Perfectly Flawed (27 page)

“Who said anything about driving, baby,” he
purrs in my ear as he boxes me against the wall. His body presses
against mine, pinning me to the wall. “I just mean a different
room. This place is full of rooms. How about one less…” he trails
off, pausing to think of the appropriate word, which could take
some time given his inebriated state. “Crowded.”

Red flag!

“Uh, how about not,” I nervously mutter, my
hands reaching up his chest to push him away. He drunkenly stands
his ground, his hand reaching up to cup my cheek. His blue eyes
focus on my mouth, on my lips, the lips—I swear to you right now—he
will never touch.

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?” he asks
quietly, his face leaning closer, closer, and closer to mine.

“Because I don’t want to,” I tell him,
ducking from his head, trying to maneuver under his arm. It doesn’t
work.

“Of course you do,” he whisper-slurs, his
beer-sour breath blowing into my face.

“Why am I still here?” I mutter under my
breath knowing he didn’t hear me, searching the surrounding crowd
for help. Ryder’s too focused on my mouth, my lips, the lips he
will never kiss, so help me God. “Look, I’m going to go, okay?” I
don’t mean it as a question, I just want to leave in any way I
can.

Where’s Avery when I need him? Where’s Kennie
when I need her?

I just need a distraction of some kind.

Ryder says something that I can’t understand,
something that I wasn’t even paying attention to.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I remind him, still
trying to push him away. “Okay?”

“No, not okay,” he whines—actually whines
like he’s three years old and someone took away his favorite
toy—but his hands grasp both of mine, pulling me closer to him, if
that were even possible. “Come on, let’s go somewhere more private.
You’ll like me so much better there.”

I don’t even like you now.

“I doubt that, Ryder,” I struggle to say
against his chest. “Let’s not and say we did.” I regretted that as
soon as it left my lips. I don’t want to
say
we did anything
except that he drove me home… after he sobered up. “Look, it’s
almost my curfew”—I didn’t have one tonight, but it never hurt to
use a little white lie—“if you can’t take me home, I’ll find my own
ride.”

“Baby, I’ll give you a ride you’ll love.”

Crap, crap, crap!

The word replays in my brain—constant
repeat.

He maneuvers us toward a closed door on the
other side of the living room. No one notices us as we pass. To
anyone that bothers to look at us, we just look like we’re heading
off to get some
alone time
. No one notices my struggling to
free myself from against Ryder’s chest, no one hears me telling
Ryder to stop and let me go, but someone does lock eyes with me.
Brett, the one from the first party, the one that surveyed me like
a piece of meat. He smiles at me as we pass.

Ryder gets the door open and the light turned
on before he kicks the door closed and releases me into the room. I
stumble back, falling on the rug in the center of the room.

“What the
hell
’s wrong with you,
Ryder?” I yell, sobering up and standing. What little buzz I had is
long gone.

“Nothing that you can’t fix, baby,” he slurs
as he walks past me, his hand gliding across my cheek. He falls
onto the white leather couch, as graceful as an elephant, patting
the seat next to him, but I refuse to move. I refuse to go near
him.

The room he just locked us within must be
some sort of den or home office for Jennifer Long’s father. There’s
a large wooden desk by a window that lets out onto a balcony and
the aforementioned white leather couch that Ryder’s currently
sitting on—who knew that people still owned, let alone made, white
leather couches, there are various trinkets and tiny statues that
scream
I am Man!
everywhere.

“Please,” he begs, still slurring, still
whining pathetically. “I’ll behave.”

I roll my eyes. I can leave. I can just turn
around and walk out the door. I could get to the door before he
even stands. As I turn around, ready to make my big exit, his hand
grabs my arm and yanks me toward the couch, pulling me onto the
cushion next to him. Ryder inches closer; his hand finding my cheek
again, rougher this time. I shove him away and stand up, trying to
move away from the couch, trying to put distance between us, but
his hand latches onto my arm painfully, pulling me down until I
straddle his lap.

“Ryder, stop,” I demand, trying to wrench my
arms free. “Let go of me,” I command, struggling against him to
stand and back away. Only it doesn’t work and soon, I’m lying back
on the couch with Ryder on top of me, his hand gripping my jean
covered thigh aggressively.

He mashes his lips against mine,
aggressively, forcing his tongue into my mouth. His hand sloppily
glides down my body until it reaches the hem of my shirt, pulling
and tugging at the fabric to get a good grip. His hand slinks
beneath the moist fabric and sliding up my stomach until his
fingers reach the cup of my bra.

My pretty baby girl
.

I try and push him, try and get away from
him. Finally pushing back, kicking him until he falls to the floor
in a muffled
thud
swallowed by the thick carpet. I stand,
feeling a cool breeze against my stomach. He ripped my shirt,
splitting it down the front. I turn my back to him until the light
hooded jacket from my waist is untied and on. I need to cover my
stomach. No one can see my stomach. As I zip the Abercrombie &
Fitch jacket, my locket glints in the light, and I feel a tear
slide down my cheek.

Suddenly, I’m filled with so much sadness, so
much anger, and the feelings conflict with each other. They battle
for the right to take over my body. But I allow neither one the
authority to control my body. I need to survive; I need to
escape—that’s all that matters right now.

I turn around, hoping that Ryder’s a smart
boy and left the room.

But he hasn’t.

He’s standing in front of me, a malicious
grin splitting his face.

“I’m going home,” I tell him, pulling my
phone from my pocket. I scroll through the contacts for a name, an
idea of someone to call. I stop on Zephyr’s name, his number
illuminated in pink; he’d come and get me. Despite our fight, he
still cares about me. I know if I were to call him, he’d come
running.

“Oh, come on, baby, don’t be like that,”
Ryder whines as he stands near the couch. “All I wanted was a kiss.
I’ll take you home now.”

As he stumbles before me, I replay his words
in my head, mentally hearing the slur.

“Like I’m going anywhere with you again,” I
growl, my hands shakily trying to hit the right part of the screen
to call the familiar number. Damn touch screen phones. “How the
hell could I’ve trusted you? I knew there was an agenda, I should
have listened to him,” I remark, remembering Zephyr’s doubts and
warnings.

His hand snatches my phone from my hands
before I have a chance to call Zephyr, before I have any way of
warning anyone about where I am—my screen froze.

Ryder glances at the screen, a shrill laugh
escaping his throat. “Really, Kalivas?” he asks, mockingly.
“Pathetic,” he slurs-murmurs as he tosses my phone onto the desk
beside us.

Forget this. “This is too much effort,” I
angrily blurt. “
You
are too much effort, I’ll walk home.”
Even if I have to leave behind my phone.

Ryder grabs my arm before I can move away
from him, because I can move out of his arms reach, or better yet,
out of the damn room. His fingers tighten against my skin,
squeezing so hard I know there is going to be a bruise
tomorrow.

“Just one more kiss?” He leans closer to me,
his blue eyes mere inches from mine. “Please?” As if he’s in any
condition to ask me for anything.

If I were to kiss him—there’s no shot now—if
I were to appease him, I could leave, if you follow the theory. But
the thought of my lips touching his, voluntarily this time, his
tongue drunkenly stabbing into my mouth again, that’s enough to
make what little is in my stomach start churning and threaten to
erupt. I just want to go; I’ll walk if I have to. It’s only three
mines, maybe. That’s not too far. If Kennie drove separate from
Duke, I might be able to borrow her car and she can just hop a ride
with Duke. If Avery’s still here, I can just beg him for a safe
escape.

“I’m going home, whether I can call someone
or I’m walking,” I tell him. I’ll be angry to leave all my stuff in
his car, he has my jacket, my wallet, and one of my favorite hats,
but I’m willing to make the sacrifice. It can’t be that much to
replace a license and debit card.

I lunge to grab my phone from the large,
capacious desk next to us. My fingers circle around it, gripping it
like the lifeline it is, and I try to click on the screen. My
fingers find the button on top, pressing it once, twice, three
times.

The screen remains black and blank.

Crap!

My HTC has one issue, one flaw that really
peeves my buttons, whenever I drop it, or someone launches it onto
or against a hard surface, it tends to restart or shut off. Mostly
it restarts, this time it just shut off.

The dark screen turns white, a sign that it’s
coming to life. Albeit, slowly.

Ryder presses himself against me from behind.
I can feel the disgusting length of him through my jeans, pressing
against
me. He bends himself over, reaching down to run his
hands along the side of my body. His other hand grips my hair,
snapping my head back. I let out a weak yelp as his hand grips my
hair tighter, yanking a few strands out with the strain.

A hand glides along my neck, sliding down my
chest.

“Ryder…”
I’m losing my air
, I can’t
say. “Please.” I beg, my eyes beginning to water.

My hands reach back, grabbing, scratching,
anything. One hand slides into his front pocket, finding his keys
and tugging them out, cupping them as best I can.

“All I wanted was a kiss, bitch,” he says
into my ear, the sound whistling loudly.

You are so beautiful
...

“Let go, Ryder,” I beg, feeling tears
starting to fall from my eyes.

That’s my girl…

He yanks once, twice, three more times.
“You’re not worth it,” he spits out bitterly. Ryder releases me and
backs away, staggering his way back to the couch.

I can feel my body start to shake but I don’t
want him to see it. I don’t want him to see me scared. I grab my
phone, grip my jacket where my locket lies against my skin, and
bolt from the room as he lies across the couch, hopefully
forgetting my name. I shove my way through the sweating crowd
receiving elbows and hits as I make my escape. The door never
seemed farther. I make it outside, heaving in the cold air, letting
it fill my lungs.

It feels so wonderful to breathe!

In, out—inhale, exhale. Just breathe, Joey.
All you need is to breathe.

“I’m safe,” I tell myself, whisper like a
lunatic, I know.

Feeling the chill, I hit the button to
Ryder’s car, hearing the locks click in his new car. I grab my
things from the passenger seat, making sure that everything is
there, and toss his keys beneath the passenger seat, locking the
doors before I slam the passenger door shut. I know it’s not much
but it makes me feel better to know that something in his life will
be harder than usual. I know he doesn’t have a spare key here.
Maybe there’s a hide-a-key on the car somewhere but the fact that I
just locked his keys in his car makes me feel a little better.

Zipping up my jacket, I start the trek down
the large hill. I dial Zephyr’s number, praying that he answers my
call. There are so many reason why he won’t but I want none of them
to matter. I want to hear his voice, I want to hear him say my
name, I want to hear…

“Hello?” he groggily answers. He probably
ignored the caller ID. From the sound of his voice, he must’ve been
asleep.

“Zephyr?” I whisper, stopping in my tracks. I
stopped crying when I locked Ryder’s car, but now I feel the tears
beginning again.

“Joey?” he sounds awake now.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I sob out, clamping my hand
to my mouth. I can’t lose it now.

“Where are you?” I hear something rustle on
the other line.

“Jennifer Long’s street,” I answer, looking
around for a sign, anything to tell me where I am. “I’m sorry, I
shouldn’t have—”

“I’m on my way, Jo,” he tells me. “Just stay
on the line with me, okay? I’ll find you.”

“Okay,” I answer, still walking, getting as
far away from that house and that party as I can. After twenty
minutes of listening to Zephyr’s breathing through the phone, I see
the headlights of Jamie’s car and am inside the warm interior,
warming my hands against the heater in the dashboard.

We ride in silence for a few minutes before
either of us say anything, before either of us even look at each
other.

Zephyr breaks the silence.

“What happened?” Zephyr asks as he clicks the
turn signal, making a right onto the main street, heading home.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I tell him,
quelling the urge to cry. I fix the ponytail in my hair, keeping my
eyes in my lap. I don’t deserve his kindness right now. I know
that. I don’t want to hear him say
I told you so
but I know
I deserve at least that much. “Maybe tomorrow?”

He looks to me; I can see the movement from
the corner of my eye when I lower my hands back to my lap. My
fingers thread together to prevent the shaking. It’s
unsuccessful.

“Maybe,” he whispers, knowing I’ll never tell
him what happened. I don’t want to think about it ever again. He’ll
be left wondering what Ryder could’ve done to me to make me cry.
He’ll be thinking that it must’ve been horrible since I’m
crying.