Perfect Lie(24)

Hands gripped my hips, ran over my arms, and trailed down my thighs, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. The affection I had craved was amplified in a tiny pill that made me feel like I was finally living, not just surviving. The fabric of my dress slid against my skin, and goose bumps followed. Hot breath tickled my neck, and beads of sweat were like tiny tongues flickering over my body. Time passed by on a plane of its own.

Seconds.

Minutes.

Hours.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

My skin grew hot under every fingertip, leaving trails of tingles and burns in their wake. I closed my eyes and moved with the flow of the body that was pressed against my back. I hadn’t felt so much love pulsing through my veins since I’d been with Brock. Who knew love could be manufactured and bought and paid for?

The heat increased until I felt my strength slowly dissipate, and I was limp in my dance partner’s arms, a puppet to his movements.

“You done?” a voice called sharply in my ear, and I glanced up to see Abel, anger in his eyes.

“Just getting started.”

“I think it’s time to go.”

“Why? You got some more drugs to sell?”

He pulled me out of the stranger’s arms. I stumble‐stepped toward him, and my hands fell against his hard chest. My fingers slid over his button‐down shirt, loving the feel of the silky fabric.

“Keep your voice down!” His tone was angry, and it made me pull back, but my balance was unsteady. Fortunately he kept his firm grip on my arm so I wouldn’t fall over.

“Look who the liar is now,” I teased with a half grin. I hated people like him, people like Trish, people like those in high school.

“I didn’t lie.” His cheek was against mine, and his breath blew over my ear. I closed my eyes, loving the silky softness of his flesh; the deep, soothing tone of his voice. “I thought you weren’t like her.”

My eyes snapped open at the anger in his tone, and I pulled back to look at him. “Like what? One of your customers? One of your friends? The liar is a hypocrite now.”

“I’m taking you home.”

I pulled back from him, but he refused to let go. “I don’t want to leave, and I can’t just leave Trish here. Some of us care about our friends.”

“She isn’t your friend,” Abel said, and I fought the urge to cry because I knew it was the truth.

“Neither are you.” I pulled back again, and this time he let me go.

“I’ll make sure they get home.” I narrowed my eyes as he rolled his. “I promise,” he added, as the world pulsed and swayed like an ocean breeze around me. Abel’s arms wrapped around my waist to hold me steady, and my head fell against his chest. The steady hammering of his heart beneath my ear soothed me, and exhaustion crept over my body.

“Whatever” was all I could manage, because I was lost in the feel of my body against his. He was taller than Brock, and his build was leaner, but if I closed my eyes, I could almost talk myself into believing it was him. He held me tightly as we made our way through the crowd toward the door. We stopped momentarily for Abel to tell his friends what he was doing. My body couldn’t hold steady, and I continued to sway with the rhythm of the music.

Soon the cool night air surrounded us, and I opened my eyes as I was pulled toward the old muscle car in the parking lot. I heard faint whispers of “It’s OK” and “I’ll take care of you,” and I clung to the safety and warmth. I slid over the slick vinyl seat of Abel’s car then lay on my side. His hand fell on my shoulder, my head resting on the side of his thigh, as the car accelerated through traffic.

We drove for what felt like hours, and I faded in and out of consciousness until the car finally came to a halt.

“We’re here.” Abel’s voice pulled me from my jumbled memories, and I pushed myself up to look outside.

“Why are we at the rape den?” I asked, as I took in the old crumbling house where we’d partied the night before. Trish’s words made me laugh, and I covered my mouth to try to stop the outburst of laughter.

“Because I can make sure you’re OK here,” he said through clenched teeth.

Abel got out of the car, and I didn’t move while he made his way to my side. The door opened, letting in a rush of night air, and I had to close my eyes to steady myself. He helped me from my seat and wrapped his arm around me as he guided me toward the dilapidated building. I wanted to protest, but his skin was alive against mine. The sensation was overwhelming, and I reached out to rub the hard ridges of his abdomen.

“You’re stupid for taking that shit,” he mumbled under his breath as he pulled my hand from his stomach.