Page 4 of Friar
“I’m tired of being careful.”I pressed closer, my body flush against his.“Show me the rest of this place.The parts I’m not supposed to see.”
He studied me for a long moment, weighing something in his mind.Then he took my hand, his grip firm and sure.“This way.”
I followed him through the crowd, past curious eyes and knowing smirks, and at least one woman glaring at me, toward a hallway at the back of the room.My steps were unsteady, but I felt rebellion welling inside me.Whatever waited beyond that threshold, it was a line I was determined to cross.A boundary I would shatter, just like all the others I’d broken tonight.
The door closed behind us, shutting out the noise and chaos of the main room.In the sudden relative quiet, I could hear my heart pounding -- with excitement, with fear, with the wild certainty that this night would change everything.
Chapter Two
Cheri
My eyes cracked open to blinding pain, the soft light of dawn feeling like needles stabbing directly into my brain.I had no idea where I was for several terrifying seconds until the familiar shape of my steering wheel came into focus.My mouth was a desert, tongue stuck to the roof like sandpaper, and my temples throbbed with each heartbeat.I was in my car.Alone.The events of last night nothing but fragments in my aching head.
I tried to sit up straighter and immediately regretted it.The world tilted dangerously, and my stomach lurched in response.I gripped the steering wheel to steady myself, my knuckles turning white with the effort.The leather was cool under my palms, grounding me in reality.This was my car.I was parked… where exactly?I blinked hard, forcing my vision to clear, and recognized the abandoned lot behind Wilson’s Feed Store, a good mile from the main road.Smart, even in my drunken state, to hide my car where no one would see it.Although, not so smart to have driven while I was clearly drunk off my ass.
My tongue felt swollen, coated with the sour taste of alcohol and something else -- cigarettes?I hadn’t smoked, had I?I couldn’t remember.I fumbled in my purse for a bottle of water, finding it half-empty.I drained it in desperate gulps, the lukewarm liquid doing little to soothe my parched throat.
The rearview mirror revealed a stranger -- a girl with smudged mascara creating dark shadows beneath bloodshot eyes.My carefully straightened hair was a tangled mess, with several strands plastered to my sweaty forehead.My lips were swollen and blistered, as if they’d been thoroughly kissed or bitten.Maybe both.I touched them gingerly, wincing at the tenderness.
“What did you do?”I whispered to my reflection, the sound of my own voice sending a spike of pain through my skull.
Images flashed through my mind like a broken film reel -- disconnected, out of sequence, some more vivid than others.Friar’s hazel eyes reflecting neon light, seeming to change color as he looked at me.His fingers trailing up my arm, leaving goose bumps in their wake.His voice, low and rough against my ear: “Be careful what you wish for.”
Nugget’s easy smile.His body pressed against mine as he taught me to play pool, his hands guiding mine on the cue.The heat of him behind me, solid and real.
Nigel, the eager Prospect, his hot breath against my ear as he whispered things I couldn’t quite remember but that had made me blush and lean closer.His hands growing bolder on the dance floor.The pink drinks he kept bringing me, sweet enough to disguise their potency.
After that, things grew hazier.Following Friar down a hallway.A door closing behind us.His hands in my hair, my back against a wall.The taste of whiskey on his tongue as it explored my mouth.My fingers fumbling with his belt.
Had we…?
My stomach dropped at the realization that I couldn’t remember how the night had ended.I looked down at my clothes.Still wearing the same outfit, though my shirt was buttoned wrong and my jeans felt twisted on my hips.No visible marks or stains that would suggest… what?What was I even looking for?
The dashboard clock read 5:47 AM.Uncle Pete would be up at 6:30 for his morning devotional.Aunt June usually followed at 7:00 to start breakfast.Panic surged through me, momentarily overriding the pain in my head.I had to get home now.
My hands shook as I turned the key in the ignition.The engine roared to life, the sound deafening in my hypersensitive state.I fumbled with the controls, turning down the radio that blasted to life with a Christian rock station -- Aunt June’s favorite.
Outside, the world was bathed in the soft light of early morning.Dew sparkled on the overgrown grass of the abandoned lot.The town was still sleeping, streets empty except for the occasional delivery truck or early-shift worker.I pulled out carefully, hyperaware of every movement, terrified of being pulled over in my current state.What would Uncle Pete say if he had to bail his niece out of jail for drunk driving?The thought made me grip the wheel tighter.
I drove exactly three miles under the speed limit, using every ounce of concentration to keep the car steady.Each stop sign was an exercise in patience as I waited longer than necessary, squinting at empty intersections through bloodshot eyes.My body ached in unfamiliar ways -- muscles sore from dancing or… other activities.
The physical discomfort was nothing compared to the war raging in my mind.Guilt clawed at my insides.Not just for sneaking out or drinking, but for wanting to go back.For the thrill that still coursed through me when I thought of Friar’s hands on my body, of being desired and wild and free.The defiance that had carried me through the night still burned beneath the hangover, a stubborn flame refusing to be extinguished by morning light or the looming shadow of my uncle’s disapproval.
“You’re not that girl,” I told my reflection, voice cracking.But which girl did I mean?The pious niece who wore modest dresses and quoted scripture?Or the girl who danced with bikers and drank whiskey like it was salvation?
Maybe I was both.Maybe I was neither.
The familiar streets of my neighborhood appeared ahead, lined with tidy houses and well-kept lawns.As I approached Uncle Pete’s house -- I’d once thought of it as home, but lately it had been harder to do -- my heart rate doubled.
I drove past slowly.Part of me really wanted to park farther away, but if I did, they’d ask why my car had been moved.And I wasn’t sure I could come up with a reason.I cut my headlights and eased into the driveway as quietly as I could.
I checked my reflection one last time, using the last clean tissue in my purse to wipe away the worst of the smeared makeup.There was nothing to be done about my swollen lips or the dark circles under my eyes.I’d have to face whatever waited inside and pray -- genuinely pray for the first time in years -- that I could slip upstairs unseen.
The key slid into the lock with a soft click that sounded like thunder in the stillness of early morning.I froze, listening for any movement inside the house, my heart hammering against my ribs.Nothing.Just the distant chirp of birds greeting the dawn.I eased the kitchen door open, wincing at the slight creak of the hinges.The familiar scent of Aunt June’s lavender potpourri hit me immediately, cloying and sweet, a stark contrast to the smoky, beer-soaked air I’d been breathing all night.
I stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind me.
My shoes were still in my hands -- I’d removed them before approaching the house.I placed them carefully on the mat by the door, arranging them neatly side by side, just as Aunt June insisted.Even in my rebellion, some habits were too deeply ingrained to break.
