CHAPTER405
This bar is upper-class and elegant, not like the clubs I frequented in the city and Camilla had been extremely strict about which outfit I put on for our evening. I’m in a fitted cocktail dress, black with subtle beading, hair straightened and sleek, and killer black stilettos to finish it all off. I look more like a girl in her mid-twenties than the baby faced one from this morning and the whole outfit makes me seem taller and somehow womanlier. I feel more in control, less roadkill, and this new confidence from my hair and clothes is helping me relax.
Camilla is already working the room with champagne in hand and dragging me along behind her like a pet puppy. I am completely out of my depth in this scene, despite having a family that frequents these kinds of places a lot. I have often been too young to go anywhere like this, or chosen not to, and I’m doing my utmost to act like I’m relaxed and casual about being here.
“Sophie, this is Malcolm, he’s a banker and a lush bit in the sack.” Camilla giggles, leaning in and whispering something provocative in the young man’s ear before pulling back and running a finger down his tie. Mostly all the men in here are wearing expensive suits and good tailoring, and everyone reeks of money. Surprisingly, Camilla seems well-known and I sort of smile shyly at him.
“Well hello, Sophie, a pleasure.” Malcolm is tall and blonde, but not overly handsome. He extends a hand to me, kissing the back of mine when I connect to shake it. Uncomfortable immediately, my gut saying something is off in this whole scene, but then I’ve never really been used to his class of party. I’ve avoided most charity events my family attend and prefer New York’s more urban nightlife to social niceties by the upper crust. Malcolm just gives me the creep vibes because, well, let’s face it... he’s male, and most men do that to me.
“Hi.” I smile briefly, pulling my glass in front of me to fold my arms across my chest and his eyes rest on the hint of cleavage I have on show. This isn’t an overly revealing dress but gives enough hints to be sexy, and despite dressing like a ‘cheap hooker’ in the past, according to Arrick, I’m more uncomfortable with Malcolm’s eyes trained on what little skin I am showing. Camilla knows how to dress for a reaction, and I am seeing the result up close.
I have been on a downer ever since I called Arrick this afternoon, ended up in tears while taking a shower to get ready and spent a long-time mulling everything over in front of my vanity when applying my makeup. I hoped coming out would make me feel better, but I just feel dead inside. Somehow, telling him to never call me again seems more final than just dodging his calls. Really severing my connection to him, and it’s killing me inside, like I’m half of a person.
“Sophie, do you like to party?” Malcolm moves in closer, leaning into me as Camilla slides past him to talk to another man behind in the crowded bar and leaves me alone. I have zero interest in Malcolm, he isn’t even that charming, and I want to just move on out of here and go eat like she said we would. So far, we haven’t made it from the bar of this place, which seems to be an actual hotel and not a restaurant at all.
“I used to, I guess. I’m trying to tone it down nowadays.” I try to maneuver myself a little space, but he leans in further so I can feel his breath down the front of my dress.
“Oh, that’s a shame. Camilla throws some killer parties and I would love to see you on the girl list.” He smiles in my face, the stench of booze hitting me hard and I try not to visibly gag.
“What do you mean girl list?” I frown, raising my voice to be heard over the crowd as Camilla seems to cut back in.
“Come on now you two, no one seems to be getting drunk!” Camilla pushes herself between us, turning to catch the bottom of my glass and pushes it up against my mouth. “Down, down, down.” She chants with a smile, forcing me to gulp down most of the glass in one go. I almost choke with the effort as the liquid comes up, before running back down my nose because of the rapid intake. I cough violently as I try to sniff it away painfully, screwing up my face with the effort. Camilla grabs my glass and immediately thrusts another in its place.
“No, really, I’m trying to …” I protest, but Camilla tries to force another in the same way.
“You need to loosen up babes, you’re stiffer than a board and we need to let our hair down. I’m not trying to get you smashed, just merry drunk, so you can chill out and have a little fun. Trust me; I’ll take good care of you, Sophieboo.” Camilla raises an expectant eyebrow my way, smiling widely as I eye her warily. My head is telling me to relax and trust her, but my gut is telling me to get out of here and just go home. I know this is probably the last place I should be tonight while trying to prove to my family they can trust me. It really is the last place I want to be right now either.
I place the new glass to my lips, vowing I will only have a couple and then cradle anymore she tries to pour down my throat. I don’t want to go home in the same mess I became in New York. I’m beyond all that and know that alcohol will only blur everything. I want to stay levelheaded-.
I throw up in the bushes to the side of the garden, holding my head as I sway around, shoes in hand and bag dangling down at ankle level. I feel like hell, tired and recounting- how many drinks I had and again gawp in disbelief that I can feel this way on a minimal amount. It hasn’t been that long since I stopped being a seasoned drinker, so there is no way my tolerance has waned this badly. I only drunk three, maybe four glasses at most, yet I am in the state of having had ten or more. Everything is spinning weirdly, and it doesn’t feel like normal drunk at all. Normal drunk doesn’t give me this dry throat and painful ache in my stomach that has made me throw up twice.
I stagger up to my front door on unsteady legs; the sound of the departing cab still echoing in the distance and alerting me to the fact it’s early in the morning, around four am. or more. I have no idea what my mom will say. I’m completely disappointed in myself. And to make it worse, being drunk just makes me crave to speak to Arrick again. My heart filling with reasons I should call him and my head finding excuses not to that are pathetic in comparison. This is the last thing I needed to do to myself.
I stumble into the hall when I get the door open, trying so hard to be quiet and catch sight of myself in the hall mirror. My hair is flyaway, dress hanging off one shoulder where that prick Malcolm tore it, and my lipstick smeared where he forced his tongue down my throat when I was semi-conscious on a booth chair. I came to in a quiet corner of the hotel, in semi-dark shadows to find him trying to get my clothes off. I pushed his groping hands and grinding body off in disgust while, the asshole called me a ‘cock tease’.
He actually had the nerve to try and hold me down, try and force his tongue in my mouth while his knees pried my legs apart, and I fought back and caused a hell of a scene.
Camilla just laughed at first, until I made enough noise and chaos to bring the attention of other drunken stragglers, and then she got snippy, dumping me in a taxi and telling me next time to lay off the booze if I couldn’t handle it. She seemed majorly pissed, unconcerned that Malcolm had managed to rip my dress and unhook my bra, and I found that my lace panties were around my upper thighs and halfway off.
I feel dirty and vile, wiping the back of my hand across the smeared mess in a bid to remove it with utter disgust. My head is a riot of drunken emotional anger, hoping to god that creep didn’t violate me in anyway while I was out cold, and wondering again how the hell I got so wasted on such a little amount of booze. Camilla can go fuck herself. So much for taking care of me; she seemed completely sober and sat gyrating on some loser’s lap, watching us the whole time, while getting off with his hand up her fucking skirt."
