Chapter 1 #2
The last thing this world needs is for Cherry and me to get married and have kids like us. It’s just as well that she’s the way she is.
Cherry rambles on about how she wants our wedding, the colors it’s going to have, who’s going to be in the bridal party, how many people will attend, who will be attending, and where the venue will be.
As she prattles on, I tune her out, stand, and open a built-in drawer that holds my underwear. I pull out one of the joints I have stashed, light it up, and take a hit. My drag is deep and I hold in the pungent smoke before exhaling.
Cherry stops talking and comes over to pluck the doobie from my fingers, and also takes a drag. “You’ve got the best shit,” she says after releasing the smoke from her lungs. The walk-in closet soon smells skunky. “Got any blow?”
“I’m out.” I’ve got plenty, but I don’t feel like sharing. “But I’m sure someone will bring some.”
As I take another drag, she drops to her knees, peels the towel away. As it falls around my feet, she fists my dick. When I exhale the smoke, she inhales my cock. If Cherry is good at anything, it’s giving head.
Her lips touch my cock, and I’m instantly hard, even with the weed and being buzzed on tequila.
I groan, close my eyes, and just feel. Feel her warm and wet mouth. Feel her plump lips tight around me. Feel her long nails digging into my hips. What I want to feel are emotions, but I’m fucking dead inside.
It doesn’t take me long to come, especially after imagining Cherry is a Jerry.
When I’m done, she cleans her lips as if she’s just wrapped up a chore and continues to find my outfit for the evening while I pull on a pair of boxer briefs.
Fuck.
How does even getting a blow job feel depressing? I guess that’s a feeling, right? Depression. Not exactly what I’m going for.
I can’t remember the last time I felt joy, happiness. I’m generally filled with rage and depression, but mostly I’m just apathetic. It’s exhausting and draining… overwhelming.
I just want to feel again, beyond the depression.
I can’t even remember the last time I cared about anything or anyone.
Well, there was my dad. I remember loving him, but maybe he was as bad as my stepdad.
No, no one is as bad as Holt. I’d been only ten when I lost my dad.
It was probably through the eyes of the child who saw the world in a brilliant light because he hadn’t yet succumbed to the dark side of life.
“Alright, wear this,” Cherry says.
I turn, take a drag of weed again, and look at my chosen outfit. She sticks with the navy linen button-up and pairs it with beige linen shorts.
“You need to show off that gorgeous tan of yours.”
“What are you wearing?”
“I have a matching navy blue halter top that I’m pairing with baggy jeans.”
That explains why she wants me to wear navy blue.
Cherry pats my face. “Lighten up. This party is going to fucking slay.”
I slide my arms into the long sleeves of my linen shirt, button it, and roll the sleeves over my forearms. “It’ll be fire,” I agree.
And it will because I’ve made sure of it.
I have all my stepdad’s liquor out, and it’s a lot, along with his collection of wines from across the world.
I ordered catering and invited the entire senior class, though most of the high school will show up.
If they break a lot of shit or trash the place, so be it.
If I get remembered for anything once I’m gone, it’ll be this party.
I hate this fucking house, so I’m eager to fuck it up.
It’s a cold, modern monstrosity in Holmby Hills, made of concrete, glass, and metal.
Every corner of it reminds me of my lost innocence and violence.
It has six bedrooms and twelve bathrooms. Like, who the hell needs that many bathrooms?
The only good feature is the rooftop garden with a view of the Los Angeles skyline.
My friends love the game room, pool, and hot tub, of course.
“Yo! Julian! Where are ya?” Derrick yells from somewhere in the house.
“Up here!” I yell back.
He makes it up to my room as I pull up my shorts, and peeks inside my closet with a smirk.
We slap our hands together before pulling each other into a bro hug.
Derrick is my so-called best friend through swimming.
We were on the swim team together. He’ll continue racing in college, and I’ll never swim for sport again.
He’s already dressed for the party, wearing a pink polo shirt and white shorts, which pop on his tanned skin from surfing. His light brown hair is perfectly tousled and fingered back. He peels off his shades, exposing shrewd, dark blue eyes.
Derrick pulls Cherry into a tight hug and presses a kiss to her neck, which is generally inappropriate to do to someone else’s girlfriend.
I’m sure they’re sleeping together. I’m almost positive they are.
They probably believe I’m an idiot for not noticing, but I do.
Or maybe they think I’m just a weak pushover and won’t dare say anything.
The truth is that I just don’t fucking care.
Her fingers threading through his hair is enough evidence for me.
When he lets her go, he eyes me as a cruel smile curls crookedly, like he’s daring me to say something. I don’t. Then he snags the tequila bottle and chugs down a fourth of it.
Soon, Reese follows Derrick into my closet. He’s nicer, but not by much. He too claps my hand before shaking it, but he doesn’t touch Cherry. He’s never liked her. His only good quality.
Reese keeps his tight curls buzzed to where you only see a shadow of hair on his umber skin.
He’s also huge, standing at six feet three inches with broad, swimmer’s shoulders.
My friend is someone I’ve eyed over the years in high school, fantasizing about him fucking me or the other way around.
But that’s all it is. A fantasy. I’d never want him in real life beyond getting my dick wet.
“Ready to party? I can’t fucking wait. It’s gonna be a blowout.” He snorts a laugh and also takes a swig of the tequila. “Your parents are going to be so pissed, bro.”
“Fuck ‘em,” I retort.
“Hell yeah! Our boy has finally grown some balls,” Derrick cackles.
Cherry spritzes some of my cologne on me, and I call myself done with getting ready. “I’m going to put on some music and make sure the food arrives on time.”
Reese heads downstairs to do whatever, and I leave Cherry and Derrick alone intentionally, but I stop and wait around the corner, carefully listening to them.
There’s some fumbling of clothes, and soon, I hear the slurping of a blowjob.
“Damn, you give the best head, Kitten.”
“Shh, don’t let Julien hear you.”
“Please, as if he doesn’t know. He just doesn’t give a shit about you.”
“Like you give a shit about anyone. Give me a fucking break. Julien and I will get married and be the most popular couple in LA. Who cares if we’re in love or not?”
Derrik snorts a derisive laugh. “As if. You can dream, I guess.”
“Asshole.”
“Keep suckin’, honey.”
They deserve each other. The blow job she gave me earlier will be the last time she touches me like that.
Now, it’s time to set my plan in motion.