Tantamount

Chapter 11

Tonight, Tennessee Fire will be my best friend.

I can't continue to raid Uncle Marcus's stash, so earlier, I paid Seth's brother to buy some for me for Jessica's party.

The party house is packed—wall-to-wall people. Finding a corner, I lean against the wall and proceed to get wasted. I'm quite entertained, observing, drinking, and talking shit in my head about almost everyone who passes through or stops and hangs out in the family room—the jocks, the preps, the slutty-looking girls, the in-crowd, the out-crowd, and everyone in between.

Jessica is popular and friends with just about everyone, which is the reason the house is at full capacity. I never took the time to think about any of these people as individuals. They've been categorized since the minute they hit middle school. The more I drink, the more I dive deeper into what's possibly underneath the surface—something I should have done with Bella.

The bottom of the whiskey bottle tips up, I take a long pull, swallow, wipe my mouth on my sleeve, and give a nod to Garrett. He's mingling with some chicks but nods back.

One by one I pick out people across the room.

Rose is popular, tall, blonde, pretty, ultimate bitch. There could be trouble at home—that's the rumor anyway—so I should cut her some slack. And I know someone who's been in her pants, so she's definitely a chick.

Bree is a book nerd, skinny, nothing special look-wise—just boring. I'd never hang out with her. I don't care if she's male or female.

Tanya is a cheerleader, hot, blonde, pretty. She comes from a good family. She's also a decent fuck—definitely a female.

I take another drink, then another one, swaying a little, eyes a tad blurry, trying to focus across the room for the next person to pick apart.

James is a jock, tall, built, smart, an all-American boy. He acts better than everyone else, just like me, but he's probably forced to get straight A's by his parents, so he can go Ivy League. He's uptight, and I've seen his dick in the locker room—he's a dude.

Alice is Goth. She's short, dressed in black, has a black mohawk, black lipstick, black eyeliner—black everything. She's definitely a weirdo, probably born with a scowl. I wouldn't touch her with a ten-foot pole. I wouldn't be shocked if she's gay because I've never seen guys with her, only a few girls just like her.

My thoughts are interrupted by a hand on my chest and boobs pushed into my right bicep.

"I saw you staring at me from over here." Tanya's close, leaning in, so I can hear what she's saying over the music and the crowd. Her bubblegum breath washes over me, and I lick my lips.

I give a half shrug and offer her my bottle. "Drink?"

She takes the gum from her mouth, a sip of my whiskey, and then grimaces. "Ugh. That's too hot."

"You're too hot." She does have a killer body.

She steps in front of me, arching her back, pressing her tits into my chest. Her lips are on mine before I have time to blink. I taste cinnamon, hot, juicy, good. My brain is foggy, but my dick moves in my shorts and is wide awake. I don't feel gay. This is a good thing. I like girls' lips. I like girls' tits too. I kiss her back to make sure I'm not repulsed. I open my mouth and kiss her deep and hard, grabbing her ass covered in a too-short, too-tight denim skirt with my free hand.

We part to take a breath, but her mouth stays on me, finding my neck, sucking. My head falls back, resting on the wall, my arm holding the bottle hangs slack at my side. I feel suction and a burn and shit, a bite.

"Stop." I push her back. She sticks her lip out, pouting. "No more marks. That shit is embarrassing." I'm still using Auntie's makeup to touch up the yellowish-purple mark on the other side of my neck. "Let's get outta here. I have something else you can suck if that's what you're wanting."

Tanya's hands slide underneath my shirt; her palms glide over my stomach, and her nails lightly scratch as they make their way around to my back into a hug. "Okay," she says.

Our mouths are close. I'm not sure I want to kiss her again, but I might have to prove one more time I like girls, not guys.

"Let's go." Her hands fall from my body, and I head for the door with Tanya on my heels. My truck is around the block, near a hedgerow of trees, and it doesn't take long until I'm pulling the lever on the backend and helping her up inside. I sit with my back against the window, and she sits on her knees facing me like a goddamn puppy dog waiting for a treat. I take another pull of whiskey, unzip my pants, and let her have a taste.

My gut churns and it's not from the alcohol this time. Her mouth is warm; her head is bobbing—all the things that make teenage boys shoot their wads. But it's all fucking wrong. I clench my jaw, squeeze my eyes shut, and endure the fucking blow job.

"What's wrong? Just come." She moves to straddle me.

My bare dick brushes the skin on the inside of her thighs. I swear, her skirt barely covers her vag.

"Or do you want to make love?"

I stare at her. She shouldn't be here; it feels like she's trespassing on sacred grounds. The last time two people were in the bed of this truck, it was magical. But this feels like the black kind: no good—all fucking evil.

"Make love?"

"Yeah, like old times." Her hands are on my chest, and her hips make a slow circle.

My hand grips tighter around the whiskey bottle. "I've never made love to you." I slide her off my lap a little too hard. "You need to go."

She gasps at my bluntness. There's hurt on her face, but I really don't give two shits.

"I think you're still an asshole," she says over her shoulder. Hopping out of my truck, she pulls her thong out of her ass crack.

"You're not the only one," I mutter, tucking my junk back into my shorts, then swallow down another mouthful of whiskey.

My phone is in my hand. The next thing I know, I'm looking at a sent text.

Hi.

I don't take my eyes off the screen. After what seems like an eternity, I see three little dots then nothing.

"Dude. What the fuck are you doing out here alone?" a voice calls from the darkness.

When I look up someone's walking toward me; it's Garrett.

"I wasn't alone. I had company."

He chuckles. "Oh, Tanya? She looked hella pissed walking back to the party."

"Yup."

He jumps up into the bed of the truck. He's not drinking, which is a good thing since I'm going to need him to drive me back home again.

"Edward, when are you going to stop being emo and tell me what the fuck is going on? You're not the same."

A few seconds pass before I answer. Trust is something I'm having a hard time dealing with right now, and I can't divulge anything that'll make me the laughing stock here in Seattle.

"Let's just say—" I pause "—some shit in Forks was fucked up."

A/N:

So there's that.

Thank you for reading and reviewing. I'm trying to write this from a typical seventeen-year-old perspective, so don't hate the messenger.

Please join me in my group, Stories by OhGeeFantasy for teasers and what not.

And, thank you, Midnight Cougar and EnchantedbyTwilight, for ALL your help.

(All mistakes are mine. I tweak things after they've been beta'd)

BiG lOvE,

OhGee