Sins of the Flesh (Exposed Series Book 1) Page 8

  I felt stupid for feeling jealous. Especially because I knew if she was successful, her grand prize would be a chance to slobber on his dick, but I couldn’t help it. I thought about throwing the can straight at her hollow skull, but when I started to feel like I might throw up in my mouth, I stopped watching them.

  “Are you okay?” Annie asked.

  “Yeah.”

  She looked over her shoulder and turned back to me.

  “You should ignore him,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “He’s an idiot.”

  “I know.”

  “Seriously, Kate.”

  “You hate everyone, though.”

  “Not as much as I hate him.”

  I shrugged.

  “Are you okay? You want me to get you some water?”

  “No.”

  “No you’re not okay or no you don’t want water?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “That one.”

  She tilted her head at me. “Okay. I’m going to get you some water.”

  “Thanks.” I think I nodded but I may have just lowered my eyes for a second.

  The truth was I wasn’t okay.

  Ever since my Mom discovered my eating disorder, she and my Dad were treating me weird. Like they didn’t just look at me anymore. They watched me.

  It was like everything I did was suspicious. It felt like I was in prison. And it was making it really hard to binge and purge.

  I practically had to beg them to let me go out. And I’d fucked that up, too. Because I wasn’t drunk enough to be unconscious or blacked out or fun. I was just drunk enough to be pathetic, thoughtful, and depressed.

  I watched Annie make her way to the kitchen and wondered what it would be like to tell her. But I couldn’t for so many reasons. I couldn’t risk her treating me differently, too.

  And I couldn’t risk that she’d tell Danielle. What if they talked about it when I wasn’t there? What if one day we were at lunch, and I saw it in their eyes? That they had questions they were afraid to ask.

  I mean, what if I looked fat in something and they were afraid to tell me?

  Plus, Annie counted calories about as carefully as she counted units of alcohol. She didn’t. I don’t think it ever crossed her mind. And even if I could tell her, she would just think I was making myself throw up because I didn’t think I was skinny enough.

  And my problem was bigger than that. Yeah, I was afraid of fat clinging to my inner thighs, but I was afraid of so much more. Like my loneliness and my anger and my future.

  When Annie returned with the glass of water, I forced myself to drink the whole thing in one go.

  I set it down on the table- successfully this time- and when I slumped back on the couch she was texting someone.

  “Rob?”

  She nodded. “He wants to come pick me up, but I’m not leaving you here like this.”

  I was thinking of suggesting I go with her when someone sat down on top of me. I groaned.

  “Hey beautiful,” Ian said, sliding off my lap onto the couch beside me. “Hey Annie.”

  Annie made a face. “How’s it going with your little skank?”

  I tried to make out the time on the box under the TV, but all the numbers looked the same.

  “I think she has a cold sore,” he said. “Besides, I prefer a more mature woman.” He slipped his arm over my shoulder.

  I rolled my eyes. “Your charm is intoxicating.”

  “I think the Icehouse probably deserves a little credit,” he said, admiring our collection of empties. “But thanks.”

  I tilted my head towards Annie. “Was he going to drop you off at home?”

  “No,” she said. “I was going to go back to his place for a while.”

  “Oh.”

  “Do you want me to ask him if we can drop you off?”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “I can take you home,” Ian said.

  “You’re drunk,” I reminded him.

  He smiled sloppily and his bloodshot blue eyes sparkled. “Drunk on your love.”

  I felt a little twinge in my stomach. Did I really like this guy or did I just like his attention because everyone else liked him so much?

  “I’m not saying I’ll personally do the driving,” he said, leaning in so close I could smell the beer on his breath. “Dave’s driving tonight, but he lives right by you, right? So I’m sure it’s no problem.”

  I looked at Annie.

  “Your call,” she said. “I can tell him not to come or ask him to take you home. He wants to meet you anyway.”

  “No, it’s cool,” I said. “You go ahead. I’ll get a ride with Dave.”

  She gave me a hug and asked me to text her when I got home.

  “Sure. I will,” I said, knowing I would probably forget like I usually did. “Be safe.”

  I watched her walk out the front door and let my head fall back against the couch.

  “Finally, I have you all to myself,” I heard in my ear. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs.”

  I looked at the party going on around me, and I wanted to choose it. I wanted to stay with the people downstairs where the hardest decision I would have to make was whether or not I should keep drinking. But I sabotaged myself instead and chose Ian.

  He took my hand and led me past small crowds of people drinking and talking before turning up the stairs. I held the bannister with my free hand and tried to clear my head, but it was no use. I was totally sloppy, and I knew it. The only thing that made it okay was that he was totally sloppy, too.

  The second door he tried opened and we went inside.

  While he locked the door, I strained my eyes to look around the room. The light of a streetlamp outside showed through the curtains enough that I could tell it was a little girl’s room. There was a shelf covered in dolls and the bedspread had Dora the Explorer on it. I tried to put Dora out of my mind.

  I could still remember what it was like to be a little girl. What it was like to be blissfully unaware of the consequences of letting teenage boys kiss your boobs.

  I was going to suggest we find another spot, but as soon as I turned around, Ian started kissing me. He pulled my hips against his and churned his beer soaked tongue in my mouth.

  We tore each other’s shirts off clumsily. Then Ian got frustrated with the back of my bra. I thought it was cute how desperate he was to get my tits out. So I didn’t help him.

  He was so pleased when he finally got it off that he flung it into a far corner of the room where it landed on the spire of a toy castle.

  I let him kiss me as I walked backwards towards the bed, excited more by his enthusiasm than his skill at fondling my breasts. When I lay down, he crawled on top of me. I let my drunken hands travel up his chest as I thrust my hips up against him. Then I let my hands fall back above my head.

  His blond hair hung in his face as he unbuttoned my jeans. Then he stepped off the edge of the bed and pulled them off me. I could hear the fuzzy sound of the bass coming through the floor as I wiggled out of my underwear. By the time I got them off, Ian had already dropped his pants on the floor next to mine.

  He lowered himself back on top of me and when I felt his cock against my leg, I got really excited. I was finally going to feel him inside me the way I’d wanted to on homecoming.

  As I felt his lips touch mine, his hand went to my warm crotch and my body was flooded with energy. He fumbled to find his way, and forced his fingers inside me. At first it felt too soon, too raw, but my body responded to his touch, and soon his fingers were wet.

  Then he pulled his hand out and grabbed his dick. He shoved it several times in the right direction but didn’t hit his target. Finally, I reached down and grabbed it with my hand. I stroked it a few times so it would go in easy, and the indentations in his stomach tensed with anticipation.

  Then I tilted my hips up, put him against me, and let him push his way in. And it felt good. Smooth. Much better than
his fingers. And I liked having him there.

  For the entire three seconds that it lasted.

  To make matters worse, as soon as he was inside me, it was like he forgot I even existed. I thought when he held his chin up and thrust into me twice he was just building up momentum. But then it was over. And he just sort of grunted and collapsed beside me.

  I watched his chest rise and fall beside mine for a moment before closing my eyes. When I felt him trail a finger along my jawline, I tried to think of something nice to say.

  But in the end, I decided not to say anything at all.

  Chapter 16: Dawn

  I was looking in the mirror and wondering if I should put on a looser shirt to hide my stomach. Just in case it did that thing where it collapsed into what looked like a package of hot dogs when I sat down.

  And then suddenly, I came to my senses. I didn’t have time to worry about that stuff anymore.

  I could’ve dropped dead right there in front of my bedroom mirror. And when I thought about it, I couldn’t recall a single time I’d ever seen a chalk body outline on TV that included someone’s stomach rolls.

  Which was comforting, I guess. But where had my vanity really gotten me after all these years?

  What else might I have mastered if I wasn’t so obsessed with blending my foundation? And for what? So that my nose looked minutely more narrow and my jawline slightly more defined?

  And what pissed me off most was that when I was finally old enough to have these insights, it was too late! I wasn’t even going to have time to enjoy my newfound wisdom or spread the good word to anyone else who might benefit.

  I was no better than the miserable lady in Starbucks this morning. She spent the whole time she was in line glaring at the young woman in front of her whose thighs didn't touch anywhere. And instead of keeping things in perspective, she was so depressed she ordered an extra pastry with her Frappuccino.

  Oh wait, that was me.

  Because it turns out that quitting self-loathing is even harder than quitting smoking.

  So after spending the whole morning feeling disgusted by my own narcissism, I vowed not to envy Courtney her gorgeous youth or her swan-like neck. Which, for the record, is the only neck I’ve ever seen look good with a thin black ribbon tied around it.

  Of course, I never wore chokers when I was young because I thought they made my neck look fat. Go figure. Who could’ve predicted that someday I’d wish a fat neck was my only problem?

  Anyway, besides being beautiful, Courtney was lovely to be around. In fact, I preferred her company to most of my clients. At least when she was taking her meds.

  “So I told you how the last dosage made me too numb,” she said, “but I think they finally got it right.”

  “That’s great news.”

  “Yeah, so I’m not, like, so groggy I can’t be happy or sad. Cause it’s not like I don’t want to feel anything, yak know? I don’t want to be a zombie. I just don’t want to have any more episodes.”

  “And have you?”

  “What?”

  “Had any more panic attacks?”

  She looked up at the ceiling. “I thought I was going to have one the other day, but I sort of felt it coming on. So I sat down and just tried to ignore everything. Except for my breathing. And I was okay after a while.”

  “That’s fantastic.”

  She blushed. “Thanks. I was pretty happy about it.”

  “You should be.”

  “It’s progress anyway.”

  “Great progress,” I said. “You should be really pleased.”

  “I am.”

  “So what else is new?”

  Courtney twirled a strand of her long dark hair around her finger and released it so it spun against her shoulder. “I met a guy.”

  I smiled. “Go on.”

  “It’s kind of embarrassing how I met him.”

  “It can’t be that bad. When did you meet him?”

  She turned a silver ring around her finger. “Last week I was waiting to meet my Mom for lunch, and she was running late.”

  I nodded. I wasn’t surprised. From what Courtney had told me, it sounded like the woman would’ve been late to her daughter’s birth if they hadn’t been attached.

  “So I went in the bookstore.” She crossed her legs. “And I was in the self-help section- that’s the embarrassing part.”

  “That’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  “I don’t know.” She raised her eyebrows. “There’s some pretty weird stuff in there. Like pathetic stuff.”

  “There’s nothing weird about being interested in your mental health.”

  She looked unconvinced. “Anyway, I was looking at this panic attack book.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And this really cute guy comes out of nowhere and says he’s read it but he can recommend a better one.”

  “Cute, huh?”

  “Really cute. Probably my age. Just in a regular t-shirt.”

  “A regular t-shirt?”

  “Yeah. I hate when guys wear trendy scoop neck shirts, yak know? Like if I wanted to see their pec-crack, I’d ask.”

  I laughed. “Okay. Got it. So was it a line or…”

  “No. I guess he really used to get panic attacks, but he said he hasn’t had one in five years.”

  “Cool.”

  “And then he asked if he could buy me lunch sometime.”

  “Wow.”

  “Then I had a panic attack.”

  My mouth fell open.

  “Just kidding.” She smiled. “I just took his name and number and said I’d call him.”

  “You didn’t give him your number?”

  “No. Are you kidding? I had to Google the guy first to make sure he’s not some sort of serial self-help psycho.”

  “And?”

  “He’s not.”

  “Oh good,” I said. “And good of you to be cautious.”

  “Thanks.” She shrugged. “I don’t know what things were like when you were my age, but there are a lot of weirdoes out there now. You can’t just give your number to guys anymore.”

  “I’ll remember that.” If my ancient memory allows it.

  “You never know if a guy is a pedophile or an ex-con or a member of an embarrassing fraternity.”

  I laughed. “Yikes.”

  “So I’m meeting him for lunch next week. Instead of drinks, ya know? Cause I’m not really supposed to drink with the medication I’m on.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “I mean, I probably will eventually, but I just want to help the doctors get it right first. God forbid I want to kiss this guy and I have incurable dry mouth or something.”

  “God forbid.”

  “And I’m kind of nervous anyway cause I’ve never been on a real date before.”

  “What do you mean a real date?”

  “I mean, I’ve never gone out by myself to eat food with a guy I just met.”

  “It’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”

  She looked at me like I was eighty years old.

  “Not the advice you were looking for?”

  “No,” she said. “I was hoping you might have some real advice for me? Like Do’s and Don’ts or something?”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Anything you can think of.”

  I pursed my lips. I didn’t want to blow it. It was pathetic how validating it was to have a young person treat me like I might be able to give her relevant advice.

  “Please.”

  “You know that the only advice I can give you would just be my opinion. Which is totally subjective.”

  She nodded. “That’s okay.”

  I sighed. “Let’s see…Order something that’s not too hard to eat so you can concentrate on the conversation. But not a salad. Real men like a woman with a healthy appetite. So eat some real food. And don’t eat his food.”

  “His food?”

  “Yeah, like the fries off his plate, for example.”


  She frowned. “I would never.”

  “Good. Cause you can’t get away with that unless you’re dating.”

  “Noted.” She nodded. “What else?”

  “Ask lots of questions about him. It's polite, and it will keep the conversation flowing. But more importantly, it’ll help you figure out if you want to see him again. And smile a lot because it will put you both at ease.”

  “Okay.”

  “And at the end of the meal, offer to go Dutch. If he insists that he pay, let him. Chances are he wants to see you again. But if he lets you pay half, forget him. He’s either a player or not that into you.”

  “Isn’t that a bit harsh?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. But in my experience, if he doesn’t try to impress on your first date, he’s not going to impress you on your second.”

  Courtney pursed her lips and let my words sink in. “Thanks, Dawn. I really appreciate it.”

  I glanced at the clock.

  She nodded and grabbed her fake Prada off the couch.

  “And Courtney?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If he didn’t already think you were beautiful, he wouldn’t have asked you out, so don’t wear too much make-up.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said laughing. “Good one.”

  Oh well. At least I tried.

  Chapter 17: Kate

  She was actually too fat to cross her legs.

  “Hi Kate.” She stood up to shake my hand. “I’m Nadine.”

  Her brown hair was long like a horse’s tail and not nearly pretty enough to distract from her obesity. I didn’t see how this woman was going to be able to help me when it was obvious that she couldn’t say no to food either.

  Not that she wasn’t a nice person. I’m sure she was lovely. She just didn’t exactly look like an expert on moderation and restraint.

  I took a seat on the couch. “Nice to meet you,” I said, suddenly aware that I could touch my knees together.

  “So I understand you’re having some problems and your Mom thought it might help if you talked to someone.”

  I nodded.

  There was a generic framed photo of a white lily on the wall over Nadine’s head. Everything else in the room was beige. It felt like a waiting room. I couldn’t wait to get out of it.