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blondemoment22

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<div style="border:1px #ccc solid; background-image:url('/images/ray.gif'); font-family:arial; width:200px; padding:5px;"><center><div style="font-size:20px;"><a href="/story/blondemoment22/39366">Honestly, I Hate You {2}</a></div><table><tr><td width="50"><div style="color:#2CC362; font-size:15px; padding-top:4px; background-image:url('/images/profratebg.gif'); background-repeat:no-repeat; width:44px; height:26px; text-align:center; font-weight:bold; vertical-align:middle; padding-top:8px; padding-left:1px; " valign="top">18</div></td><td><div style="height:100px;width:100px; padding-top:9px; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-image:url(/images/storyCover.png);"><a href="/story/blondemoment22/39366"><div style="margin-left:9px; __padding:0px; height:90px; width:70px; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-image:url('http://www.testriffic.com/storyfiles/39366.jpg');"></div></a></div></td></tr></table></center></div>

+ 15	Honestly, I Hate You {13}
+ 21	Honestly, I Hate You {12}
+ 17	Honestly, I Hate You {11}
+ 16	Honestly, I Hate You {10}
+ 19	Honestly, I Hate You {9}
+ 11	Honestly, I Hate You {8}
+ 7	Existence #2
+ 7	Existence #1
+ 15	Honestly, I Hate You {7}
+ 15	Honestly, I Hate You {6}
+ 20	Honestly, I Hate You {5}
+ 20	Honestly, I Hate You {4}
+ 15	Honestly, I Hate You {3}
+ 18	Honestly, I Hate You {2}
+ 22	Honestly, I Hate You {1}
+ 25	*sigh & growl*
+ 21	At the Crack of Dawn
+ 16	Random Thoughts of a Slacker
+ 26	Daydreaming
+ 16	Getting Into You

 

I pulled away, grumbling as he ruffled my hair. A tiny noise of “Pika Pikachu!” came from my wrist, signaling my five minute warning. I took off running through the lawns of the neighborhood. Some of the yards were coated in thick asparagus-colored grass, taken care of by the elderly or single people with no friends, and others were crunchy and yellow with circular spots of green, probably belonging to families with a bunch of little kids and no memory to move the sprinklers every couple hours.

The latter used to mirror our yard, years ago when Alexis and I were younger, before Dad became a workaholic and Mom started having affairs to avoid dealing with it.

Now I take care of it, because I can’t stand lying on crunchy grass. The noise of it crumpling under you destroys the mood of stargazing.

The house came into view as I rounded the last corner, and I hopped over the toys in my neighbor’s yard and threw myself over the chain-link fence dividing our backyards with a shriek. I ran across the patio and slid into my chair, nearly flipping it over with my inertia.

Our house looked pretty modest from the outside; no fancy bricks or stone pathways, but the inside was filled with all kinds of expensive goodies. The Waterford chandelier hanging above our mahogany dining table had cost a small fortune. Mom actually hired a couple people to come and professionally clean it once a month or so because she’s too lazy to suck it up and do it herself.

“Nice of you to join us, Jane,” my father greeted coldly, unfolding his napkin and setting it neatly on his lap.

“No problem,” I replied sarcastically.

Alexis, or Al as she preferred to be called now, gave a noise of disgust, like she had a loogie to hack up. Middle school had completely changed her. I know that it has happened to everyone, including me, but her change wasn’t a good one. She’d become a full-blown bitch. She traded in her hobby of playing with toads for lip-gloss extravaganzas with the McRichie clones. I’d been making an effort to bring back my real sister all last year, but after she got honey highlights in her dirty blonde hair, I knew she was gone for good.

Hair styles are serious business.

“So, how is your band doing?” my father asked with mock interest.

            “Really good, I’m thinking about dropping out of school and getting an apartment downtown, just me and the guys,” I lied.

            He nodded, chewing his sautéed onions carefully. “That’s nice.” Mom didn’t have much of a reaction either; just picked at a spot of paint on her shirt. Whoa, shocking.

I turned my attention to my sister, raising my eyebrows at her as I slammed my mashed potatoes as sloppily as I could, avoiding the onions of course. I’d prefer to avoid that delicacy.

“Ew, Jane,” she whined, pushing her plate away.

“Dulishush,” I mumbled.

“Mom,” she began, and before she could finish, my mom interrupted to chant her usual Jane-and-Alexis-stop-fighting-and-finish-your-dinner.

            After a few minutes of listening to the clock ticking and silverware clanking as Alexis’s complaints faded away, my father heaved a sigh and pressed his palm to his receding hairline.

“If you two have finished your…” he trailed off and shook his head. “There’s laundry that needs to be done, and Jane, I’d like you to clean the bathrooms…”

Ears, off. Nodding, on.

            When he was done assigning hideous tasks for my punishment, I asked, “Can I leave now?”

            He exhaled, rubbing his temples. “Yes, yes fine. You don’t listen to a thing I say…”

            Touché, old man.

                          I slid across the kitchen floor and made my way downstairs to my cave of a bedroom, leaving the dishes for Alexis.

            Our basement, like nearly every other upper middle class family’s, was only partly done. We had unpainted sheetrock walls and cement floors. Exercise equipment was huddled in the corner, collecting dust, and an old pinball machine was on the far wall, next to the laundry room. My room and the bathroom connected to it were the only things that had been finished, both with neon shag carpet. A metal framed loft bed was stuck directly under the window. It was the perfect size for sneaking out, and since it didn’t have a screen on it, I never had to deal with finding someplace to hide it when I left.

I crossed the room to my dresser, kicking aside dirty clothes and crumpled pieces of notebook paper and began counting the hours until my freedom.

<<< >>>

Fingers aching and cracked from countless bleach cleaning products, I adjusted the straps on my tank top. I leaned in toward the mirror, making absolutely sure that my barely-existent cleavage, more like a valley actually, wasn’t showing.

I shoved the remaining pile of junk into my closet and decided my room was as clean as I could manage for now. Having already made my fake adieus to my family, I climbed onto my bed and popped open the window. I wondered faintly if my parents knew I always left, but just gave up caring since being grounded had never stopped me from doing what I wanted.

The thundering bass in Tom’s car was too audible as he turned the corner onto my street. The volume dropped several decibels as the neared me and I smiled to myself. I reached out the window to set my crossword puzzle Vans, filled with various profanities by Gavin and Jared, on the grass. Clutching to the siding above my window, I pulled myself out and closed the window carefully. I grabbed my shoes and ran barefoot to the approaching car.

Jared held the passenger door open, his eyes wide with excitement, crooked teeth catching the light from a street lamp. I took his hand and squeezed into the front seat with him and his brother.

The tiny backseat of the ‘96 Toyota Camry was crowded with alcohol of every kind imaginable, including a large stock of Bud Light, for when everyone gets too drunk to notice that it tastes like piss.

I glanced from Tom to Jared, eyebrows raised.

“You guys scored this time. Was that tequila I saw back there?” I asked, only slightly sarcastically. They’d been pretty skimpy on the booze supplies for the majority of the summer and so far this fall, and I was starting to get sick of cheap beer and grocery store wine.

“I had someone else get if for us,” Jared explained. “He had a way better fake ID.”

I leaned back to get my shoes on and sighed. “Good, now I can finally get sufficiently wasted.”

            We sped through the average neighborhoods and crossed the highway into the universe of the disgustingly rich. It was hardly two hours past sunset yet, but Gavin’s place was just pounding.

            I helped the boys haul in the booze, and a couple of stressed-looking senior girls held the door open for us, thanking us over and over. I smirked and shook my head.

            Squinting in the dim light, I scanned faces for Gavin’s. I found him at the far corner of the living room, telling a dirty joke to Becca Bitch-face McCormick who was running her French-manicured fingers up and down his chest, giggling like a hyena.

            I made my way across the room with the tequila dangling in my left hand.

            “Yo,” I said. He angled toward me and his eyes traveled up and down my body, widening. He dropped his arm from Becca's shoulder and hooked it around my waist. He leaned in to my ear and breathed, "That skirt breaks so many laws… I'm thinking I should arrest you?"

            "No, you sick bastard," I retorted, shimmying away from him.

            He ran his tongue over his lip ring, eyeing the bottle before going back to Becca.

            “PJ!” a raspy voice called. I turned to find the source of it, but someone’s hands spirit-fingered their way in front of my eyes. “Guess who?” the girl asked.

            “Hello, Liza,” I answered. She giggled, and I could almost hear her bouncing on her toes in excitement. I spun around to face her and she snatched the bottle away from me eagerly. “Yes, of course you can have it,” I said, a beat too late.

            “Thanks, babe.” She smiled, her perfect teeth glittering. She tucked her red curls behind her ear and motioned for me to follow her to the kitchen. “So, guess what?”

            “What?” I replied, mocking her enthusiasm.

            “I found someone for you…” she sang.

            I groaned, leaning back against the counter. Having been my friend since middle school and witnessing how unsuccessful I was with romantic relationships, she was constantly trying to fix me up with my Prince Charming. Liza tended to be less realistic than daytime MTV.

            “No, he’s really cute,” she insisted. “Your height, brown hair, blue eyes, plays hockey…” She drew out the last tidbit for emphasis.

            “Fantastic,” I said monotonously. “Liza, I really don’t want to do that awkward so-tell-me-about-yourself thing right now.”

            She sighed dramatically and poured me some tequila. I downed it without any hesitation, and held my shot glass out for another. Rolling her eyes, Liza started chattering again, and I pretended to listen, nodding and “mmhm”ing when it seemed appropriate.

            The night wore on slowly as I drifted from friend to friend, noting how far under the influence or influences they’d fallen. After a couple hours, everyone was occupied with someone else, so I leaned against the wall alone and nursed a beer.

            “Hey, PJ, I haven’t seen you in a while.” The voice cracked between octaves, at the height of pubescence.

            “Hi, Andy,” I replied. He joined me at the wall, his shoulder touching mine. I exhaled loudly through my nose. Andy is one of those people that follow you around like a puppy and use their utter helplessness to guilt you into letting them stick around.

            “Not having fun either?” he asked, smiling at me. I faked one back at him and shook my head. “Yeah, well I’m glad you’re here… I was so bored.”

            “Mmm…” I turned away from his eager eyes. How he could be so oblivious amazed me to no end.

            I noticed Gavin staring at me from across the room, his eyes intense with the yellow specks glowing like fire in the dim light. He mouthed, "ten minutes" and nodded toward the basement stairs. I nodded back, hoping he had something fun for me to do, or watch someone else do. I’d be satisfied with anything at this point.

            “Who are you talking to?” Andy asked, leaning his face toward mine.

            I turned away. “Nobody,” I lied. Someone had put in a mix of Smashing Pumpkins and Incubus and I wiggled my fingers subconsciously to the solo bits. Andy wandered off after a while and I was actually surprised when I realized my ten minutes were up.

            I didn’t have the will to finish it, so I passed the remainder of my beer to Tom, who was sloppily exchanging saliva with a girl I recognized from last year’s math class, Rachel. She was a pretty girl; your typical involved-in-everything soccer-playing goody good. I rejoiced a little bit for Tom. He’d had a crush on her for a few months now, not that he would admit it to anyone.

            I stumbled a little on my way to the basement. Purple lights were twisted around the banisters and the outside edge of the stairs, making me dizzy in the tight space. I glanced around and found Gavin on the loveseat, illuminated in the glow of the TV.

            A peaceful smile spread over his lips as smoke billowed out from his mouth. He passed a joint to a girl slumped on the armchair next to the stereo. As I wandered closer, I noticed his bloodshot eyes; awkward-looking in contrast to the complicated blend of green and yellow in his irises.

            “Plain Jane,” he called. He grasped my wrist and pulled me onto his lap. My knees sunk into the creases between the dull orange cushions of his precious vintage couch.

            I sighed exasperatedly. “Why do you do this to yourself?” He shifted my knees out on either side of his hips. I noticed faintly how sexual it probably looked, but the haze of lust in the room made it seem almost innocent.

            “Why would I fucking not do it?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. I stared at him, chewing my tongue in frustration. He appeared to be lost for a moment while the rhythm in the song switched from 4/4 to 3/4 and back. I watched his face as he lowered his eyes to my chest and let them drift downward. “You do it too,” he added, meeting my eyes.

            An arm nudged my back and halted my reply. I glanced back and, seeing the joint in the boy’s hand, shook my head.

            “Not tonight,” I replied to Gavin. I’d tried it a few times before, but the last time I’d panicked and nearly lost my head. I shuddered at the thought of ending up in the corner, bawling my pathetic eyes out, and waiting for time to hurry back up. No way in hell I needed that again.     

            “Come on, PJ,” Gavin urged, rocking his hips back and forth against me. “You know you want to…” he sang softly. I couldn’t tell if he did it on purpose, but I’m sure he noticed by the look on my face how much my body liked the friction.

            “Stop it,” I hissed.

            I could feel myself about to give into the damn weed, but unlike usual, I didn’t even bother fighting it. We’d had an excellent practice, so I might as well reward myself, right? Besides, Tom was already drunk, and Jared was probably doing something else illegal. I didn’t want to be the only one not having a good time.

            I leaned away from Gavin and said, “Hey, gimme.” A boy sprawled across the coffee table exhaled slowly and passed it on to me. I raised it to my lips and sucked in as deep as I could, feeling the numbing contentment begin to flood into me after a few hits. Sighing, I blew the smoke up into the air in circles.

            “You are so sexy,” Gavin murmured. He massaged my thighs, the tendons in his hands straining a little against his skin. I groaned at the sensation. It shook awake this unfamiliar wanting, I’m sure I must have felt it before, but it was never so mind-blowing. He laughed—not his usual I’m-such-a-badass chuckle, it was breathy and high-pitched. I took another puff and passed the joint to the girl on my right.

            As I drew my body closer to Gavin’s, I sank deep into the weird indie music playing. Bits and pieces of me swelled and contracted in time with the heavy distortion on the second guitar. The waves of noise revealed themselves to me; every note and vibrato more significant than anything I knew or could ever pretend I knew. Marijuana makes life bearable. I was suddenly getting nauseous and I swallowed hard, air coming shallowly into my lungs.

            “Breathe,” Gavin reminded me calmly. His lips lingered next to my ear a little longer than was really necessary. “Breathe, Jane,” he repeated.

            So I did. My stomach settled and I smiled.

            “Thank you,” I said. I felt like singing, more than I did sober. Alanis was in my head again, so I voiced it. “Thank you, India. Thank you, terror. Thank you, disillusionment!” The last word was barely recognizable and I laughed at myself, getting louder as he laughed with me.

            His fingers danced up my legs and stopped at my hips, digging deep into them. I couldn’t stifle it any longer; I wanted him, so bad. I clutched his face in my hands, struggling to focus my vision on his pupils. His scalding breath hit my chin and I opened my mouth, keeping his hovering inches from mine.

            There were countless reasons why I should pull away. I was obviously not thinking straight, and neither was he. Having some sort of thing with him, even something as insignificant as this, might distract us from our music. It would be too dangerous to risk the band for the sake of some hormonal relief.

            But none of that had any meaning right then. I was drunk and I was high and I was really turned on. I knew what I wanted, so with a fuck-it-all, I covered the distance between us and dove into his mouth, tongue first.

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