Without waiting for him to respond, I hand him my drink, wiggle out of my jacket and shake my ass toward the dance floor, twirling around and around.
I waggle my fingers at my friend Maggie, who’s dancing in the corner with a guy that looks old enough to be in college. She winks at me and wiggles her eyebrows suggestively right as someone places their hands on my waist.
“You dance fucking amazing,” William whispers in my ear, his breath hot on my skin and reeking of Bacardi.
I smile at myself then whirl around and really show him what dancing is, rocking and grinding my hips against his. He moves with me, rubbing against me as his hands travel all over my body, gripping at my flesh.
“God, you smell so fucking good.” His teeth graze my neck as his hand cups my ass.
The music suddenly screams at my eardrums to the point where I can’t stand it anymore.
I’m so not ready for this tonight.
I tense and push back, putting room between our bodies. “Maybe we should slow things down just a bit.”
He seems a little pissed, but calms down and says, “How about we go out back where it’s a little bit quieter and talk. There are people out there, too, so we won’t be alone.”
I nod, relieved that he’s not being pushy about my stiffness. That’s pretty much the only thing he’s done right the entire night, so I take it.
He pours us both another drink in the kitchen area before he slips his fingers through mine and steers me through Maggie’s house. I’ve never actually been to her home before, not her father’s house anyway. William seems to know his way around as he maneuvers through the throng of people drinking, dancing, laughing, and playing pool. Some I go to high school with, while others look old enough to be in college.
“This house is huge!” I yell over the music as we veer down a narrow hallway lined with shut doors. The lighting is dim, the music softer.
He peers over his shoulder. “Drink up,” he says, nodding at the cup in my hand. His expression is darker than it was minutes ago. Oddly enough, he seems extremely relaxed. It makes me hesitate. Red flags go up.
All of a sudden, he’s tugging me into a dark room with a bed and a dresser. He doesn’t turn the lights on as he closes and locks the door behind us. A little too late, I painfully realize that Ayden might have been right about William. And myself, too. I do think with my heart too much. Do trust people too much.
And now I’ve walked head-on into trouble.
Chapter 9
Ayden
I hate parties. Growing up in the midst of them gave me an ugly outlook on what can come from too much partying. My mother was a hardcore partier. Her drug of choice was everything and anything she could get her hands on. It aged her quickly and turned her into a nasty person, one who was incapable of loving and did the most awful things to people, including her own children. And that’s how she died, a doped-up druggie who hated the world and left scars on her offspring. It was a sad, pathetic waste of a life. At her funeral, I vowed that I would never turn into her.
I almost did, though, as I got lost in the system, getting bitter with each home I was passed through. But then I lucked out and ended up with the Gregorys, who showed me that people could love one another unconditionally and gave me hope that maybe trusting people was a possibility. That perhaps even love was a possibility. That’s what my therapist is trying to convince me.
“You’re too afraid to feel all the horrible emotions you shut down as a child.” He told me that today while I sat in his office, fidgety as usual. You would think after nine months of monthly visits with him I would be more relaxed, yet I never am. “That fear is blocking out all of the good emotions as well as some of your memories.”
I hadn’t responded.
Part of me agrees with him, but I am doing better with dealing my emotions, not shutting down so much and keeping my feelings to myself. Then I saw that damn paper and was reminded of stuff forgotten. I snapped at Lyric, which is gnawing at me more than anything.
“Ayden, tell Kale to stop teasing me!” Fiona shouts from the kitchen table as Kale throws a pencil at her.
I tear my attention from my thoughts and the cookie I’ve been nibbling on for the last ten minutes.
Fiona is probably the most spoiled by all of us. I once heard Lila and Ethan talking about how they ended up adopting her. She was born by a mother who was doped-up on heroin. She had a lot of health problems because of this, so no one wanted to adopt her. Like me, she was passed through many homes until she ended up here four years ago. Other than the fact that she’s a bit small for her age, she seems normal. Spunky even.
All have their own stories, though.
Everyone does when you really think about it.
It’s something I’ve learned while I’ve been here. That I’m not as alone as I once thought.
“Kale, leave her alone,” I say as I dig a soda out of the fridge.
Kale’s shoulders slump as he sets the pencils down on the table. “Whatever.” He sulks out of the kitchen.
Fiona flips him the bird then she smiles sweetly at me. “Thank you, Ayden. You’re the best brother ever.”
I pop the tab on the can, feeling the slightest bit of guilt churn in my gut as I think of my brother and sister, and the paper Lyric showed me with the tattoo on it.
“What are you working on?” I change the subject as I peek at her drawing. It’s of a butterfly—most of them are. “That’s actually really good.” It’s the truth, too. The girl is damn talented at drawing. Equally as good as Lyric and her mother, which says a lot.