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“Two years? But you only started talking to Charlie this semester,” Trey says, shaking his head in confusion.
I look over at Trey. “There was one time the summer after graduation, when this really all started, but it didn’t go like I planned….”
TWO YEARS AGO…
I lean against the wall in a dark corner of the room, watching Charlotte Bennett mingle. She looks uncomfortable.Vulnerable. Perfect.
Brighton is a pretty tight-knit community, so I fucked around with some of the gossip girls in town and had no trouble digging up her life story. Last I remember, Charlotte was a good girl, dating Matt Johnson, Brighton Prep’s hockey jock, but not anymore. She was recently dumped, but even more interesting, they never fucked. She’s a virgin.
I crack my knuckles as I stare at her. Really, she’s a pretty girl—petite but curvy with long, wavy brown hair. She’s wearing ripped skinny jeans, a tight black T-shirt, and Converse. Her simple style makes her even more stunning.
I run my index finger over my bottom lip pensively as I watch her. I honestly don’t know why she’s at this Washington Prep party. She hasn’t been drinking or dancing or even talking. Whereas most people are socializing with their fake-ass smiles, she just stands at the edge of each group, observing.
She looks fragile, and I’ll break her tonight. Just like her mother broke my family.
I’ll fuck her. She’ll beg for more. I’ll promise her everything.
And then I’ll leave.
Like my mother left.
Like my dad left.
Like her mother left.
Everyone leaves.
Maybe breaking her will finally make me feel normal again.
I take a sip of my whisky, feeling the amber liquid burn down my throat. I swirl my drink around in what’s probably a very expensive crystal glass. Rich kids are strange. Instead of kegs full of cheap beer, these teenage dirtbags are drinking pricey liquor and champagne.
The air suddenly seems too warm. I turn away from my vantage point, and head down the hallway. This is my buddy Jason’s house, so I know all the doors in this wing belong to abedroom. I enter one of the rooms, which is surprisingly empty. The music muffles as I close the door softly. I don’t bother to turn on the lights. I walk past the bed to a set of French doors that open onto a balcony. I step out into the cool summer air and place both hands against the railing, taking a deep breath.
All I can make out are tall evergreen trees silhouetted in the darkness, and the distant glow of Vancouver’s city lights illuminating the skyline to the north.
I don’t know how long I’ve been standing there when I hear the door open. I glance back, about to tell some horny couple to fuck off, but it’s just one person—a girl based on her small frame. She steps into the room and looks around but doesn’t seem to notice me. I step closer to the balcony door, which still stands ajar, and squint into the darkness. As my eyes adjust, I notice the white toes of her sneakers—Converse.
Well, isn’t this perfect,I think.
I watch as Charlotte sits at the foot of the bed and draws her knees up to her chest. She rests her forehead on her arms, and her shoulders shake.
She’s crying.
I step into the room slowly and clear my throat so I don’t startle her too much.
Her head shoots up, and she looks around the darkness.
“Who’s there?” she asks, standing quickly. She doesn’t sound scared like I expect. No, her voice is confident and strong. It’s the first time I’ve heard it in a long time, and it stirs something in my chest.
“I was getting some air on the balcony,” I say. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”
“You didn’t.” She rubs her cheeks, probably to hide tears. “I just didn’t know anyone was in here, and I needed a break.”
I move closer, crowding her space. The smell of vanilla and whisky overwhelms me for a moment, and I take a deep breath,trying to clear my head. I reach out and gently place one of my hands on her forearm.
Her skin is warm beneath my fingers. Her breath picks up when I touch her, and I smile cruelly, knowing that if she could see me, she would run. I half expect her to pull away, but for some reason she stays, looking up at me.
“What’re you doing?” she asks. Her voice sounds thick as a strange tension builds between us.
