Note:
Flashbacks and thoughts in italics.
I do not condone or encourage any behaviours in this story. It is simply a fictional story.
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Amo cried, tearing another packet of potato chips, while watching a Kdrama on her phone.
"It's ending. Oh no, it's ending."
"Don't eat it alone. You'll get fat," her older brother, Follo, pointed out like he'd made a genius invention.
"I'm fine." Why are all the men in my life like this? Amo used a tissue to wipe her nose and unplugged the charger from her phone. She went outside and sat on the steps leading up to the sunroom, the flowers in their small garden blessing her vision.
She was pretty much a pushover growing up, people looked at her strangely, and she was a target for bullies. She also didn't know how to manage her long hair—that earned her the the nickname 'ghost'. Her life sucked in middle school.
But everything changed the day she went on a motorcycle ride with Riyo, broke the school's rules, and got famous for her two-month suspension with her newly found bestie, Riyo. Nobody messed with her again, because Riyo taught Amo the secret to being free. It's to stop bothering about one's reputation and speak one's mind—well... or at least, learning to, in Amo's case. When someone attacks your fortress, you defend it with all your might. Whether you lose or not doesn't matter.
Riyo's words still ring in her head:
"The step at the finish line is not the only step, there are so many steps from beginning to end, and a lot of checkpoints. Girl, you gotta stop waiting—what are you waiting for? For the sky to crumble and fall over your bullies? Start somewhere."
That's right, Amo didn't want to be a "ghost" just because someone found how she managed her hair when she was a child funny. Amo didn't have a mother, and her violent (Follo's description), deadbeat father died when she was only four, leaving her with her brother. What was she supposed to do?
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Amo had a bittersweet, nostalgic memory. Every time the swing went up, she kicked her feet in joy, squealing. Those were the good days. Amo's childhood wasn't the best, but it was hers, and something she cherished deep in her heart.
Usually, it was her brother who would play with her, but sometimes it would be him. Small hands pushed her and sent her swinging up again, and she loved his company. He might not even remember her now, but she remembered him. She had so much fun with him, and she was sure he had too.
However, he moved away after a few months, and she never saw him again. But she knew how he looked and his name. Platinum-blonde with "dirty" ends. Red irises. Rudo.
Even so, people change, and the Rudo she knew before was not the Rudo she came to know when he transferred to her school as a middle schooler. Amo didn't like this Rudo as much as she liked the one she made pinky promises with as a kid. When she met him in his teens, Amo felt like she got scammed by a scam artist.
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When Rudo first saw Amo, he thought she was beautiful—definitely not girlfriend material—from the bandages on her knees and messy appearance, despite a face that screamed "delicate." So when his friends shit-talked about her, he didn't think much of it and was forced to join in. Bro-codes and all.
The other day he had laughed with his friends while she tripped and fell to the ground clumsily. When he realized she was hurt and struggled to get up, he had felt a twinge of guilt that faded fast before he could even register it.
The corridor was calm, the twittering birds adding to the afternoon's cheerful glow. Something soft hit him in the back, and he whipped around. It was a paper ball. He raised an eyebrow and leaned down to pick it up, looking around to catch the culprit behind it.
There was something scribbled on it in italics:
"Rudo, rudeness is in your name, I was a fool to fall in love with you. I hate you."
Rudo stared far ahead and saw two black shoes, ankles clad in strawberry socks, step out from the darkness.
"Amo?" He plucked a leaf from one of the pot plants carelessly, then put his hands inside the pockets of his pants.
She smiled less these days. She had an attitude, a thick skin to protect her from the sharp words of people who can't mind their own business, who had nothing better to do... (He's not one of those people, hah? Of course not. He's good. Better.)
Guilt came again like frothing waves across the shores. Rudo glanced at his watch, then back at her, and the guilt retreated into the sea.
Her looks had improved. He'd give her that. She looked prettier with short hair.
Amo left without a reply after giving him a blank face. He dashed and turned a corner, but Rudo couldn't catch up with her. Sneaky little gremlin.
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Rudo thought Enjin was an idiot for stripping his shirt and almost dancing on the pole.
"—so I was on top of the tree while I was trying to cut it. And guess what, I didn't realize I was cutting the branch I was sitting on—" Enjin's words entered through his left ear and left through his right like a flock of birds.
"Hey, are you even listening?" He snapped his fingers, blinking slowly and indignantly and shaking his head.
Rudo was totally entranced, captivated by what he saw, so much so that Enjin swore he didn't imagine the clack sound when he saw Rudo's jaw drop to the floor.
She was ravishing. Her upper body was wrapped in a paisley shawl, and her legs were crossed, clad in black fishnet stockings. Her body was swaying to the music, and the short dress left nothing to the imagination.
"What's wrong?" his cousin asked him, chugging down a shot of sake.
He clicked his tongue and rested his gaze on the rim of his glass, thinking of a lie to lie.
"Nothing. I feel a bit queasy."
It wasn't nausea. His gut was saying yes instead, adrenaline washing over him. He faked a yawn.
"Excuse me, I need to use the restroom."
Amo knew it was a bad idea, but she didn't mind ruining her life. She was broken, weeping on the ground because her boyfriend dumped her.
The club was loud with jeers and laughter, the smell of sweat and cologne hanging in the air. Amo didn't mind the hand grabbing her ass or the tongue slipping into her mouth. The guy had sleek hair, sharp teeth, and a sleazy grin glued to his face. He took a clump of her hair and pulled. Gosh, it made her mind spiral.
A drunken Amo told herself that they had better chemistry than that useless boyfriend of hers for the past two years.
Someone yanked her back from his grip by her elbow.
"Amo, you're underage."
Her vision was swirling, but she made out the face of the person who had hissed into her face.
Rudo. Rude boy Rudo who trash-talked about her with his loser friends behind her back.
She tried to tug her arm back, but he was not done talking. "Get your shit together. He looks like he's ten years too old for you!"
It was hard to comprehend the string of words spewing from his potty mouth. "So are you."
"EEH."
"You're underage too. How'd you get in? Fake ID's not gonna work when you're scrawny." She slurred, grabbing the collar of his shirt, giggling like a maniac.
Lord, isn't she a handful? Rudo rolled his eyes, his frown deepening. "Excuse me, you're one to talk. That's not even the problem right now."
He couldn't see the shape of her eyes. They were covered by round, dark glasses. But he knew where her gaze was pointed.
She stared at him with such passionate anger, the muscles on her face pulling in disgust. It's not supposed to look pretty, right? It's not supposed to make his lips part or mouth water.
Joke's on you, Rudo thought—anger looked good on her face. His nostrils flared as lust swirled inside him like a dangerous maelstrom. And was he drunk? You can bet it on your best dollar. He was drunk as a skunk.
All at once, he froze, losing his grip on the chair he was leaning on. She caught him before he stumbled to the ground. She said—did he imagine it? Was there something in his ears?
"What did you just say?"
She narrowed her eyes at him and repeated it again. "Would you fuck me instead? I came here for that."
He stepped into her personal space, gazing at the rise and fall of her chest with a gulp.
"You want me to fuck you."
"Look mister, do I look like I got here to make good decisions? It's either you or that guy."
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Amo doesn't know how she ended up in Rudo's home, upstairs, in his room, in his bed, but she knew she needed it tonight.
She needed to feel his touch sparking fire over her skin. She wanted to feel him enter her, roll his hips against her, pin her down, hold down all her worries and make her lose her mind. Make her forget.
Boy knew how to kiss.
"You're my first." He grunted, lips against her ears, one hand kneading her jugs and tweaking her pebbled nipples, while the other gripped at her hips. It felt too good to be inside her. She was so wet and tight, holding to his length like a vice.
"What?" He's a virgin...?
The way he held her shoulder, his gentle grip, was almost romantic. Amo smiled into his pillow before he hauled her by the hips and flipped her over.
She liked it better when she was not facing him. Her hands went up, trying to cover her face. He snatched her wrists and tossed them over his neck. Now, she had to face him smirking down at her like he was a winner.
Amo trailed her fingertips over the back of his neck, knowing they were ticklish.
"Aaahh fuck."
He held in his laugh and thrust hard in protest, his pace quickening and making her toes curl until her tickles became painful scratches. The sound of their skins slapping together was obscene, to say the least.
"That's better," he said breathlessly, too cocky for this being his first time bumping uglies with a girl.
They hugged each other, gasping and panting as he sucked her nipples and pinched her clit.
She was about to slap him when he slowed—when she didn't want him to slow, when she was on the verge of climax. Thank goodness, he released her from the pain by quickening up again. Her legs wrapped around his hips, her skin glowing from their heat.
Euphoria hit them like a starburst, messy and mind-numbing, their minds floating around in the expanse of the universe like kites in the sky. They listened to their rapid heartbeats, waiting to catch their breaths as their limbs lay limp and useless on the bed after the intense orgasm.
"Woww," Rudo said with an airy voice. "That was crazy. We should do it again."
"What have we done?" Amo asked as some of her senses trickled back to her headspace with the dissipating haze.
"We fucked." Rudo nodded to no one but himself. "And I liked it. What about you?"
Amo took her time, washing away her concerning thoughts in the peaceful silence. It's okay. He used a condom. She closed her eyes and reminded herself.
Sometimes, life fucks you over, but it's okay.
"I liked it too, but you're the bane of my existence," she said, tracing her bruised lips.
Rudo huffed, turning to face her with a shameless grin. He loved her lips. They were plush and looked cute when she pouted.
"Yeah. Yeah. Got it. But you liked it."
Amo threw a pillow at him, only for him to dodge it effortlessly.
That's when she really looked around her, observing his room. He had posters of Marc Marquez on his walls, and his pillows, comforters—almost every trinket in his room—was cherry red.
He looked her in the eye and snuck closer to annoy her on purpose. Amo bit the inside of her cheek, putting a pillow between them right before his fingers could touch her skin again.
"How do you even have the energy for this? I'm whacked. Gotta sleep." She yawned. Beauty sleep.
"Right, stay the night. I'll drop you off at your house tomorrow morning," he spoke casually, and ruffled her head.
"What? NO. My aunt will slap you with a slipper." She sighed. "I'll tell her I stayed over at Riyo's house."
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