“Are you saying I’m suicidal?”
Her tone lacked contrition as she twisted her lips and asked, “Are you?”
I tried to keep my emotions detached, but it was hard pretending Erin wasn’t right. I was different. My mother’s death and my father’s arrest had stripped away pieces of me until only the necessities remained.
I was walking and talking, breath and flesh. Nothing more.
“You know, I think my aunt and uncle will be back soon.” I wanted her gone, and it seemed she couldn’t care less what her words did to me as she unbuttoned her blouse until her breasts were nearly popping out of her shirt. I could swear her nipples were playing peek-a-boo with her collar.
“Suit yourself.” She shrugged. “But at least take my advice and sex it up a little. You want him to come back for more, not over the hills looking for better. You never know how many other girls are waiting and willing to take your spot.” With a wink and a flounce, she was gone.
I unlocked my jaw and blew out a breath to calm down, and then spent the next half hour pissed off at her anyway. My mother’s death and my father’s incarceration may have fucked me up, but I was far from dead.
I still wasn’t dressed when the doorbell interrupted my brooding. I quickly dug around in my closet and pulled out the skimpiest dress I could find, and thanks to my aunt and uncle’s rules, still happened to be dinner and movie appropriate. Their religious views prohibited me from wearing anything that didn’t pass the fingertips. I was just grateful I didn’t get stoned for flashing an ankle. I shrugged into the dress and took one last look at myself in the mirror. The dress was made of dark brown and navy sweater material that hugged my petite frame, emphasizing the little roundabouts I passed off as curves.
Okay, not curves.
What I had was more like an angle.
I tried not to stress too much over my physical appearance. I was more fond of the perception of beauty rather than the way things really are. I could make the world whatever I wanted it to be on a piece of paper. It was the art of my own mind that inspired and drove me.
Who needed looks when you have that kind of power?
When the doorbell rang again, I rushed downstairs and snatched open the front door. My heart was pounding while my date, Aaron Staten, son of Senator Henry Staten, appeared collected on the other side of the threshold.
“For a second, I thought I was being stood up,” he greeted and laughed nervously.
“Sorry. I didn’t hear the bell,” I lied. I didn’t want to give the impression I was trying too hard. He already had the upper hand being older and popular.
His gaze trailed over my body, and he took his time appraising me. It made me even more anxious to get this night over with—I couldn’t care less if he appreciated how I looked.
“You look beautiful.”
I nodded and offered a polite smile. It was more than what I expected, but maybe he felt obligated to compliment me. It would have been awkward not to after blatantly checking me out. I took in his blue collared shirt and freshly laundered jeans and said, “You look even cleaner yourself.”
“Thanks. I shaved,” he said. I tried not to look surprised since I hadn’t even noticed. I didn’t really think he had facial hair to begin with to make shaving necessary, but I appreciated the gesture nonetheless. “Shall we go?”
“Yes. I’m starving.” I stepped out and locked up.
“Actually, I was thinking we could hit up my frat brother’s party tonight. He’s turning the big two-one.”
My brain was screaming abort while he smiled obliviously. Partying with a bunch of college kids with someone I barely knew wasn’t smart, but I didn’t know how to decline without appearing lame. Erin would have jumped at the chance.
I nodded and followed him to his car.
This was my chance to prove Erin wrong, blow some steam, and forget that today was exactly one year since my father told me goodbye. I hadn’t seen him in a year since he was found guilty. He forbade me to visit, and I couldn’t find it in me to disobey him after the unexpected rejection.
Fuck him.* * *“You look nervous,”Aaron stated as we parked.
“I’m not nervous, but I am having second thoughts,” I admitted. When we arrived on the outskirts of campus, the two-story frat house painted blue, gray, and white with Greek letters prominently displayed was crawling with people. Music poured from the speakers inside the house, turning this side of campus into a nightclub. It took five minutes, and by that time, I was really having second thoughts. Drunken guys lingered around even drunker, half-dressed girls who made me feel severely overdressed in my sweater dress and boots. It was freaking January, yet most of them strutted in miniskirts and crop tops.