32. Addy
Chapter thirty-two
Addy
T he air is thick with the scent of hairspray and Gen's floral perfume. I'm standing in front of the mirror, barely recognizing the girl staring back at me. The dress—deep crimson, hugging every curve I prefer to keep hidden—is Gen’s choice. She claims it's a "subtle" push, but there's nothing subtle about the way it makes my heart race.
At least everything is still covered. Even if the fit of the dress leaves little to the imagination.
"Addy, you look...wow." Gen's voice is filled with honest admiration as she steps back to appraise her work.
I swallow hard, attempting to reconcile the reflection with the girl I've always been. The soft waves in my blonde hair frame my face in a way that feels both foreign and enchanting. My green eyes, usually dulled by memories of past torment, now sparkle under the artistry of Gen's makeup skills. "I don't know if I can do this," I confess, my voice a whisper of uncertainty.
"Hey," Gen says, her hands on my shoulders, grounding me. "You're still you. Strong, brilliant Addy. Just...with a little extra shine." Her grin is infectious, and despite myself, I feel the corners of my lips twitch upwards. "Besides, I'll be there every step of the way. And, if you really don't like it, we'll leave. It's no big deal."
"Okay, let's do this," I say, more to myself than to her, as we make our way downstairs.
The descent feels like an eternity, each step amplifying my nerves. What was I thinking agreeing to come out tonight? The hardwood floor of the foyer greets us, and there they are waiting. For a moment, their silence slices through me. Do they not like it?
"Shit," Dre mutters under his breath, the silence stretching taut like a wire before snapping with Gen's giggle.
"Close your mouth, Chess, you'll catch flies," Gen teases, and I follow her gaze to see Chess, his jaw slack with surprise, admiration etched into his features.
"Saint, Dre..." Gen prompts, nudging them playfully. "Anything to say?"
Dre, leaning against the wall with his shoulder-length hair and ice blue eyes shadowed by the dim light, shifts uncomfortably, his hand not-so-subtly adjusting himself. Despite the heat creeping up my cheeks, I can't help but notice the raw intensity in his gaze.
"Fucking delicious," Dre finally says, his voice gruff, betraying the composed facade he always tries to maintain.
"You look nice, princess," Saint adds, his own approval clear even without words.
"Addy, you're stunning," Chess finally finds his voice, stepping forward with an open sincerity that warms me more than any dress or makeup ever could.
"Thank you," I manage, my heart thrumming a chaotic rhythm. They're looking at me not with the scorn I've grown accustomed to but with something akin to wonder. It's unnerving yet exhilarating.
"Let's not keep the night waiting," Gen announces, her arm linking with mine, pulling me toward our awaiting evening.
Every fiber of my being buzzes with anticipation and anxiety, but as I step out with Gen by my side and the boys' eyes following me, I realize that tonight, for the first time in a long while, I feel truly beautiful.
The SUV's engine purrs to life under Saint’s steady hands, the vibrations a soothing hum in the background. I slide into the backseat, sandwiched between Gen and Chess, whose hand finds its way to my bare thigh. Gen commandeers the radio before we've even left the driveway, her fingers dancing over the dials until the car fills with the high-energy beats of an upbeat party anthem.
"Turn it up!" Gen hollers over the music, her excitement palpable as she cranks the volume higher.
"Jesus, Gen, are you trying to make us deaf before we get there?" Saint complains, though the smirk on his face betrays his true amusement.
"Live a little, Rhett," Gen flicks his shoulder, leaning forward to catch my eye with a mischievous sparkle in her gaze. "Tonight's about letting go."
"Easy for you to say," I murmur, my words nearly lost in the cacophony of sound.
"Hey," Chess says, turning his full attention toward me, his hand squeezing my thigh gently and sending a wave of heat straight to my pussy. "You good?"
I nod, but it's a lie. The truth is, I'm moments away from being swallowed whole by nerves. But this is what normal teenagers do, right? They go to parties, they dance, they laugh. They don't flinch at every sudden movement or look over their shoulder for threats lurking in the shadows.
"Addy," his free hand cups my cheek and turns me to face him. I can feel Saint's eyes watching me in the rearview mirror.
Chess runs his thumb over my bottom lip, pressing down until I release it from between my teeth. His eyes search mine as he leans in and brushes his lips against my own. "You really do look beautiful."
"Thank you."
He's about to lean in further when we start to slow. The SUV pulls up to the curb, and the scene before us is instantly overwhelming. The house is ablaze with lights, silhouettes moving behind gauzy curtains, the thumping bass of the music bleeding out into the street. Laughter and shouts mingle with the soundtrack of the night, creating a symphony of chaos.
"Here we go," Gen says, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze as we step out of the vehicle and into the fray.
It's only a party, not a battlefield.
"Stay close," Dre advises, his presence immediately behind me both comforting and unsettling. I can feel the heat of him, smell the faint scent of his cologne that doesn't quite mask the underlying tension.
The front door opens to a wall of sound and bodies, the air thick with the scent of sweat and something sweet and heady. I can barely think over the noise, my heart pounding in time with the relentless beat of the music. Gen's grip on my hand tightens as we're jostled by the crowd, pulled along by an invisible current.
"Got you," Chess says, his voice low in my ear. The press of his body against mine is both a shield and an anchor, keeping me grounded when all I want to do is turn and run.
"Stick together," Saint calls out, his stature carving a path through the chaos for us to follow.
Every step feels like walking through molasses, the world around me a blur of faces and flashing lights. I try to focus on the familiarity of my friends, on the reality that they won't let anything happen to me.
"Let's find somewhere less... intense," Gen suggests, eyeing the throng warily. I nod my agreement.
"Lead the way, fearless leader," Chess quips, but his light tone doesn't quite mask the alertness in his posture, the protective sweep of his gaze as he takes in our surroundings.
"Follow me," Saint directs, and we fall into step behind him.
The bass of the music vibrates through my body like a second heartbeat, erratic and all-consuming. The din of chatter and laughter tangles with the rhythm, and for a moment, I close my eyes, letting the cacophony wash over me.
"Addy!" Gen's voice slices through the noise, and I snap my attention back to her. She's grinning, mischief lighting up her features. "Come on, don't just stand there!"
I hesitate, but then Chess is at my side, his gaze warm and encouraging. "Relax," he says, and something about the honesty in his hazel eyes makes me believe him. "Dance with us."
"Okay." It's barely audible, even to myself, but they hear it.
Gen takes the lead, pulling me by the hand toward the throng of bodies swaying and jumping in time with the throbbing beat. I spot Wesley across the room, beer in hand and looking like he's several deep already—my brother, the golden boy, looking every bit the part. Beside them, Preston laughs at something unheard, his arm wrapped around Cecily who is staring daggers in my direction. They're in their element, while I'm still trying to find mine.
"Relax, Addy," Gen shouts over the music, her words punctuated by the beat. "It’s just us here!"
Just us, I repeat in my mind, trying to shed the weight of self-consciousness that clings to me like a second skin. Just us, and no one else matters.
Chess slides closer, our hips meeting in a dance that feels both daring and safe. His hands are respectful yet possessive, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Dre stands a little distance away, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, but his ice-blue eyes follow every move, intense and unblinking. And though I can't see Saint, I sense him, like a silent guardian whose watchful presence wraps around us.
"See?" Gen spins, her laughter mingling with the lyrics of the song. "This is fun!"
"Fun," I echo, a hesitant smile creeping onto my lips. As the music surges, I find my body responding, a tentative sway growing bolder with each pulse of the melody. "Yeah, maybe it is."
"Definitely is," Chess corrects gently, guiding my movements with subtle pressure, teaching me the language of letting go without using words.
"Look at you!" Gen cheers, twirling into my vision again, her hair catching the light like midnight. "You’re a natural."
"Hardly," I laugh, the sound foreign to my ears. But when Chess grins down at me, his teeth bright against his olive skin, I start to think maybe I could get used to this version of myself—the one who dances in the eye of the storm, fearless and free.
"Keep going, Addy," Chess urges, his voice a low rumble that matches the beat. "I've got you."
And for a moment, under the pulsing lights and enveloped by the warmth of friends who feel more like family than my own blood ever did, I believe him. I really do.
??????
The bass throbs through the soles of my shoes, a steady heartbeat that's become as familiar as my own. But nature calls—loudly, urgently—and I twist away from the dance floor's gravitational pull. "Bathroom," I shout over the music to Gen, when her eyes turn to me I mouth a 'be right back.'
"Got it, Addy! Hurry back!" she yells, her voice barely cutting through the cacophony.
Chess is reluctant to let me go, but I assure him I'll be quick and I'm gone before he has the chance to follow.
I weave through the mass of undulating bodies, the heat and the scent of sweat and stale beer clinging to the air. Each step is an effort, like wading through a sea of limbs and laughter. The farther I get from Gen and the boys, the thicker the crowd seems to grow.
"Excuse me," I murmur as I squeeze past a couple locked in an embrace so tight they seem to be fusing together. My heart hammers a little faster, not from exertion but from the sudden sense of isolation in the throng. It's ironic how loneliness can find you in the most crowded spaces.
The restroom finally comes into view, a beacon of relief, and I hasten my steps. As I push through the door, it swings back with a thud. Inside, the chaos dulls to a muffled hum, and I take a moment to breathe, alone at last.
I try to be quick, not wanting to stay separated long. I’m feeling more comfortable than when we arrived, but I still feel out of place here. When I exit the bathroom, the hallway feels eerily deserted compared to the party's epicenter. I'm smoothing down my skirt when a shadow detaches itself from the wall, and suddenly there's a hand on my elbow, heavy and unwelcome.
"Hey, beautiful. Where've you been hiding?" The voice is slick, like oil on water, and a shiver runs up my spine despite the warmth of the room.
"Sorry, I'm just trying to get back to my friends," I say, attempting to sidestep him, but he mirrors my movements, effectively blocking my path.
"Come on, don't be like that." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "I've been watching you all night. You're too pretty to be alone."
My stomach knots, and I force myself to meet his gaze. "I'm not interested, okay?"
"Aw, don’t play hard to get." He leans in closer, and I can smell the beer on his breath.
I try to keep my voice steady, to sound stronger than I feel. "Seriously, I need you to let go of me."
"Why rush?" He tugs me toward him, and panic flares inside my chest. "We could have some fun."
"I'm really not interested, thanks."
"So you let that Mexican and his two psychotic friends touch you but you can't even give it up to your own kind?"
My own kind? What the fuck does that even mean? I'm nothing like these people.
"He's Columbian."
"What the fuck does it matter? You gonna keep being a frigid bitch or you gonna give me what I fucking deserve?"
"Listen," I manage, my voice sharper now, "I’m not asking—I'm telling. Let. Me. Go."
But he only smirks, and I can see he has no intention of releasing me. My heart is pounding so loudly I'm sure he can hear it; a drumbeat of fear, anger, and the determination to not let my past define my present. Not again. Not ever.
His grip tightens, and a feral instinct surges within me. Something primal, something fierce unfurls in my chest, and I know fight is the only option left.
"Last chance," I hiss, my voice low and menacing in a way that surprises even me.
But he just chuckles, a sound that grates against my nerves. "Make me."
That's it. The last shred of my patience snaps like a worn-out rubber band. With a swift, upward motion, my knee connects with his vulnerable spot, and his breath hitches in a sharp gasp of pain. His grip slackens, and I don't hesitate.
"You frigid bitch—" He chokes on his words as he doubles over, and I wrench myself free, my heart thundering in my chest.
"It's Ice Princess."
"Get back here!" he growls, staggering after me, one hand clutching at himself.
I don't look back as I sprint, heading for the throng of bodies. My mind screams for an escape, for safety, for the boys. Where are they?
"Princess!" A familiar voice cuts through the cacophony of music and chatter. Saint.
"Here!" I call out, nearly tripping over someone's discarded drink.
"Saint, there!" Dre points to me, his voice a beacon in the chaos.
"Go, I've got her," Saint commands, already moving with predatory swiftness.
"Hey!" Dre shouts at my assailant, his ice-blue eyes flaring with a dangerous glint. "Back off!"
"Princess, come to us," Saint reaches out, his voice steady and calm—a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me.
My legs burn as I push through the crowd, but finally, I fall into Saint's open arms, his protective barrier instantly enveloping me. Dre is right behind him, his presence a silent promise of retribution.
"Are you hurt?" Saint's question is soft but urgent against the din.
"Shaken, not stirred," I manage to quip, trying to slow the rapid beat of my heart.
"Good." Saint's relief is palpable, his hold tightening just a fraction more. "Let's get you out of here."
Chess and Gen appear at his shoulder, looking me over with concern. I offer a sad smile. "I don't think I like parties."