CHAPTER366
I manage to push and claw my way through the last crowded expanse to the empty back seats of the club, into the darkest and quieter shadows, despite Arry telling me never to venture back here alone. Into the depths, but I’m so consumed with needing to sit down and put my head on something to stop it from spinning. I need to just sit and breathe before he gets here.
The tears that dried on my cheeks have made my skin tight and sore, my heart is bruised, but it will still beat to fight another day. Neither Terry nor Dionne mean that much to me in the grand scheme of things. This isn’t the first cheating asshole I dated, and the constant nagging to have sex with him won’t be missed any more than he will. I held him off for a month, and I guess not giving him what he wanted is why he clearly found it in someone else.
Story of my life.
Sex is not an option for me, not now, not ever. Sex is something I doubt I will ever have the urge to share with some random asshole I hook up with. Especially when all they do is pressure me and paw me, even when I tell them I’m not ready. I’ve no idea if I ever will be, and therein lies the problem.
What man will want a girl who doesn’t ever want to have sex with him?
Years of being abused by my father until I ran away from home at fourteen made sure that it’s only repulsion when a male gets his hands anywhere near my body. My skin crawls with what feels like fire ants running all over me. My stomach turns at the mere thought of hands or body parts down there, touching mine. I can handle kissing, and minor upper body petting, when drunk, if I really force myself. If I have to endure it for whatever guy I’m seeing, but anything below the waist sends me into a panicking mess of fear and fire, igniting that bitch side who lashes out and becomes violent.
I don’t really suffer from the flashbacks or memories anymore, rarely anyway. I dealt with those demons a long while back with Arry’s help. I know how to control letting that sick fuck back in my head, learned how not to let those scars control me. But touch, down there ignites some deep-frozen fear that sends me spiraling into defensive rage impulsively. I know that it’s partly because I trust no one to go down there. So afraid of the memories.
What hope is there for any sort of relationship with that as the outcome?
I’ve dated so many men in the last months that to an outsider I’m just a slut who switches men, like her underwear, jumping from one handsome guy to another. On the surface, I can flirt, kiss, and dance sexily with any guy. I’ve become amazing at behaving like a mentally normal person who can function in the real world when it comes to sex.
The truth is they all soon drop off my radar when they realize feisty girl about town Sophie, does not put out. Ever.
I look the part, blonde and blue-eyed with a slim curvy body and a dress sense that’s sexual because I’m obsessed with clothes and shoes. I love to be both daring and bold and love to use my body to showcase the season’s sexy trends. I don’t have body issues anymore, any lack of self-esteem or confidence concerning how I look. Therapy made sure of that, the best my family could get me, and the support from my family, Emma, and Arry. No vulgar thoughts when I see how I have grown into a woman’s figure, and I can pull off the outward confidence like any girl around.
I have no problem attracting men of all sorts, but I just want one decent guy, someone like him: My Arry. Someone to take care of me and understand that sex isn’t everything between us. That without it I’m still worthwhile. Someone to see beyond the outer shell and treat me like I matter. Someone who doesn’t see a meal ticket or a quick fuck, or who isn’t abhorred by the past and all the dirty little things that asshole did to me.
I sigh heavily, head overcrowded with thoughts and feelings and I know I’m just running my mind ragged, pushing myself into anxiety, making myself depressed and more exhausted. I lean back and rest my head against the padded seat back; the thumping noise and smoky atmosphere are grating on me, even this drunk. I just want to go home, for Arrick to find me soon and take me anywhere but here.
I close my eyes to block it all out, stay sitting up so I’m less of an obvious target and start counting down the minutes till he gets here.
I am so done with this scene, this life, and it’s never ending bullshit.
All I do is party, drink, and have fun. If I can even call it that anymore! It’s been losing its sparkle for weeks. After the first burst of independence wore off; and sitting here for the millionth time alone, tear-stained, and exhausted, I wonder why I ever hungered after this at all.
Why I ever thought shallow friends and meaningless relationships were worth more than genuine love from my family. The emptiness inside of me, which pushed me down this path, is still very much there, growing wider by the month and sucking me inwards like a black hole with no way out. You can’t drink away the sense of emptiness that plagues me, God knows I have tried. There is no curing this with a wild lifestyle anymore.
I dropped out of school because I didn’t see any point in it, none of what I was learning interested me, and I sat drawing clothes, coloring in doodles of shoes in every lesson. My head on getting out and going to max my credit card on whatever hit the boutiques that week, daydreaming over the outfit I wanted to try out when I got home. Besides spending money on clothes, the only other thing which brought me joy was matching outfits for new looks, searching out shoes and accessories that made it all pop. Fashion is everything to me. I adore every aspect of it and love nothing more than customizing things with my own style, teaching myself to sew in my spare time. It’s one of the few genuine joys I seem to have.
I broached the subject of fashion school only once; my parents dismissed it as frivolous and pointless and told me that I have the brains to do so much more. As much as I love them, and I really do, it crushes me in a way that they dismiss something I have a passion for, and even though I have never sought their approval with very much of anything, it made me rip up the brochures I collected concerning fashion schools in the city. I threw them away with the trash and threw away any thoughts of doing anything about it, lashing out in my effortlessly juvenile way.
“Hey, sexy, can I keep you warm?” A slurring male tone pours over me hotly as the stench of alcohol breath runs down my cheek. Repulsion and mistrust stir within. Opening one eye, I catch an up close and personal view of a guy in his late twenties, leaning in invasively. His hand comes to rest on my naked thigh, just below my vintage styled denim skirt. My skin crawls immediately with that burn of an alien touch that is completely unwanted. I impulsively shove his fingers away, pulling my knees together as that abdomen lurching reaction hits hard and shift to the side away from him, outraged at both the fact he dares to touch me and that he might ruin my skirt with his grubby meat hands.
“No! My boyfriend is on his way to get me and he’ll be pissed if you’re annoying me.” I lie expertly; it isn’t the first time I’ve told men that Arry is my boyfriend. For the most part, it works, and when he shows up, he plays the part effortlessly, always intervening no matter what he walks into and takes me away from it all. He has that scary look of a guy who will beat you to within an inch of your life, gorgeous enough to be plausible as my lover, despite the fact I know he keeps his right hook for the training ring normally, and is a pussycat outside of it most of the time. He doesn’t ever brawl in bars or jump to violence if he can help it, he’s too controlled for that crap. Even as a professional MMA fighter.
“Who’s annoying you? I just want to keep you cozy.” He slides down next to me, pushing against my side intrusively, my body cringing, and hooks his arm around the back of the seat over my head to angle in on me. The stench of stale sweat mixed with cheap aftershave and booze hits me in the face and makes me gag.
I hold my breath and tilt my head away from him to get some space and avoid the proximity, nerves creeping up and my body rigid. Everything inside of me flashing into instant red alert mode and poised to attack should I need to do so."
