He snorts between the deep breaths he’s drawing, then swats at my hand and mumbles something I can’t even make out. It sounds like the words stop and sleep mushed together. I tug harder, calling his name.
“Go back…” he mumbles. “Stop it… go to sleep…”
“Kel,” I whine, then pull on his arm. “Kel, what happened? What am I doing here? I need to go home—ow!”
He shoves at me, knocking me backward on the bed, breaking my hold on his arm. I tumble toward the edge, even more twisted up in the comforter.
He’s back to sleep like nothing, breathing loudly, the occasional snore the only sound in the quiet, dark room.
But I can’t just let this go. I can’t go back to sleep when I’ve woken up naked and confused. I can’t even remember what happened after the club. Where are Shay and Yvette? What happened to Spencer?
I fumble out of the bed, so tangled up in the sheets and blanket that it takes almost more work than I can handle. Once my feet touch the ground, the room feels like it’s tilting all over again. I can barely stand straight, suddenly aware of all the aches and pains in my body.
Not just my pounding head.
The rawness of my knees, like I must’ve fallen at one point. The soreness between my thighs, which seems to confirm exactly what I dread…
I’m battered and bruised, and I know this without even looking in the mirror.
It takes me a whole moment to function enough to start searching for my things. Where’re my clothes? My shoes?
My phone and purse have to be around here somewhere.
I search the dark for who knows how long. I trip over sneakers and hoodies that aren’t mine and bang my knee against the nightstand. Finally I find my purse and dig out my phone, switching on the flashlight feature to look for the rest of my things.
Dress slipped on and heels dangling from my fingers, I scurry toward a door I hope is either the bathroom or an exit. I end up in the hall of what must be the house Kel rents out with others from school. The place is a mess.
The earthy smell of pot smacks into me right away. The floor feels grainy and sticky all at once, like it hasn’t been swept or mopped in forever. I come across several beer cans and red Solo cups abandoned on windowsills or on the banister leading to the stairs. Halfway down, I catch my reflection, and more panic crashes down on me.
Kel’s place isn’t the only thing that looks like a mess—I do too. My normally glowing, honey-brown complexion is washed out and sickly, my makeup smeared and faded. Eyes pink and butterfly locs frizzy and limp as they hang over my shoulders, I look like a girl that’s been through it.
The top of my dress is ripped. I have a bruise forming where my shoulder and neck meet.
My eyes quickly dart away, no longer able to bear what the mirror shows me. Kel might be sound asleep in his room likelast night was no big deal, but I feel like I’ve been run over by a freaking truck.
Worse.
I feel like I’ve been…
I can’t even bring myself to finish the thought.
I’m not even supposed to be here. Last night wasn’t supposed to have happened. We were underage and snuck into the club. We used fake IDs and then had drinks paid for us all night by guys who wanted to dance with us (and more).
Though it’s not like anybody will notice I didn’t come home.
Uncle Eddie’s busy with club business, and Moses is out of town. The motorcycle club is their life just like it was Dad’s.
I can’t blame them for it. None of them have ever pretended to be family men. All of them chose the club over being husbands and fathers.
When I went out, I thought it worked in my favor that no one would notice I’d be out all night. I hadn’t realized a few hours later I’d wake passed out in Kel’s bed. No Shay or Yvette in sight. Uncle Eddie and Moses none the wiser. Kel with no fucks to give that I’m practically in tears over waking up in his bed.
It’s a little depressing to know I’m an afterthought no matter where I go or who I’m around.
I’m a junior at Wheaton U, and have never been the girl who was popular or had many friends. At home I’ve always been the girl who was left behind as Dad, Uncle Eddie, and Moses hopped on their rumbling bikes and then sped off to go handle club business.
I could go missing and no one would probably notice for at least twenty-four hours.
It’s why I have the dream I do—ditching this plain, boring, unnoticed life and heading off to L.A. to pursue myrealpassion of becoming an actress.
