Page 47 of Before Eve
The rest of school comes and goes. I stand outside watching all the girls filter off into their clumps, laughing and talking. Parents pull up, picking up their students. A few girls walk home. A couple of small school buses fill up.
Brynn steps up beside me. “I can’t believe you missed sex ed.”
“I…I wasn’t feeling well,” I lie.
Just then Grayson’s town car comes into view, sleeking black as it pulls to the curb. His driver makes eye contact with me. “Bye,” I tell Brynn.
She whispers, “Don’t worry I’ll fill you in on all that I learned.”
Thanks to Brynn I did end up learning about sex. She taught me everything that she had learned that day back in sixth grade. I understand the mechanics, and up to this point, that’s how I’ve always thought of it: mechanics.
Something’s different now. A longing I never had before. It’s almost like my body isn’t my body. It’s like some big toggle has been moved from OFF to ON. Big time ON, as evidenced by what I’m doing right now, standing beside Ford at the soundboard, staring up at West on stage. His voice washes over me, and it’s like he’s physically touching me.
Throughout the venue, girls sing right along with him. Do they feel the same way I do? This odd sensitivity that almost makes me edgy?
West hums one part of the song, and it vibrates down my spine.
I grab my water bottle and take a swig, trying to alleviate a thirst that doesn’t seem to want to be quenched.
He looks right at me. I take another swig and try to lookaway, but I can’t. It’s like he’s silently reminding me of the kisses we shared just hours ago here at the soundboard.
His lips crook up then, and something hums through me. Can he see me standing here beside Ford, surrounded by all these thousands of singing fans? He has to. There’s no other way he can be affecting me like this.
Is there?
Ford leans over, and I jump. He chuckles. “You okay?”
“Yeah, sorry. Need something?”
He nods toward the stage. “Just need my silver hard case. It should be near the monitor mixer.”
And that’s how the rest of the night goes. Me running errands for Ford, the concert continuing, equipment breakdown, Anne heading off to party, West getting ushered to a VIP thing, and me going back to the hotel alone.
It’s one in the morning by the time I let myself into our room. I head straight into the bathroom, and as I strip for my shower, I find the remaining stickers in my back pocket. We didn’t put any of them on. We got a little sidetracked.
West gave me stickers.Stickers. Sure I’ve been given presents over the years—a monogrammed necklace, a new dress, a silver hairbrush…but they were things a “perfect” girl should have. I was never given something like stickers, something I reallywould’ve liked and wanted.
After I finish undressing, I stand naked. Normally, I don’t look at myself, but something has me scrutinizing my reflection. I survey the fake blue hair, my eyes, and the few freckles that scatter my nose. I go lower to my B-size breasts, the mole on my lower left hip, and my slightly muscled legs with a tan line where my running shorts hit.
I turn left, then right, and peek over my shoulder for a rear view. I study the marks on my back, most flat and white, but a few darker where I didn’t heal well. I brush myfingers over them and wonder what West will think of them if he ever sees them. He’s seen other girls naked. How will I compare to them?
I turn front again and put my hands on my small breasts. I squeeze them lightly, imagining West doing it instead. I trail my fingers down further over my flat stomach and into an area I only touch if I’m washing.
A shaky breath leaves my lips as I start to explore. I don’t know what to do. It all feels so good, and I don’t want to stop. My hips start to slowly circle with a rhythm they’re creating on their own.
Way down deep tension builds, and I reach out with my left hand and grip the side of the sink. I squeeze my thighs together, imagining West’s hand on me. A moan escapes my lips as I find more of a rhythm. Pressure continues to climb until it peaks, and my muscles pulse in cadence with my quick breaths.
Time passes. The tremors lessen. I stumble over to the tub, sitting on the edge. I take in a couple of deep exhausted breaths and lick my dry lips. What will that feel like with West, I wonder. The same? Different? More intense I’m sure.
…a whore—just like your mother.
I shake my head, ridding it of Grayson’s voice.
There’s nothing special about you.
“Yes, there is,” I whisper and imagine taking those thoughts, crumbling them like pieces of paper, and stuffing them in the garbage. “Stay. Out. Of. My. Head.”
CHAPTER 24
