my name, but instead, took a sip. He was right. This one tasted better and was colder. He leaned against the wall beside me so our shoulders touched. I shifted an inch away and took another long sip of my beer. I wasn’t exactly uncomfortable. I’d been forced to be around plenty of men since I was sixteen, but coming up with meaningless conversation wasn’t my thing. The men at the club paid to fuck me, not to have a conversation.
But Crisis had sent me many meaningless texts. Some of the conversations he started were ridiculous like the one about the cucumbers and, once, he went on for a dozen texts about no longer getting the tiny packages of peanuts handed out on flights.
“You hear about the Tear Asunder guys showing up?”
I didn’t say anything. I had no intention of telling some guy about my association with the band.
His eyes widened and his mouth dropped as he pushed away from the wall so he could face me. “You serious? You don’t know Tear Asunder? The rock band?” Obviously, he took my silence for I’d never heard of the band. I stayed quiet, no need to burst his bubble. “Sculpt is the lead singer and used to be an illegal underground fighter and Ream is the lead guitarist and had some melt down last year, but that was squashed. Probably paid off the reporters. Can’t figure out why the drummer and bass guitarist are crashing our party.”
I shrugged and sipped my beer. Neither did I.
He nodded to the crowd where Crisis was. “He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.” Well, he might be right about that. “He treats chicks like trash. What an asshole.”
I stiffened and the tiny invisible hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. “You ever think the chicks are using him?” Where was my silence? But I was pissed-off and pissed-off trumped silence. “That he’s the one being treated like trash? Because from what I’ve seen all over the internet, it’s the chicks bragging about having slept with Crisis, not the other way around.” Probably, a lot were false reports but, either way, those chicks he slept with . . . that was their choice. They sure as hell weren’t tied down and forced to spread their legs.
