Because I'm Disposable (10 page)

Chapter Seventeen

What did one wear to a house party?
I stood in front of my mirror and surveyed the baggy jeans and black sweater I’d thrown on after my last-minute shower half an hour ago. It was Saturday evening; Jason’s party started in less than an hour, and Mona would be here any minute. I was dressed, but I wasn’t at all ready. She was so put together, so glam. And I was so sweats and sneakers.

“Who ya going out with?” Corrine asked from her spot at the desk at the other end of the room. It was an ersatz vanity, with makeup spread across the top. Makeup Corrine was applying expertly. Makeup I didn’t know how to put on.

“Mona Fleming.” I tugged my sweatshirt over my head, tossed it onto my bed, and stepped back into the closet. I skipped right over my side, aiming directly for Corrine’s clothes.

Corrine’s eyeliner hit the desktop with a crack. “S
eriously? First you're smoking pot with her, now a party? You do know she hooked up with Jodi Layton’s boyfriend while she was at her grandmother’s funeral, right?”

“So?” I pulled an armload of tops off the rack and carried them to Corrine’s bed for proper examination.

“So …” Corrine turned in her chair and stared me down like I’d been the one to sleep with Jodi Layton’s cheater of a boyfriend. “Do you really want to be friends with someone you can’t trust to not sleep with your boyfriend?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” I lined up my shirt choices across her bedspread.

She threw her arms up emphatically. “What is Lincoln?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “We haven’t talked about it.”

“He acts like your boyfriend. He looks at you like he thinks he’s your boyfriend.”

I couldn’t deny that. Instead, I let the subject drop and stood back to get a big picture view of the tops I’d chosen. My breasts weren’t large enough for the first two; Corrine had at least two cup sizes on me. The third, a slinky, red number was so low cut it would probably show my belly button. Four and five were viable options; both were white and fitted, but one was a long-sleeved, lacy number where the other was a stretchy tank top. I pulled the stretchy tank over my head and moved back to my place in front of the mirror.

“If you’re going to wear that, you have to do it right,” Corrine told me as she got up and headed toward the closet. When she came out, she handed me a short, olive-colored skirt. I shirked my jeans and pulled the skirt on. It fit perfect, narrow at the waist and wide at the thighs. That the fit was exact meant it was likely too small for Corrine, which was probably why I’d never seen her wear it.

“Please tell me you’re not going to wear those hideous boots.” Corrine shuddered.

“Can’t leave home without ‘em.”

“Well, at least let me try to balance the travesty your feet will be committing by doing your makeup like a movie star.”

Corrine had been trying for years to get me to let her make me over. “Fine.” I gave her what she wanted.

*
* * * *

When Mona arrived, strolling into my house forty-five minutes late and without knocking, I was in the living room. I’d long since given up waiting for her, assuming instead that I’d been stood up. And so, I was watching the news and feeling sorry for myself.

“Hey hey! Who’s ready to par-tay?” A trail of cigarette smoke followed her in the door. Garrett pulled up the rear, landing a pointless, half-hearted knuckle-knock on the door jamb.

Suddenly, my emotions were sky high. She hadn’t forgotten about me. Never mind the fact that she was almost an hour late, I was elated that she’d come for me. “Yeah, let’s go!” I hopped off the couch and practically danced over to her.

A shrill, lewd-construction-worker whistle pierced the air. Garrett followed his whistle up by motioning for me to twirl in the middle of the foyer. I did, giggling and tittering like a mindless ditz.

“Gi-i-irl! Look at you!” Garrett whistled again. “Look at her, Mona. Doesn’t she move like a model?”

Mona’s smile faltered as she looked me over, and when it returned, it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, just like a model.”

I tried not to let her lackluster response impinge on my mood as we headed out the door and got into Garrett’s car, but there was definitely something off about her reaction, and something cool in her tone.

“Where does Jason live?” I leaned forward from the backseat, poking my head between Mona and Garrett’s shoulders like an animal coming up from its burrow. The wind roaring through the open windows was so deafening, I wasn’t sure they’d actually heard me.

Mona turned to look out at the houses whizzing by.

“East Ridge, over by the airport.” Garrett answered.

A shiver of excitement, and maybe a little fear, stole down my spine. East Ridge was one of those neighborhoods you didn’t go into after dark, unless you were one of the unfortunate souls who had to live there. Like Jason. No wonder he was such a badass.

Mona flipped the radio on, and it blasted out my eardrums for a split-second before she scrambled to turn it down to a tolerable volume. Then, she pulled a pack of smokes out of her bra and lit one. Garrett held out his hand, and she slipped it between his fingers without comment.

She pulled out two more and passed one my way. I didn’t want to be the only one not smoking, especially when she’d already lit one for me. That would draw too much attention to myself. I was certain that if I turned down that cigarette right then, Mona and Garrett both would know I was faking it, that I was only pretending to be cool. I took it, took a drag, and collapsed against the seat in my effort to keep my lungs inside my chest.

By the time the cigarette was half gone, smoking it was easier. I could actually take a drag, inhale and exhale, without wanting to die. When it got down to the filter, I followed Mona’s lead as she flicked her butt out the window. She lit two more and again handed one to me.

“Hey,” she yelled to Garrett, “Stop at that gas station. I need Marlboroughs. Seth’s Newports are killing me.”

Garrett nodded and steered into the QuickRight.

“Lights!” She called after him when he climbed out of the car. “Here,” she tossed her current pack into my lap, “you take these. Don’t want ‘em to go to waste.”

I was either going to be sick or addicted before the night was over.

Chapter Eighteen

Music thumped,
audible from outside the house even before we made it to the door. Mona walked right in without knocking, just like at my house. Garrett slipped inside next, and I brought up the rear, gingerly pushing the door shut behind me. Inside, the living room was dark, and a haze of smoke hung low in the air. It was stifling, and I wasted little time shrugging out of my coat. My white tank top glowed a black-lit purple, courtesy of the floor lamp next to the door, and I was glad I’d worn something without sleeves. It was hella hot in that tiny room.

The party was smaller than I’d expected; it wasn’t a big rager like high school parties are portrayed on TV. It was more like the way those cop shows depict drug dens: dark and mellow, intimate. Three girls were on the floor in the far corner passing a bong back and forth. I recognized Mary Hannigan from my fourth period photography class, and suddenly her mid-class snacks and frequent naps made so much more sense. She was in a grey Ridgecrest Coyotes hoodie that was so big, she looked like a small child wearing her daddy’s clothes. Her dark hair fell over the bong as she lifted it to her lips, lit the bowl, and sucked.

I didn’t know the other two girls, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t plan on joining their smoke-out. The idea of getting high, of being fuzzy-brained—or worse, that I might fall asleep on Jason’s porno-esque black, leather couch—gave me the willies.

Straight ahead, Jason stooped over a small dining table in the alcove next to the kitchen. His green T-shirt was tight on him, defining every leanly muscled inch of his chest and arms. The only thing more distracting was his signature hair: short, thick spikes. A girl could certainly do worse than Jason Williams.

I was halfway to him when he pressed a rolled-up dollar bill into his left nostril, and a finger over his right to hold it closed. Then, he bent almost double and snorted a line of powder off the tabletop. I stopped short. He came up sniffing and crinkling his nose, tipped his head back, hocked a loogie. And swallowed it.

I fought the urge to gag. That’s when he noticed me.

“Callie, hey! You made it.” He closed the distance between us and wrapped me in a sloppy hug. He smelled like days-old cigarettes and patchouli, and he didn’t let me go right away. I held my breath and tried to wriggle free. Suddenly, I was comparing everything about Jason to Link. Where Link always smelled clean and fresh, Jason’s scent was earthy and used. Link’s skin was soft and smooth; Jason’s face was patchy with spots of acne and his palms were calloused and rough on my arms. Link was a breath of fresh air, and hugging Jason made me want fresh air desperately. Had I really used to think he was hot?

When he did release me, it was only part way, and he was still too close for comfort. He left one arm draped around my shoulders and used it to guide me toward the kitchen. I went with him to avoid drawing attention to myself by physically pulling away from him.

Mona was sitting on the kitchen counter. Her short, black skirt was hiked almost to her waist, exposing nothing but bare skin underneath. She seemed to have forgotten all about the boyfriend she’d introduced me to a week ago, because Johnny North, a three-peating senior with more facial hair than Grizzly Adams, stood between her legs, rubbing her thighs with meaty hands. What would Seth say if he could see her right then? Did they have an open relationship? Maybe they’d broken up. I recalled what Corrine had said about Mona earlier. Maybe not.

A quiet, nerdy guy with a greasy, blonde ponytail and glasses thicker than my nana’s stood near the sink nursing a beer.

“Johnny, Paul, I want you to meet Callie. You guys be extra nice to her. She’s my special guest.” Jason’s hand was creeping closer to my breast with every word he spoke. Johnny barely glanced in my direction before burying his furry face against Mona’s neck.

Paul leered like a sex offender and grinned at Jason. “Yeah, she is!”

Ew. I reached up and peeled Jason’s hand from my chest, then slid out from under his arm. “Thanks.” I casually moved toward the refrigerator. “Got anything to drink?”

Jason squeezed past me to get to the fridge, and his hand
brushed my butt on his way by—I doubted it was an accident. When he returned, he proudly held up a bottle of hard cider. I’d barely twisted the cap off before he was leading me out of the kitchen, toward Stoners’ Corner. Garrett was there now, lazing in a bean bag chair. He got up with deer-in-headlights eyes as Jason and I neared.

“Thanks, man.” Jason slapped Garrett on the back
before claiming the chair he'd just vacated. Before I could react, he pulled me down onto his lap. I landed with a shriek and immediately rushed to ensure my skirt was still covering everything north of mid-thigh.

I tried to stand. Jason gripped my hips to hold me there, but didn’t seem to realize I was trying to get up. It wa
s no big deal, I told myself—not like he was trying to cop a feel. Again. I would sit here for a few minutes, until I could make a believable excuse to move.

Mary thrust the bong at me, holding it inches away from my nose. I shook my head and pushed it away. “No, thanks. I’m good,” I told her, holding up my bottle of cider and taking a big swig for emphasis. She gave a half-hearted shrug and aimed for Jason instead. He took it.

Twenty minutes later, my drink was gone, and the bong was cashed—according to Garrett.

“I’m empty.” I held my bottle up for Jason to see and wasted no time climbing off him.

“No problem. I’ve got something better.” He jumped up and headed for the black lacquer coffee table, pulling a bottle of Grey Goose and a whole handful of shot glasses out from underneath. The pack of potheads surrounded the table like hungry hyenas, gleeful and snickering.

“We playing quarters?” The tiny girl with mouse-brown hair had a mousy voice to match.

“Yup.” Jason produced a fistful of pocket change and picked out several quarters. “I’ll go first.” In a blur of motion, he dropped his hand, and the quarter bounced off the table to land with a clink in one of the shot glasses. He raised both hands over his head in a triumphant pose. “Nothing but net!”

“Who takes it?” Garrett asked. It might have been my imagination, but he almost looked hopeful, like he wanted to be the first to drink.

Jason considered each of us individually for a long moment. Then, “Callie.”

I’d never had hard liquor before, but I’d seen enough movies to know that it was going to be unpleasant. Jason was watching me, and I didn’t want to look like a loser. So, I accepted the filled-to-the-brim glass when Jason handed it to me. I could do this. But could I do it without embarrassing myself like I did with my first cigarette?

Everyone was staring at me now, waiting for me to drink. I determined to knock it back like a pro, or do my best to anyway. Maybe it was like cough syrup, and wouldn’t be so bad if I held my breath. Resisting the urge to plug my nose, I filled my lungs with air, lifted the glass to my lips, and tipped my head back.

Fire. My throat was on fire. The vodka burned like acid, searing away my esophagus as it raced toward my stomach. My eyes watered, but I managed to stifle the choking noises as my throat contracted in pain. When the liquid hit my stomach, I was sure it was burning a hole there, but I kept what I hoped was a straight face. And my suffering was rewarded seconds later. The burn faded, dulling to a pleasant warmth in the middle of my abdomen.

“All right, your turn!” Mousy Girl handed me a quarter. I could totally do this. If I could sink a basketball from the three-point line, I could certainly drop a quarter into a glass from a foot away. I lined up my shot, slammed my quarter onto the table, and watched as it flew over the other side. It dropped onto the carpet with a plop.

After five rounds, I was finally starting to land some of my shots. But my legs were rubbery, and my fingertips fat and clumsy. That warmth in my stomach had spread, numbing me from the inside out. And maybe I needed to pee; I wasn’t really sure.

“Where’s the bathroom?” I asked, using Jason’s shoulder as a crutch to help me stand. As soon as I was steady on my feet, he got up too. How he could be so agile when I was about to fall over just standing still, I would never know.

“I’ll show you.” He gripped my elbow, maybe a little too hard, and guided me down a short hallway to the bathroom.

I felt along the wall inside the door until I found the light switch, then flipped it.
The immediate assault on my vision was exponentially brighter than the sun. I was sure my retinas would never recover. I squeezed my eyes shut, slowly getting used to the light filtering in through my tightly-closed lids. Eventually, I worked up the nerve to crack one eye open, then the other. Miracle of miracles, I could see! I stepped in and turned to shut the door, but Jason was already halfway in, blocking the way.

“What are you doing?” I asked. My tongue was heavy, and I was sure my words were slurred.

Jason stepped forward and lowered his face next to mine. “Showing you where the bathroom is.” He kicked the door shut with his foot.

I didn’t want him in there. Truth was, I wasn’t dying for a pee, but I was definitely desperate for a few minutes to sober up. Alone. I backed up until I ran into the counter, but it didn’t help. Jason closed the distance between us as fast as I created it. He brushed a sloppy kiss over my lips, then grazed my cheek on his way to whisper in my ear. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you all week.”

That was kind of flattering. Boys didn’t usually pay much attention to me. They certainly didn’t try to kiss me. And Jason wasn’t a bad looking guy. He didn’t make my skin tingle or my stomach flip like Link did, but maybe kissing him would be kind of nice.

It wasn’t.

His mouth was all over—kissing, licking, sucking like he was trying to swallow my face. Then, his tongue swept into my mouth toward my throat. It was wet and slimy and held the tang of vodka breath. Bile rose in the back of my throat. Or maybe that was the Grey Goose coming back up. Either way, letting Jason kiss me had been a terrible idea.

I pulled back, tried to pry myself away from his lip lock. He wrapped his arms tight around me and pushed my body harder against the vanity. The countertop ledge pressed painfully into my lower back, and the pain radiated out, resonating up my spine.

I was having trouble breathing around his lips. I turned my head to the side, and the suction of his mouth on mine broke with a sickening, slurping pop. “We should go back out to the party,” I told him, praying desperately that he would agree.

“Mmm, later.” He moaned the word against my neck. What should have been an intimate, titillating action sent the wrong kind of shivers down my spine.

I managed to worm my hands between our torsos and press against his chest. His hold on my body was so tight I couldn’t put even an inch of distance between us. So I tried a different tack. “I have to pee.”

“You’re a big girl. You can hold it.” And he slobbered his way down to my neckline, using his chin to push the material out of the way so he could nuzzle into my minimal cleavage. His right arm tightened around me, his fingers digging into my left shoulder, and his other arm relaxed enough to give me false hope of escape. My muscles were shaky and weak against his hold. Seconds later, clammy fingers crept under my tank and across my stomach. He was heading for my breast and not wasting any time doing it.

“Please stop. I’m not … I don’t want to.” I was beginning to feel a little claustrophobic, a little frantic. A little like he wasn’t going to stop at all. His hand closed around my breast, cupping it, squeezing it too hard.

“It’s all right, baby.” He didn’t take his mouth away from my collarbone, instead murmuring the words against my skin. His breath was like fire on my flesh, and I was sure there would be blisters everywhere his words touched. “It’s okay if this is your first time. I’ll make it good. Promise.” Nothing about this was good. He’d only just uttered his promise and it was already broken.

“No.” I shoved his chest hard. He barely budged. “Stop!”

Jason raised his head to look me in the eye. “Come on, don’t be a prude, baby. You can’t get a guy all worked up and then not follow through.” He punctuated his words by thrusting his hips against my stomach, proving he really had no intentions of stopping. “You don’t want everyone to think you’re a tease, do you?” Adrenaline surged through my body even as Jason’s hand released my breast and inched toward the other one.

I racked my brain for an idea, some way to get him off me, because he was clearly too strong for me to fight him. Finally, inspiration struck, and I did the one thing I was sure would get him off me. I feigned a gag, then another. In seconds my pretense had escalated to all out dry heaving against Jason’s shoulder. He stilled immediately. His grip on me slackened ever so slightly.

“Oh God, I’m
—” I heaved again. “I’m gonna be sick!” If he’d continued, I probably would have been sick.

Jason jumped away from me, letting me go as if I’d spontaneously combusted and he was worried I’d burn him. I took advantage of my newfound freedom and threw my hand over my mouth while also scrambling for the toilet. My act must have been convincing. As I knelt over the bowl, gagging and coughing, he opened the door and made a slow retreat toward the hall. I watched out of the corner of my eye, praying for him to leave. One more step and he’d be on the other side of the threshold.