Page 22 of Cinderella Is Faking It

I had to fix something else first.

By the end of my drink, I found Neck Tattoo in the hallway to the bedrooms with a redhead hanging on his shoulder, stumbling over her own two feet. I had no doubts that could have been Del if she’d ordered a drink in front of him. I tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned, annoyance quickly replaced by recognition. “Dude, I didn’t know she was your girl. It’s all good.”

“See, I don’t think it’s all good.” I kissed my teeth and took another look at the girl with her glazed brown eyes and the strap of her little black dress falling off her shoulder.

“I’m just taking her to lie down. She’s super drunk, man.”

“I’m sure you won’t mind if I lend you a hand.” Before he had the chance to protest, I scooped an arm around the girl’s middle and pulled her through the next bedroom door. Neck Tattoo stumbled along because the girl’s arm was still hooked around his neck. “Hi, don’t mind us.” I gave a short nod to the two girls going at it on the dresser and directed the redhead onto the rumpled bed. She collapsed into the sheets, sighing, and her lights went out.

Neck Tattoo seemed to weigh his options, glancing between the comatose girl, the other two, and the door. I didn’t have time for this bullshit.

“Girls, would you look out for her for a second? It looks like she’s had too much to drink.” One of them pulled her hand out from under the other’s dress, glancing over, eyes falling to the lifeless body on the mattress. “I’ll be right back,” I promised, grabbed Neck Tattoo’s collar, and hauled him into the bathroom. I shoved him forward, giving me the space to position myself between him and the door.

“Hey, what the fuck?” He clutched his hand to his chest, reminding me of the satisfying crunch of his pinky. I locked the door behind me. “Hey, yo, I’m flattered and all but that’s not my thing.”

“What’s your thing?” I slid my jacket off my shoulders and hung it on the doorknob.

He backed up, hands raised. “Girls, man, I just play for pussy.”

“Doesn’t feel so good, does it?” I asked, taking a step closer to him, popping open the buttons around my wrists.

“What? Uh? What?” He backed up until his legs hit the toilet, eyes skittering left and right.

“Being boxed into a corner. Feeling like your physical choices are being stripped from you.” I rolled my sleeves up.

“What do you want from me, man?” He scrambled for something to hold onto, something to swing at me. And only found a toothbrush. He actually did swing that out like a knife. I plucked it from his hand and tossed it over my shoulder.

“Kneel down.”

“You want a blow job, dude? That girl out there will totally give you one. Like, she doesn’t even care.”

He made me sick.

“Get on your knees.” He swung out a fist with all the speed and strength of an 8-year-old girl. I blocked it, twisted his arm, and brought my heel down against his knee. It cracked and he buckled to the floor with a cry. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Shit, fuck, you broke my leg.”

“Give me your belt.”

This time, he didn’t protest, fumbling to get it off. It was an old, wrecked pleather piece of shit but it would do the job. I slipped the end through the buckle, dropped the noose over his head, and yanked.

His eyes bulged and his hands flew up to his throat, feet scrambling to follow as I dragged him to the towel heater. I pulled the belt around one of the pipes. Low enough for him to breathe if he knelt very still with his ear pressed against the heater. “Have you ever heard of autoerotic asphyxiation?” I asked, crouching down to meet his panicked eyes while he gasped for air. “I’m sure you’re not quite sober, so it wouldn’t even be investigated beyond the toxins in your blood if you were found here. Pants down, dick out, choked by your own belt.”

“Please,” he gasped, one hand grasping at his new pleather necklace, the other slapping upwards against my hold on his belt.

“What’s wrong? I got the distinct impression you liked to mix sex with helplessness.” I pulled on the belt, knocking his head back against the heater. He squeezed his eyes shut and scratched at his neck as the air flow to his lungs died down. I waited, watched his head turn red, watched the veins bulge around the rosary tattoo on his neck. What a good and god-fearing Christian he was… I dropped the belt when the strength left his muscles. He collapsed to the floor, heaving for air, and I pulled his phone from his pocket. No screen-lock. I found his mother in his contacts listed under Mommabear. Great. She picked up on the second ring.

“Jordan? It’s late.”

“This isn’t Jordan. I’m at a party with him. He tried to roofie and rape a young woman tonight.” I put the phone on speaker and dropped it next to the coughing mess on the floor before I grabbed my jacket and walked back out to the bedroom. The other two girls had crowded around the passed-out redhead. “Can you guys make sure she gets home okay?” I pulled two hundred from my pocket and handed them to the girl who looked a little less drunk than the other one. “That should cover the Uber.”

ELEVEN

I couldn’t even blamethe alcohol. People pulled stupid stunts while drunk all the time. I’d only been riding a caffeine and sugar high, and I wanted to wipe that stupid smirk of Beck’s stupidly perfect face. He’d smelled so good, too. Maybe his perfume was laced with pheromones because that would explain my clouded judgement. Yep. After a quick google search to legitimize my theory, I decided that Beck must have bought one of those pheromone perfumes, which actually existed, and that was the only reason I slipped my hand down my pants in a room full of strangers.

At least I hadn’t felt anything besides the pulse-hammering thrill that came with doing something scandalous. And maybe a bit of an extra flush in my cheeks because of the shadows that had crept over Beck’s face when he’d watched me.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

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