Chapter 37
Alani
I tried so damn hard to do better. After that first party a couple of days ago, I went home instead of getting drunk and looking for trouble.
After three more days of classes, that need to seek adventure was inside my veins like poison, eating away at my resolve.
It’s what led me back to another frat party. But as the need to feel something more than boredom swarms inside of me, I still haven’t grabbed a drink from the kitchen.
I try to let the music sink inside of me, but I can’t even keep my eyes closed long enough to let the song vibrate through my body. I watch as my roommate scrunches her nose at the taste of whatever is in her cup.
She didn’t come here tonight with me, but I overheard her on the phone with someone earlier, all giddy about one of the track guys asking her to meet him here. She sank into college life a lot quicker than I guessed she would.
I drop my eyes to the floor, moving as best I can to the music, but I’m running into the same problem I had several nights ago.
I can’t feel the music the way I want to.
It doesn’t become a part of me. I know alcohol or one of the party favors from the weird guy standing in the corner would put me in the right headspace.
I also know I’m fighting a losing battle.
I can only come to so many parties before I give in.
Avoiding them is out of the question though.
I feel like I’m going insane, sitting through classes all day and waiting for darkness just so I can breathe a little easier.
It has bothered me so much that I made an appointment with the campus therapist through student services.
Since the little quiz they gave me didn’t classify me as an emergent case, I have an appointment for the Tuesday after spring break.
I laughed when the lady at the front desk gave me the card, but all she did was tell me to give her a call if my situation changed.
I've done my best not to think of him. I was less than a passing blip on his radar, and losing sleep or wasting time on him is fruitless. All it does is sour my mood, and that isn’t exactly conducive for this attempt to get lost in the music.
Still, I can’t unwind.
A guy with a nice yet crooked smile steps up to me. He places his hands on my hips, and it helps some, letting his body lead mine in the movements.
He doesn’t speak. Hell, he doesn’t even look me in the eye like most guys would. When the song is over, he nods at me, something I translate as a thanks for the dance, and then he simply walks away.
I allow a little smile on my lips because it was one of the more cordial dances I’ve ever had on campus.
He didn’t try to run his hand over my ass or push his chest against my tits.
He didn’t lean in and whisper dirty shit in my ear.
I look over my shoulder, trying to see where he walked off to, but I can’t spot his orange shirt anywhere.
Another warm body presses to my back halfway through the next song. This guy does lean in closer, his warm breath on my neck.
“I remember you from last year,” he says, his breath coated in the scent of hard liquor.
“Just fucking dance and shut up or fuck completely off,” I growl.
He huffs in annoyance, but then he walks away.
It doesn’t take long before I’m enveloped in more heat at my back. This guy doesn’t speak, but it doesn’t stop one of his hands from flattening on my lower belly and pulling until our bodies are flush with each other.
A light smile spreads across my face before I can stop it, but it starts to feel wrong when he curls his fingers, one directly on my skin under the edge of my sweater.
I try to pull away, the touch too intimate for the secret I’m sheltering directly under his palm.
He moves his head, allowing me a little more room to breathe. Instead of walking away like I know I should, I roll my hips, imagining Donavan in the shadows, clenching his fists and getting madder and madder until he’s so angry he can’t help but step forward and make his presence known.
The song changes, and with the switch in music, that edge of wrongness I was seeking transforms from something I want into something I’ll regret.
I try to take a step forward but the hands on my waist grip me tighter.
My heart races at the trouble I start to picture myself in.
I know someone here will step in if I make a scene.
Too many witnesses has a tendency to make people think they should be heroes.
They’re more likely to do something with witnesses.
My mood shifts immediately when he grabs me a second time. Before I can think things through, I spin to face him, my hand moving to slap his face before I can even fully evaluate the situation.
Angry yet familiar brown eyes stare back at me.
Donavan.
I slap him a second time just for good measure. The growl that erupts from his mouth is loud enough for the people dancing around us to take a step back and stare in our direction.
There’s a simmering violence in his stance, but I know the man wouldn’t really hurt me. The others around us, however, probably don’t have a clue.
As quick as I was to imagine someone stepping in to help me, no one comes forward. Donavan looks like a true psycho, simmering with rage.
“You’re going to get—”
The cordial guy I danced with only moments ago steps closer, and I clock him from the corner of my eye, but so does Donavan.
“Hey, do you need—”
Donavan shoves at his chest with one hand, never breaking eye contact with me. The guy stumbles back but seems undeterred as he steps forward again.
“It’s fine,” I tell the guy.
He doesn’t deserve to get his ass kicked over some misplaced chivalry.
Instead of speaking or insisting I leave and go back to my dorm, Donavan steps in close again, his hand tangled in my hair, burning my scalp in that way that makes me a little wild and crazy.
It’s the first time I’ve felt that thrill at a campus party without the aid of alcohol or drugs.
My eyes threaten to drift closed when he presses fully against me. He’s doing nothing but standing still, his hand is on my ass, urging me to roll my hips. I don’t have to move to feel his arousal pressing against his jeans.
“Miss me, baby?”
I could fucking cry with the ease this man has at controlling not only my body but also every thought in my head.
I can’t get lost in him. Doing so would be dangerous. I need him gone. I’m certain I’ve gotten the only thing worth keeping.
The threat of tears once again burns my eyes as I try to shove him away from me. I don’t want to make too big of a scene. Although there’s more movement around us now, I can still feel many pairs of eyes on us.
He holds me tighter, his hand gripping the back of my leg until I lift it, hiking it over his hips. It’s damn near lewd the way he’s holding me to him.
Despite wanting to leave, his nearness affects me in the most primal ways. He once commented on my body’s readiness, and this time is no different.
I dressed for trouble tonight, knowing deep inside that I couldn’t keep up this good-girl bullshit. My sweater is thick and warm but the skirt I’m wearing leaves my legs bare except for the dark tights I have on under it.
The way his mouth hangs open an inch or so tells me I’m not able to hide my desire from him.
“I’ll fuck you right here,” he growls when my fingers curl into his shirt.
Fuck if I don’t believe every word.
“Dance,” he growls, and I do.
I use his body like a pole in a club, rolling my hips and grinding against him. He must get lost in it too because eventually he begins to move, if only a little, to the music.
No one else matters. There isn’t a person here more important right now than this man, and even as tattered as I know he’s going to leave me, the road getting there is always paved with the most fun I’ve ever had.
I know he’s eventually going to lead me out of this house, and when that happens, I know there’s a good chance he’s going to fuck me.
I also know there’s a chance it would be the last time I see him. If it isn’t, then the next time he’ll discover my secret. Coming back to college was a mistake. I should’ve packed my shit and disappeared instead. There’s no telling what he’ll do to me when he finds out.