She snaps her gum at me. “What do you think?”
“I think you should go home before your daddy finds out you snuck out the window on a school night.”
Her smile dims. I’m not sure if it’s the mention of her father or my continuing assholery. She flips me the middle finger and finally leaves, her skirt swishing up when she turns, giving me a flash of chaste white cotton granny-panties.
What. The fuck?
I watch her departing back trying to figure out what just happened. Kateryna Poval is nothing like I expected. I thought she’d be spoiled, certainly. Possibly sheltered and naive. I guess I braced myself in case she was fragile and sweet. A delicate flower I would crush and sully to get back at her father.
Well, pretend to crush and sully. I’m not a monster like Poval. I don’t defile and destroy young girls for profit or pleasure.
I didn’t expect an over-sexualized wild-child running around Liverpool begging for trouble. But maybe this is what spoiled crime princess looks like on her.
I guess it makes my job easier. I wasn’t sure I’d have the stomach for frightening an innocent girl. This one doesn’t seem to know when to be scared, and she certainly doesn’t seem innocent.
Kateryna Poval is trouble waiting to happen.
And I’m the guy who’s going to bring it crashing down on her.
Kat
That guy was an asshole. A hot asshole, but still. Why am I always drawn to the jerks?
Oh yeah: daddy issues.
That’s what Delaney, my psychotherapist, seems to think anyway. She said I will continue to act out, rebel, and seek attention from the wrong kind of men until I’m willing to work on healing the wounds my father inflicted.
But working on anything related to my father will happen when Hell freezes over.
Also, maybe I want to act out, rebel, and seek attention from the wrong kind of men. I secretly desire being taken in hand and punished. I sort of feel like she was kink-shaming me.
Hating the way that guy made me feel off-kilter, I picture myself as a lump of clay on the wheel and find my exact center as I head to the bathrooms at the back of the warehouse. There’s a long queue, so I take my place with the crowd of other girls.
“Hey, girl,” Shellee, a frequent party-goer says as she comes out of the stall, grabbing my arm. She’s already rolling on ecstasy; her pupils are almost as big as her irises. She’s fully in love with me in this moment because she’s fully in love with everything right now. “Do you have a tampon?”
“I sure do.” I whirl my backpack purse off one shoulder to dig in and grab the tampon, which I hand to her.
She closes her fingers around it and my hand and strokes my cheek with her free hand. “Thank you so much,” she gushes. “I love you. I’m so glad you’re here. You’re amazing, do you know that?”
We’re not actually friends. Just acquaintances. I honestly don’t have real friends. I’m too extra for most of them. Too popular with the boys. Too sexual. Too rich, even for the girls at the prep school. Plus, I’m different. I’m not English. My father’s businesses aren’t legit. I learned the day I arrived in Liverpool that I didn’t fit in and should stop trying.
Delaney says that’s why I seek out intense sexual experiences–I’m filling a void created by my lack of meaningful friendships.
I think I’m just kinky. Is that so wrong?
“So are you,” I tell Shellee. “Here, cut in line with me, so you can get back in there.” I tug her in front of me.
She turns around and starts petting me again, fingering a braid as she smiles dreamily in my direction.
“You’re having a good time?”
“So much fun.” She squints her gaze at me. “Are you rolling?”
“Nope. I can’t. I have a history test tomorrow.”
“Oh my God!” Her eyes widen in exaggerated surprise. “Why are you here?” She tugs my braid. “Just kidding.” Her playful shove makes me stumble in my platform heels. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m always glad when I see you. You’re the best.”
I’m not even sure if she knows my name, but it’s okay. I have no illusions about what this scene is. It’s not where you go to make lasting meaningful relationships. Which is why I happen to love it.
I came to reward myself for studying all day for my exam. My father’s stipulation for me staying in England for college was that I maintain 7s–the UK equivalent of straight A’s. Considering I got 4’s and a few 3’s in high school, it’s a bit of an up-level. But there’s no freaking way I’m going home.
Especially not when I finally found something I like.
I mean, beyond rave parties and kinky sex, which Delaney says are extensions of my Daddy issues.