"If I were to wish for anything, I should not wish for wealth and power, but for the passionate sense of potential -- for the eye which, ever young and ardent, sees the possible. Pleasure disappoints; possibility never."
~Soren Kierkegaard
Chapter 12: What happens to potential deferred?
"Alice, I need your help."
It was late Wednesday night and I was crawling into bed when Rosalie appeared in my portion of the suite, also in her pj's.
She sat on the end of my bed and proceeded to play with the edge of my comforter.
"I haven't finished mapping out the American territories either." And since the assignment wasn't due until seventh hour tomorrow, I wasn't planning on doing it until my study hall.
"Oh, no. Not with that. You can look at mine if you want. I need you to do something for me at exactly 10:45 tomorrow morning."
I stuck my notes back in my biology textbook and laid down, kicking Rosalie slightly as I tried to get comfortable. "No."
"No?"
"Not until you tell me where you were Monday night."
There was silence for the briefest, thickest of moments.
"I told you I needed tutoring for math. I can't fail Algebra I again."
"You got dressed up in The Bronze Dress to see some geek from math club and talk about unknown integers?"
"Well, maybe I made a stop on my way to the actual tutoring thing…"
"Really? Emmett or Edward?"
Rosalie stared at me. "I'd say neither with that tone you're taking."
I merely rolled on my back and stared at the ceiling. Rosalie didn't budge.
"You talked to them both?"
"They were here at the same time. Edward was going through your underwear drawer by the way. Looking for birth control since apparently you don't mind having sex without condoms."
"That was a tactical move on my part. He deserved a taste of his own medicine."
I rolled my eyes, not that she could see it.
"So you won't take a detour to the girl's locker room tomorrow morning?"
I shook my head no.
"Because if you would, you'd probably happen upon your ex-roommate and her lesbian girlfriend of nearly eight months."
I couldn't help it. I shot up in my bed. "What?!"
"Claire, who calls everyone a dyke because she's so scared she'll be called one. She's been dating Erica Yorkie forever. But only when no one's looking. Erica's a mass techie for like, plays and musical concerts. She doesn't exactly fit in with Lauren Mallory, Jessica Stanley, and that crowd of Kardashian wannabes."
"How do you know that?"
"I didn't. Not that I cared. Claire was always such an annoying amoeba anyway, though no wonder Erica swings that way. She wears a lot of plaid. Course that's also in fashion right now, so maybe not. I don't know. Daphne told me, you know, her half-sister? She's in their gym class and walked in on them a couple of weeks ago."
"Do you even speak to Daphne?"
"No, but now Mike Newton will. He's Emmett's retard of a roommate, but he's got that puppyish quality about him. Not to mention millions in the bank. Only child. Mass trust fund. Parents own a chain of stores for outdoorsy stuff and he stands to inherit. It's a solid play by Daphne. Favor for a favor, everyone gets something they want. All Emmett has to do is point Mike in the right direction."
"And what do you want me to do once I poke my head in the locker room? Take pictures? Post it on YouTube?"
"Been done. If we do it again and Erica and Claire know it was you, they'll trace the whole Tanya is a pot-smoking hag back to us too. This is much simpler, more straight forward. Blackmail."
"Blackmail. And what if they're in there putting on deodorant and tying their ties?"
"You blackmail them anyway. Say you caught them a couple of weeks ago making out while they were getting dressed. That's how Daph was enlightened to the current situation.
Look, Claire isn't by any means popular. She has a popular half-sister who is, and that allows her a degree of superiority and acceptance, but not friendship. She tags after Lauren and Jessica and they use her for gossip. Claire did this to herself by calling everyone she disliked a homo. She's too insecure about her own damn shit that she went and turned it around on every other person in the school at one time or another. She'll outright panic if you stumble upon them and make some mildly insinuating comments about telling other people who the real lesbian is. Even if we don't have tangible proof, Claire hasn't ever had a boyfriend (go figure) and she's worked extraordinarily hard to be a massive bitch to dozens of people, including her unfortunate siblings. People are just waiting to have a reason to make her a leper. You, of all people, have a reason to make her and her girlfriend prime candidates for public mockery."
"I don't even know who Erica Yorkie is. She's never done anything to me."
Claire had though. Claire had spread a lot of lies, made me an instant outcast, and continued to blab her big mouth about my "extracurricular" activities with Edward and Emmett.
Never mind that that last one was partially true.
Rosalie's smile was wide now and she looked so sinister I kind of wanted to crawl under my blankets until that smile went away.
"Oh yes she did Alice. Technically the directive came from Claire, but Erica played quite the role in your public humiliation."
"Which one?" I asked dryly. There had been so many after all.
Rosalie stared over my shoulder, seemingly behind me, right beneath my ear.
I frowned and fought the urge to turn around. I knew there wasn't anything behind me.
My head swiveled just a little and my hair brushed my chin and ear.
Oh.
My eyes met Rosalie's. I knew I was being pulled under, knew she was manipulating me, knew she had played her trump card into getting herself back into my good graces.
I knew it, but the anger that was choking me at the moment didn't let me care.
It was a damn good trump card to play.
"She's the one who cut off my hair!"
I couldn't remember particulars about her, other than that shocked stupid look on her face as people around us laughed and we both stared at the perfectly braided tail of hair that was lying on the tiled floor. Dark hair, light hair, I didn't know. All I could remember was an open mouthed 'O' and wide eyes.
That bitch and her girlfriend were dead.
And if I'd get expelled for physically beating them bloody, then I'd have to play Rosalie's game.
Blackmail it was.
~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was easier than I imagined.
I asked to go to the bathroom and hurried down to the gymnasium, keeping a careful eye for campus security or administrators walking the grounds. I slipped into the hallway outside the locker rooms and pretended to get a drink while the girls filed out from their showers.
I walked into the long row of lockers and around the rectangle of changing benches.
Nothing, except for two unlocked half lockers and two St. Olaf school uniforms laid out on the benches.
In the back of the locker room I could hear the showers running.
I sat on one of the old wooden benches and crossed one leg over the other, content to wait. I drummed my fingers on my knees and rubbed at the scuff marks on my black shoes.
The bell was going to ring any second and I had already been gone for a solid ten minutes.
And just as I checked my watch, the bells rang loud and clear across the campus, signaling the end of the period.
Crap.
Almost simultaneously I heard two girls laughing and I leaned forward to peek around the lockers.
Two girls with towels in hand were chasing each other back into the changing portion of the room.
"Stop! We're already going to be late." The dark haired girl who was flushed and smiling shoved Claire lightly. "Dr. R is going to kill me."
Claire pushed Erica back, but whatever witty reply she had in mind died as she caught side of my head peering around the lockers.
She shrieked in surprise and one hand went up to her naked chest. Erica immediately yanked her towel around her body.
"Hi Claire. Hello Erica." I said with a smile. "Now I guess I know why there's never any cold water."
Claire stared at me like I was some sort of roach. There was mild horror and disgust in her piggish, unfriendly face, but for the first time there was also fear.
A lot of it.
Erica was shifting from foot to foot, looking between the two of us, though extremely careful to never make eye contact with either. She sat in my math class every day, but I never remembered her saying anything. She had ambiguity written all over her moderately pretty face and her moderately tall frame and her moderately styled hair. It was no wonder I had never even thought of the singular person who had destroyed my hair. I had simply thought of it as an act coming from the entire student body, that they had all done that to me in tandem.
In reality it was the indistinct person standing in front of me, with a death grip on her standard, school-issued white towel.
Claire's mouth was now opening and closing like a guppy. Her hair was beginning to frizz as it dried and her towel was in a heap at her feet. She seemed to be trying to figure out what to say.
"How long have you been in here you little pervert?" Finally came bumbling out of her insipidly stupid mouth.
I raised an eyebrow. "What's so perverted about being in a locker room, changing for gym class? Unless of course you're talking about dropping the soap while sharing a shower stall with someone who is patently not a co-ed?"
Claire's eyes nearly popped out of her head and I could see panicked tears already forming. She would be the type to cry at the first sight of trouble. I didn't feel bad for her.
"I don't…you can't…no!" She took a step forward and for one moment I had visions that she would take a swing at me or try and choke me. But that foot came down in a petulant stomp and the tears started flowing as one hand covered her mouth to muffle the sobs.
Erica was still staring at the floor, focusing on the white towel with the navy school logo. She was silent and worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
"I'm not…we weren't doing anything!"
Ah, denial. I merely smirked. "Right. You haven't been the last two girls out of the locker room for weeks now. And you certainly weren't chasing each other around naked in said locker room."
Claire's sniffles and sobs were louder now. Erica reached over to put her hand on Claire's arm, but Claire wrenched it away with wide eyes. As if she had just realized she was naked, she bent down and grabbed her towel, sidestepping both of us as if were rodents. She began tugging on her clothes quickly, still sniffling.
Erica and I just watched.
Finally she shoved her feet into her Mary Janes and began applying make-up in the mirror, covering up the red blotches on her face.
Her eyes met mine through the mirror and she paused from using her concealer and mascara wand.
"What do you want?"
I fought a smile and instead settled for a casual shrug. Was that ever a loaded question.
"I was thinking how great your hair would look if it was a different color. Black maybe. Maybe with some red highlights, little less 'I-love-Lucy' red, more 'fire engine' to start with."
Claire's fingers tightened around the tube of mascara and her lips disappeared altogether as she pressed them tightly. She ever so slightly nodded and whipped out of the locker room.
She understood perfectly.
I turned to Erica, who was watching me nervously. I smiled.
"Has anyone ever told you not to play with scissors?" I asked as pleasantly as possible. "No? Well consider yourself told. Have a lovely day."
I gave her a finger wave and spun out of the locker room.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I was called into the office during sixth period geometry. Dean Regan motioned for me to come in when I knocked.
"Miss Brandon, it says here you left your fourth hour study hall to go to the bathroom with ten minutes remaining in class and never returned."
I hadn't thought my study hall teacher would even notice. I grimaced, not even bothering with an innocent face. I was well and truly caught, and I wasn't about to pretend in front of Dean Regan that I was having "womanly troubles." Too many girls nowadays relied on that excuse just to creep out the male teachers so they could spend the majority of class in the bathrooms, or wandering the halls.
Besides, Dean Regan had done me a huge favor after the hair debacle, and I wasn't about to lie to someone that had been on my side before I teamed up with Rosalie, Emmett, and Edward.
"Sorry sir." I mumbled, looking down at my hands.
"No excuses Miss Brandon? It seems to me all you would have to do is tell your friend Mr. Cullen that you needed a pass out of class and he could have easily procured one for you."
My head snapped up and I saw the Dean's eyes twinkling ever so slightly. "You think I am unaware that Mr. Cullen is entirely too charming and clever for his own good, or that the secretaries have a very fond spot for him, particularly in the way of making tardies and unexcused absences disappear?"
Wow. Edward really was talented if he could flaunt his disregard for rules in front of Dean Regan and still not get punished. Not to mention, how did he know Edward and I were friends of sorts?
"No sir, I knew what I was doing. I don't need anyone stepping in for me." Especially since it was well worth whatever punishment he might dole out.
"The rulebook clearly stated truancy calls for the student to make up the class he or she missed with an early detention. Seven o' clock in the library Monday morning. It's a silent detention, so bring homework. This will be recorded in your file Miss Brandon."
I nodded and started to rise.
"Miss Brandon."
I paused and the Dean motioned for me to sit back down. I did so and waited in suspense. The Dean was obviously a very observant man. What else had he heard about me?
"I'm happy to see you've found yourself a group of friends Alice. Your first quarter grades were quite good."
I made a pained noise in the back of my throat and he shook his head at me. "They were. It usually takes new students a semester to adjust to the new pacing. I predict that by the end of this term, you'll have the rhythm of our school. I merely wanted to ask if there was anything I could do to be of assistance to you. I would very much like to see you succeed here at St. Olaf's. Not a lot of our Outreach scholars ever feel truly comfortable and many leave. You have the potential to not only succeed here, but at a top-rate university anywhere in the nation. Just something I thought you might want to keep in mind."
I nodded, not really hearing the words, only the typical schpeal of an administrator who was encouraging a kid to stay on the "right" path.
I left the office and headed back to class not thinking about my so-called potential and definitely not thinking about my morning threat and the subsequent humiliation I was having her go through.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The day of my 16th birthday coincided with the final football game that would decide whether or not St. Olaf's would be making it to the next round of the state championship tournament.
A lot needed to happen to make that dream a reality.
We needed to win on a field that was not our home turf.
The weather needed to clear up to allow the team to play on something at least resembling a large patch of grass and not a mud hole.
Emmett needed a good night's sleep instead of a forty-right minute nap during seventh period political geography.
All of those factors looked highly unlikely as the rain consistently beat down on over our tense heads well into the afternoon.
A small crowd with umbrellas gathered to send the players off on their buses. I watched from my window as the guys filed in with their pads and helmets tossed over their shoulders, assuring their small but faithful crowd of increasingly damp fans that victory was assured.
And if it wasn't, it would be the first time in nearly a decade since Olaf's didn't make the post-season cut.
I had tried to find some time to talk to Emmett in the last few days, finally succeeding last night when I got frustrated with his roommate (who warily blocked the door every time I knocked) and wandered down to the weight room.
Emmett was doing pull-ups like a mad man, his face flushed and dripping with streams of sweat stemming from his hairline. His t-shirt was drenched and he was audibly grunting with the effort to pull himself back up with every rep.
He finally came down on his feet and forced out a grim smile at me. The wet t-shirt was pulled off and he reached into his gym bag for a dry one. I was sad to see all those glorious, bulging muscles disappear, but in the long run it was probably better not to be distracted by his nakedness.
I wanted to talk to him about Rosalie, Claire and the blackmailing, my birthday, the fact that he hadn't touched me in two weeks.
"Aren't you supposed to take it easy the night before a big game?"
Emmett shrugged and wiped away some sweat with his forearm. "Won't be able to sleep anyway, so it doesn't matter. What brings you down here so late?"
It was after eleven. "Wanted to see you. You apparently aren't ever in your room."
Emmett's forced smile was back in place. "Gets a little claustrophobic in there. Been going for a lot of runs. Team meetings. We're playing MFL-Kinslow tomorrow, they're really good."
I nodded mutely. I couldn't quite figure out how to bring up all these trivial little topics, the least of which involved me whining about how he didn't spend enough time with me.
He was a focused, talented guy who was hoping to play at a collegiate level someday. Of course his brain could shift from sex to football for a couple of weeks each year. I was selfish and stupid to even think he would have the time (or the interest) in hearing about how Claire's hair would be an uglier version of mine tomorrow.
It was petty and childish and I was instantly embarrassed.
"Wanted to wish you good luck. I'll be there watching you beat up everyone in sight."
The smile was slightly more genuine as he reached down, careful not to touch me in any way with his sweaty lips, other than to swiftly kiss me and pull back.
"Goodnight Alice."
He didn't even ask to walk me back to my dorm. I was dismissed and he headed for the showers. End of interlude.
I tried to shrug that off. After all, he wasn't running to Rosalie or anyone else. He was just really stressed out about the game.
The game which turned out to be a landslide.
A landslide that buried St. Olaf and her eight-year run of playoffs under a tide of blue and orange fans and mud.
It was 35 to 3 at halftime.
And still raining.
I had boarded one of those buses to MFL-Kinslow all by myself. Both Rosalie and Edward, who had both promised to attend and support Emmett, were nowhere to be found. I called both of their cell phones. Nothing. I checked our dorm, no sign of Rose. I checked the piano hall, no Edward. I walked around campus until the final bus was getting ready to leave and I went to see Emmett play all by myself.
People gave me a lot of leeway. I had a row to myself as I stared out the window and pretended to not hear people talking about Claire's new "hairstyle."
I was the only one on the entire campus with hair like that, which meant Claire DeLane, of the infamous Delane family tree, had switched her Lucy-like red bush of curls for a black dye job with red highlights in the hopes of emulating me. The blue collar outcast. The alligator lady.
I studiously ignored them, inwardly smirking. And when we had all filed to the visitor's side of the football field, I found myself for the first time amongst the study body, literally shoulder to shoulder with them, but still separate.
I would always be separate.
By halftime it was a lost cause and I was lonely, cold, and very, very wet. One of the buses was taking a handful of students back and I quickly hopped on, before I could guilt myself into watching the second half.
It's not like Emmett would ever really want anyone to remember that he played in such a disaster.
I sat by myself towards the back of the bus, not bothering to watch the streetlights go by in a blur of yellowing orange. My thoughts were more centered on Rosalie and Edward. Where were they?
"Not waiting around for your honey? Soothe his wounds, give him a little pick me up? You know, after I lose a match in the ring I always get this one itch, really it's just this crazy gotta have me a blowjob right now feeling. One good blowjob can make all the difference. I'd imagine that logic is pretty sound with every guy on the face of the planet, unless they have some weird germaphobic fear of getting their dick licked."
I turned on a hiss. Could he have been any louder? The entire bus (all six of us) was looking around for the source of that slow drawl.
Jax was sitting in the very back seat.
"Come back here and sit. It's no fun if I can't see you get all riled up and pinched-looking angel-face."
I flipped him off and turned back to face forward at the ugly pattern on the seats. Who has a charter bus to take students from point A to point B anyway? What's wrong with a plain old big yellow school bus?
"Are you still upset about our one magical night together Brandon? Because I know I told you it was a mistake, but if Cullen and McCarty aren't manning up to meet your incredibly kinky expectat—shit! Ow! Mother fucker!"
I smacked him across the head as I practically tripped over myself in time to get back there and make him shut the hell up.
Was there anyone in this school who didn't use manipulative tactics like they were oxygen?
I slumped in the seat across the aisle from him muttering "asshole" not so quietly under my breath.
We passed a streetlight and in the quick flash of light I could see a figure slumped against Jackson, clearly passed out, mouth open as she slept the sleep of the incredibly drunk.
I pointed a finger at the broad and then poked him with it.
He merely shrugged and settled back in his seat, not caring if he jostled the figure using his body as a pillow.
"Too much vodka. Passed out in the first quarter. Hard to keep warm and all in this weather. Ruined my plans for the second half."
I snorted. "I'm sure it did."
"You could always make it up to me."
"I'd need a hazmat suit before willingly going anywhere your contaminated penis."
There was a good six seconds of silence. Then Jax very nearly growled at me.
"Shit angel. You keep talking like that and I'll pop off one of my buttons. How come you won't go out with me?"
"Besides the fact that you are the definition of 'wannabe pimp' or that your idea of going out is to get me drunk enough to lay under you while you thrust like a beached whale on top of me?"
"Ok, point." I could feel his grin washing over me, loosening the frown I was trying so hard to hang onto. "But it's always a good time. And you're already messing around with Cullen and McCarty, so don't put your nose in the air about sleeping with someone who sleeps around. Cause now that's you honey."
I stayed quiet. I had been secretly keeping a running list of comebacks for anyone who would be so bold as to inquire into the situation with the four of us or worse, make some skanky comment about it. Now was the prime opportunity to tell him where he could go, but my mouth refused to make any of the words necessary. I just sat there and took it.
Because it was (partially) true.
And because I was getting told by a man-whore, that I was a man-whore. As in I was sleeping (or I shortly would be now that football season was over) with two boys, not that I was a man.
It shouldn't have bothered me. I knew this was going to happen.
But Christ on a crutch! Did it have to be Jackson Whitlock who had to run his mouth about it?
"Did you pass out on me too?" His tone was teasing, but I heard the slight edge of worry in his tone. He knew he had stepped over the line of our usual half antagonizing, half sexual banter.
I sought to ignore his comments and set things on their usual path.
"Does that happen to you a lot?" I coughed to clear my throat.
This time Jackson was the one flipping me the bird and his freshman skank shifted and mumbled something.
Jackson rolled his eyes. "She's worthless. And she better not drool on this shirt."
"You should have been watching how much she drank."
"Why? She purposely gives off this vibe that's she's seen it all. The booze, the drugs, the sex. I popped that cherry and it was like those rides outside of the supermarket you used to beg your mom for quarters for. Like, an airplane or a horse? It's a two minute ride in which you repeat the exact same motion and once you get off you realize it really wasn't that great at all."
I was floored. Literally stunned nearly into speechlessness.
"Jackson Whitlock, did you just use a simile correctly?"
"Yeah well, they don't take complete idiots at Boston College."
"You got into Boston?" I gaped, knowing that it wasn't exactly flattering. Especially since we both knew I thought it was because he was rich.
"More than just a pretty face and a hard cock sweetheart."
God, if only that were true.
The bus came to a stop at the school gates and I practically ran off the bus, not caring that it was still raining.
I had just made it past the iron gates of the school when I heard him.
"Angel-face!"
He was walking toward me with the freshman in his arms, head completely unsupported and bobbing wildly with every step he took.
"Got a question for you." He said when he caught up, squinting as the rain pelted him in the face and soaked his eyelashes and his hair. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was cataloging how his wet jeans clung and how some people should be forced to walk around dripping wet for the public's enjoyment.
Jax would definitely be one of those people.
"What?"
"Would sleeping with me be like the worst thing ever? Worse than starving children in Nambia and three-legged puppies and Xanadu?"
Chocolate eyes didn't waver as I took in the rain and the wind and the smell of pine and mud and earthworms around us. His arms didn't so much as twitch with the weight of his drunken burden, whom he would probably strip naked and have sex with, even if the girl was unconscious. Droplets of water ran down his slightly crooked nose, which crinkled under the sheer force of his smile, which was aimed at me. Expecting an answer.
I took a step back and turned in the direction of my dorm room and warm clothes. I glanced back at him, with that slutty long-limbed bundle in his arms, still waiting.
"Nope, not worse than Xanadu."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I had all the intentions in the world of going back to by room, getting out of my wet clothes, taking a scalding hot shower and watching some TV in bed.
I had all those intentions, but one predominant emotion derailed said good intentions.
I was fucking turned on and it was all one wet cowboy's fault.
And the window of our room was dark. Rosalie still wasn't home.
So I went in search of Edward.
I had no idea what his dorm number was, so I began with the music hall. I checked the band room, his practice room, and the choir room just in case.
No Edward.
I sighed and was about to give up when I heard sound coming from down the hall as I made my way to first floor to leave.
It was a record playing, old jazz, just like we used to play at home during the summer nights.
I had found him. I knew it before I ever saw him.
No one else would be listening to that in the teacher's lounge on a Friday night.
I knocked on the locked door and the music abruptly cut off.
Edward opened the door just a crack, a puzzled frown marring his face, which eased when he saw that it was me.
"You're all wet. Where were…the football game."
"The football game you promised to go to with me."
"Rosalie was there."
"Actually she wasn't. She pulled a Houdini again this afternoon. I had to watch our poor team get slaughtered in the rain by my lonesome."
"We really need to figure out where Rosalie keeps slipping off to."
That's what his mouth said.
His eyes were on my very hard nipples, which were very visible against my soaked St. Olaf's Academy shirt.
They said something else entirely. I just couldn't read what. But the message wasn't PG rated.
I pushed past him into the teacher's lounge. "Do the professors know you sneak in and listen to their records?"
Edward gave me a look that said I should know better than to ask. He was a man with many a secret and he was taking them to the grave.
"Why didn't you meet me?"
"I…I had a bad day."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. Bella…she's-she and I—"
"She's the number three in your little three-way with Rosalie." I supplied. He grimaced.
"We had…have had an arrangement of sorts. She's not happy that I'm now in another arrangement that explicitly states she isn't supposed to exist."
So he had been breaking the rules. Rosalie would be furious. But was it breaking the rules if he had only had sex with one of us once? I mean, with the exception of the threesome, he wasn't getting any action. So did he have to follow the rules?
I personally voted yes.
"You tried to break it off with her?"
"Not exactly. Put on hold, more or less."
Of course. Always had to have some poon on standby, just in case.
"And she doesn't want to be your back-up piece of ass?"
Edward gave me a look. Completely unreadable. His face muscles must twitch when no one's around from disuse.
"She doesn't understand why I agreed to this in the first place. She thinks I'll forget her altogether."
"That would be tragic." I mocked, plopping down on the couch next to his lanky frame and cringing when my wet clothes made a kind of suctioning sound to my skin. Eeeww.
"So we lost?"
"I left at halftime. But yes, we are going to lose. Which, on the bright side, should result in an Emmett who is pouty and grumpy, but at least will be around."
"Still no sex huh?"
"Do I look sexed to you?" I snapped.
"Actually…you do. Your hair is all tangled because of the wind, and it's sticking to your forehead. Your clothes are going to be wrinkled and gross when they dry and your cheeks are bright red. All that's missing is…"
He leaned over and kissed me, nibbling at my bottom lip and cupping the back of my head to keep my still as he worked over my mouth until I was completely at his mercy. My head tilted back and I let his tongue flicker into my mouth.
He pulled back and tugged at my lower lip. A familiar gesture. "Now you looked sexed. It's all in the swollen red lips."
I sank back into my couch cushion and stared straight ahead at the wall, mouth still hanging open stupidly.
Jax, Emmett, Edward. Did I even care who was doing the kissing? Was I that uncaring about who it was kissing me that it was an interchangeable process? Whoever was available and willing to pay attention to me was allowed to mack on me? Or was it merely that I had three delectably gorgeous men willing to kiss me? Was I a gluttonous fool who was heading for a reality check? Wouldn't it be right—morally and normally speaking—to pick one guy to give all my kisses to? All my firsts? Wasn't it extremely dirty and sinful to be fooling around like I was, with two guys, possibly three if Jackson could ever manage to keep his hurtful barbs to himself?
Where were my morals? Where was my conscience? Why didn't I care that I was blackmailing, plotting, manipulating and sleeping around? Why didn't I care even the tiniest little bit?
Why did I feel like I was running on adrenaline? Why wasn't I horrified at myself for being this person. I didn't know this person. Who was she? What was she going to do next?
And why didn't I care?
"Hey." A hand came behind me and wedged itself between the cushion and my spine. It rested at the base of my back, the contact bringing me back to the present.
"Hey."
"Did you also have a bad day?"
No, I wasn't having a bad day. I was having a bad birthday. That was infinitely worse.
Edward dipped his head to kiss me again, lightly.
This time I was the one to push. My hands fisted in his hair and fought back a giggle over how much product I could feel in it. My tongue darted between his lips and my teeth nipped at his lips. I tugged him over me, until he was on top of me and I was lying down on the couch in the teacher's lounge in the music hall.
One of his hands was around my back, trapped between me and the couch cushion. The other was gripping my hip tightly, urging one leg around him.
We fused together via our lips, tongues, and teeth. His clothes were getting damp, but mine were suddenly feeling much warmer. There were no pesky thoughts now, only lusty images of having sex right here, right now. Who cared that Emmett had claimed dibs. It was my body and my choice.
It's not like Edward would stop me if I asked him for sex. He was more than capable of making me perfectly blank with sexual pleasure. That's all I wanted. To be blanked out by the waves of a really good fuck.
And that's when I pushed him off of me.
With a muffled curse he rolled to the ground, catching himself for a second on his hand before the weight of his body caused him to crumple.
He looked at me like I was insane and I just stared back.
I was starting to feel insane. Like I was a cracked egg whose crack was only getting bigger and more complex.
Still. Let's look at the cold, hard facts.
My sixteenth birthday was a complete and utter failure.
Emmett was ignoring me which bruised my self-esteem and made me all sorts of paranoid.
Jackson got me all twitchy and horny so I decided to go find Edward as a substitute player for Jackson, who was already a substitute for Emmett.
I had purposely done something cruel and was planning on using the blackmail in the future to ensure Claire never said another nasty word about me again.
And finally, the cherry-topping to my banana split sundae:
I wanted to have sex so I could feel blank.
That was a flashing red warning sign if I had ever heard one.
I needed to sort some shit out. Not sex it out.
Damn it.
"Alice." Edward was still waiting for an explanation.
"I wanted to use you for sex, only it wasn't really you I wanted. I don't really know what I want, except for all the stupid, overly-sexed, completely messed up thoughts in my head to just…go away. So I was using you for sex."
Edward stared at me. I stared back.
"You do realize I'm okay with that, right?"
I smiled tiredly at him, recognizing a joke when I heard it. I buried my face in my hands and allowed myself a tired, slightly hysterical laugh.
"Alice."
My wrists were in his hands. He was on his knees on the floor in front of the couch, eye level with me.
"Alice."
I shifted my gaze to him.
"I think we can both agree it's been a shit day all around. So let's get you home and warm and you can tell me whatever it is that's going through that completely too observant head of yours."
I smiled. "Do you mind if I tell you tomorrow? I think I'll just head back by myself. Less temptation to drag you into a room where there are actual beds and not couches that actually repel people from sitting on them."
I shifted on the couch to make my point.
Edward didn't like the idea of my walking back alone, I could see it. But he could probably see the determined set of my face as well and so he sighed in defeat.
"Alright. But here." He pressed something warm and metal into my hand. "Take this so you can always find me, any time day or night. It will open just about any door to any building on campus."
One of his stolen master keys. I now belonged to that privileged group that had no restrictions placed on where I could go or when I could go. A key with unlimited potential for trouble-making and escaping. Or hiding.
"Be safe. Don't run into any of those jocks who spend the football game seeing how much liquor they can sneak from a flask."
"I won't." Again.
"Goodnight Alice. I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Goodnight….hey Edward?"
Edward was ready to put the needle back to his record. "Yes?"
"I'm not going to sleep with you until you drop the other girl. We're in this together, we all play by the rules all of the time, not when you feel like it. No outsiders allowed."
Edward ran a hand through his hair and that hand came to rest on the back of his neck. He nodded ever so slightly. "Alright. I suppose that's fair."
I nodded back at him and shut the door behind me as I left.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I was nearing Whitlock, bypassing the halls that housed my daily art class, my political geography class, and my math class. No one was about yet, which meant everyone must still be at the game, which should be ending very shortly, if it hadn't already.
I was careful to keep my thoughts neutral and easy as I noted the shadows all around me and the bright moon partially covered by clouds. It was definitely a Halloween type setting and a piss-poor night to be wandering through a deserted school campus. Especially if you had turned sixteen today.
We never really celebrated birthdays back home either. I should probably just start pretending October 30th was just any other day. But if I ever had the chance, had the money and the friends and lifestyle, I would choose to celebrate birthdays like they were Christmas or weddings or carnivals. I would make a big deal out of it just because some days it's just nice to feel special, or make other people feel special.
I sighed at my own melancholy thoughts and ran a hand over my face, a little disgusted by myself today. My moods were swinging like a pendulum, because I was in limbo. I had all the opportunity in the world at this school, but it was my choice, my decision, on how to make the most of it.
I heard the creak of a door and then two hushed voices murmuring. I looked to my right and squinted in the darkness at the front steps of the math building. The Kessler building was huge and looming, creating big shadows, perfect for hiding a little outdoor loving, although I wondered who was stupid enough to be meeting up outside in this weather?
I stepped off the path and ventured a little closer, because I'm a curious girl and part of me was thinking about how I could use this information to my advantage.
In the dark I could see two figures intertwined, creating one meshed person with too many limbs. I squinted some more and a familiar frame and wave of blonde hair became instantly recognizable.
My mouth dropped open as I recognized the person Rosalie was kissing. It stayed dropped as his hands wandered all over her ass while she molded herself to his body like a second, much sexier skin.
Everything, EVERYTHING I had thought I had known up to this point tipped on its axis and then imploded.
