Текст книги "Confessions of a Kleptomaniac"

Автор книги: Jessica Sorensen

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

“What the hell is fancy casual?” Ari asks as he sits down on the edge of Wynter’s bed.

Wynter shrugs as she piles makeup into a glittery handbag. “I don’t know, but it got her to change out of her work clothes, didn’t it?”

“Why does it matter?” Ari asks, self-consciously glancing down at his blue jeans and plaid shirt.

“It doesn’t,” she says, adding another pin to her braided up-do. “And I really don’t care if she dressed up or not. I was just trying to get her out of her work clothes.”

“Should I change, too?” Ari asks. “Or do I pass the Wynter outfit inspection?”

“Hmmm . . .” She folds her arms as she critiques his attire. “I don’t know. I think there might be something missing.” She steps toward him and playfully ruffles his hair with her fingers. “There you go. Much better.”

Ari rubs his hand over his hair, flattening it back into place. “Was that really necessary?”

“Maybe not, but it was kind of funny,” she replies. “Besides, I think you might be able to rock the whole sexy, bed head look. You know, mix it up a little. You’ve had the same look since I met you.”

“Thanks for the suggestion,” he responds dryly, “but I think I’ll keep my look.”

Wynter gives a nonchalant shrug. “Didn’t hurt to try, did it?”

He sighs tiredly as he leans back on his elbows. “So, how long do we have to stay at this little shindig? Because I have to get up early.”

“You always have to get up early,” Wynter points out as she slips on a pair of hoop earrings.

“I have to make sure I’m home at a decent time, too,” I say, sitting down in the chair in front of the vanity. “It’s too risky staying out for too long.”

“Don’t worry, princess; we’ll get you home by midnight,” Wynter teases as she slides a silver cuff bracelet on.

“Thanks, Prince Charming,” I quip.

Her eyes sparkle with hilarity. “Prince Charming? I thought that was—”

“Shush,” I warn, wagging a finger at her. “Don’t even think about bringing him into this.”

Ari’s gaze dances back and forth between the two of us. “Bring who into what?”

“Luna likes Grey,” Wynter shamelessly spills the beans. “And he kissed her today.”

“Way to keep a promise, you traitor.” I lean forward, snatch a pillow from the bed, and chuck it at Wynter.

It smacks her in the face, but she only laughs. “I didn’t think that included Ari or any of our other friends.”

“And Beck already knew about it, anyway!” Willow shouts from the closet. “Well, not the kissing part, but that Grey likes you.”

“How the heck does Beck know that?” I ask.

She sticks her head out of the closet. “I’m not sure. He said he could just tell.” She ducks back inside. “But he told me he gave Grey a lecture on how to treat you.”

I drop my head into my hands. “Jesus, that’s so embarrassing.”

“Why? If Grey likes you at all, he should be glad you have friends looking out for you,” Ari says.

I peek at him through the cracks in my fingers. “Were you there when he did it?”

“No, but I’m glad he did.” He shoves up the sleeves of his shirt. “Grey seems like he’s going through some kind of character change where he’s trying to be a nice guy, but that doesn’t mean that we all don’t worry he’s going to end up hurting you.”

“I’m not as breakable as everyone thinks,” I say, circling my fingers around my bruised wrist.

“We know that,” Wynter chimes in, “but that still doesn’t mean we like seeing you get hurt. We all saw what Grey and his friends put you through sophomore year, and we never want to see that happen again.” She places her hands on my shoulders and looks me dead in the eyes. “Just promise me that you’ll be careful, take things slowly, and let us have your back.”

“Fine,” I say. “But please try to lay off the lectures for a while.”

“I’ll try, but I’m not making any promises.” She jumps back right as the closet door swings open, almost hitting her.

Willow curses as she trips out, tying the plaid jacket around her waist. “Oh, my God, there’s too many shoes in there.”

“There’s no such thing as too many shoes.” Wynter evaluates Willow’s outfit with wariness. “You’re really wearing the jacket like that?”

Willow nods, giving her the death glare. “And no more arguing about my outfit. This is what I’m wearing. Deal with it.”

Wynter’s lip twitches as she notes Willow’s unlaced boots. “All right.” She collects her house keys and purse from the dresser, and then the four of us head out the front door.

Beck only lives a few blocks down, and since none of us wants to make the commitment to being the designated driver, we walk. As we stroll up the sidewalk underneath the glow of the streetlights and moon, Ari and Wynter fall into a conversation about why her neighbors have Christmas decorations still up.

Willow seizes the opportunity to pull me back into a private conversation. “You never explained to me what happened,” she whispers, nodding at my black and blue wrist.

“It’s really not a big deal.” My fingers stiffen as I cover my wrist.

What do I tell her? The truth? It seems so easy, just a few words I have to utter, but confessing something about my family that would make them look like bad people scares the shit out of me. What if my dad finds out? What if he kicked me out like he’s been threatening to do? What if? What if? What if?

What if I stop being so scared all the time and took control for once without stealing? What if I just went to parties that I wanted to go to without sneaking down trees? What if I kissed guys I wanted to without planning on marrying them? What if? What if? What if I was me all the time and did what I wanted to do without worrying about what my parents or anyone else?

“My dad and I had this argument and he . . . He kind of grabbed me.” My pulse soars as soon as the words leave my lips.

“Your dad did that to you?” She sounds absolutely horrified.

“I-It was an accident,” I stammer. “He didn’t mean to, and I did make him really mad before he did it.”

“I don’t give a shit if he meant to or not,” she hisses with her hands on her hips. “Luna, it’s never okay for someone to hurt you like that whether they’re mad at you or not.”

“I know.” Uttering the truth aloud is like reality slapping me across the face.

I knew since the moment the bruises formed on my skin that what my dad did to me wasn’t okay. That he grabbed me too hard. That, no matter what I did, he never should have put his hands on me like that.

“You need to tell someone.” She hooks arms with me. “Promise me you will, that you won’t just let this go like you do with all that other crap your parents do to you.”

I nod, making a promise I’m unsure I’m ready to make.

Could I really do it? Could I really tell someone what goes on inside my house? If I did, then I know I’d be making a choice. I’d be choosing to move out because there’s no way my parents would ever let me back in the house if I betrayed them like that. And even if they didn’t kick me out, I don’t think I’d be able to go back into that house, because . . .

The truth is, I’m terrified of my parents.

By the time we arrive at Beck’s two-story, brick home at the end of a cul-de-sac, the party is in full force. Music can be heard from all the way outside, cars line the driveway and the street, and a large group of people crowd the side balcony.

Wynter squares her shoulders as we stand at the edge of the lawn. “All right, let’s do this.” She loops arms with Ari and me then leads us toward the front door. Willow’s arm is still linked with mine as she jogs across the grass to keep up with us.

“Man, why does Beck always have to invite so many people?” she gripes as we reach the front door. “He probably doesn’t even know half the people here, and the people he does know, he hates.”

“Yeah, but all the noise is a great distraction.” Wynter releases her grip on Ari and me and pushes open the door.

“From what—” I start to say, but the music drowns me out.

Inside, people are crammed like sardines in his spacious living room, dancing and grinding all over each other. A huge line has formed in front of the downstairs bathroom, and couples are wandering upstairs toward the bedrooms.

I scan the faces, searching for Grey, but with how many people are here, it’s impossible to tell if he’s here or not.

“Jesus, Beck went overboard this time!” Willow shouts over the music, shaking her head in disgust as she watches some guy jumping up and down solo in the foyer. “I don’t even recognize half of these people!”

“Me, neither! But the game they won today was supposed to be for the championship or something.” I explain. “Maybe that’s why he did it.”

“Or maybe he’s just having a really shitty day,” Wynter yells as she heads toward the dance floor with her eyes targeted on a tall, older guy with similar features to Grey. “I’ll catch up with you guys in a bit! I’m going to go get a drink!” Before I can stop her from what she’s about to do, she dives into the mob.

“She’s trying to hook up with Theo, isn’t she?” Willow asks me, frowning.

I shrug. “She might be.”

Willow purses her lips. “Beck’s going to get super pissed if he finds out.”

“I’m going to get super pissed about what?” Beck asks, appearing out of nowhere. He’s dressed up in a pair of nice jeans and a plaid, button down shirt, but the backward baseball cap he’s sporting gives him a chill vibe. Hmmm . . . Maybe that’s what Wynter meant by fancy casual. He also has a drink in his hand and looks a little buzzed.

“That we’re not going to dance,” Willow responds with an indifferent shrug.

“Pft, yeah, right. Everyone dances at my parties.” His gaze drags up and down Willow. “Since when do you wear dresses?”

Willow self-consciously messes around with the jacket around her waist. “Since Wynter forced me to. Don’t get used to it, though. This is a onetime thing.”

“You look,” he muses over something, “hot.” Then he smacks Willow on the ass, a move Beck does a lot, but only on girls he’s flirting with. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Willow.”

Willow goes from all bug-eyed to utterly livid. Instead of chewing him out, she reaches around and slaps him on the ass. The four of us trade a look then erupt in laughter.

“Sorry about that,” Beck apologizes to Willow then glances down at the cup in his hand. “I think I might’ve had more to drink than I thought.”

“I’ll let you off the hook just as long as you promise never to smack my ass again,” Willow warns.

With a second of dithering, Beck looks up from the cup and grins. “Okay, I promise, but if you ask me to smack your ass, then all bets are off.”

“I’ll never ask you to smack my ass,” Willow promises, seeming a little squirmy.

“We’ll see.” Beck raises the brim of the cup to his lips, throws his head back, and chugs the drink down before his bloodshot eyes land on me. “I need to talk to you.”

“Okay?” I’m so confused. “About what?”

A grin breaks out on his face as he crunches up his cup and tosses it aside. “About how much you kick ass.” He wraps me in a big bear hug and whispers in my ear, “Grey made the winning shot tonight.”

“That’s awesome.” I circle my arms around him. “But I’m not sure what that has to do with me kicking ass.”

“Because he wouldn’t have even been in the game if it wasn’t for you.”

“Willow helped, too,” I remind him. “Way more than me, actually.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think it was just the getting a good grade that made him play better than he ever has,” he says. “I was a little worried he might be out of it, considering all that shit going down with Piper, but he seemed really focused and relaxed, even when we were losing. I think that might have to do to with you. You have that effect on people.”

I’m not sure what to say or how I feel about Beck’s theory. “Is he here?”

“I haven’t seen him”—he pulls back, keeping his hands on my upper arms—“but I made the whole team promise they’d show up, so I’m sure he’ll be here.” He gives me a pat on the arm before spinning around. “Let’s go get you lovely people some drinks then hit the dance floor for a while so I can get Willow to relax.”

Willow gives an exaggerated sigh, but I catch a sparkle of amusement in her eye as she follows Beck.

When we get to the kitchen, Beck mixes everyone a drink. None of us are that big of drinkers, so we take a few sips while Beck downs half of his. After he sets his cup down on the counter, he grabs my arm, and tells Willow and Ari, “We’ll be right back.” Then he drags me across the kitchen and pushes his way to the corner of the living room.

“Work your magic,” he says as he gestures to the stereo hooked up to his laptop. “You should be able to get into your account from my computer, right?”

“Yeah, but nothing I turn on is going to be any better than what you’ve already been listening to.” I frown when I spot Piper and Logan watching me from the foyer, chatting about God knows what.

Beck tracks my gaze. “You want me to ask them to leave? Because I can if you want me to. I don’t even know why they’re here. It’s not like I officially invited them.”

“It’s fine. They’ll just cause a scene if you do.” I rip my attention away from them and focus on the stereo. “You really want me to do this?”

He rotates his cap forward. “Absolutely. I love your taste in music, Lu. It’s so unique and different.”

I almost laugh as I wind around the table. Unique and different. God, no wonder my parents hate me. They love ordinary and blending in.

Shoving thoughts of my parents aside, I click open my music account. It takes me five tries to get the password since I haven’t been allowed to get on the internet in ages. Once I figure it out, I open one of the mixes I put together during the rare occasions my parents let me go to my friend’s house. Then I adjust the base and tweak the sound before stepping back.

A bumping, hypnotic beat booms from the speakers, and a satisfied grin spreads across Beck’s face as he rubs his hands together. “Dancing time.”

We squeeze toward the middle of the dance floor as the song slowly builds up, growing louder and louder.

“What about Ari and Willow?” I ask when we find a space on the floor.

With a drunken grin, Beck cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Ari! Willow! Front and center!”

Although people gawk at us like we’ve lost our minds, Beck just shrugs it off. He’s never been one for caring what other people think.

We start to move to the beat.

“You’re not going to do the robot this time, are you?” I ask him.

“I wasn’t planning on it, but now that you brought it up . . .” He charms me with a grin before he backs up with his arms out to the side, clearing some room. Then he proceeds to do the robot right there in front of everyone, and there’s nothing left for me to do but to just roll with it.

He laughs as I rock out, doing a head bang, and I giggle as he strikes pose.

“You guys are so dorky,” Willow comments as she joins us, “and I love you for it.”

“Of course you do.” Beck dances around her, grabs her arm, and spins her around.

She throws her head back, laughing when he does it again. As the song lulls to a sexy beat, he hauls her against him, and they sway back and forth, rubbing against each other, getting down and dirty.

I look away from the two of them, feeling as if I’m imposing on some sort of sexual moment.

“Ari, dance with me?” I ask with my hand extended to him.

“You know I suck at dancing,” he says but still takes my hand.

We dance for what feels like hours, laughing and messing around. As I’m standing there in the middle of the packed living room, dancing with three people I love more than anything, I become hyperaware of how much fun I’m having, maybe the most fun I’ve ever had. I realize that, whether that makes me a bad person or not, this is the kind of person I am. The kind who likes to dance, who likes to laugh with their friends, who loves picking out music, who loves being . . . well, free, like the walls are wide and there’s so much space, so much air.

“I need some water!” Ari shouts, fanning his face.

“I’ll come with you!” I start to tell Beck and Willow we’ll be back, but Beck’s hands are wandering all over Willow’s body, and she seems perfectly okay with being fondled by him, even enjoying it.

I quickly look away, startled. Ari appears as uncomfortable as I do, and we both silently agree to just let them be and head out to the back deck without them. Unlike the side porch, the back deck is an extension from Beck’s parents’ room, and not many people are out there.

“Well, that was . . . interesting,” Ari says, digging a bottle of water out of a large cooler.

“I know. Maybe they’re a little drunk or something.” I rub my hand across my forehead. “I don’t think Willow drank that much, though.”

He unscrews the lid off, hands the bottle to me, and gets another one out for himself. “You don’t think we should stop them or something?”

I take a swig of water and then shake my head. “I think we should just let them go. They seemed pretty comfortable with what they were doing.”

Ari unenthusiastically nods. “I guess so. Still, it’s going to make things weird if they hook up.”

I hadn’t really thought about that.

Before I can say anything else, his phone rings from inside his back pocket, and he fishes it out. “Shit. It’s my mom. She probably forgot I was going to the party and thinks I’m still in the house.” He presses talk then wanders down the stairs and into the shadows of the backyard.

I plant my backside down in a patio chair and sip on my water, staring up at the night sky dusted with stars, waiting for Ari to return. From the tidbits he’s told me about his family, his mom has some sort of mental illness, and the meds she’s on make her forget stuff, like picking him up from school, buying food, and paying the bills. Ari’s dad seems like a nice guy and tries to take care of the household, but he works crazy hours, and Ari and his older brother do a lot of things, like run errands and make sure the bills get paid. His brother even skipped going away to a college and, instead, takes classes online so he can be around to help out.

By the time Ari climbs back up the stairs, his shoulders are slumped over, as if the weight of the world is bearing down on him. “I have to go home. My dad’s working the nightshift tonight, and my mom needs help with something at the house.”

I start to get up. “Do you want me to go with you?”

He motions for me to stay put. “It’s okay. Stay and have fun for the both of us, okay?”

“If you need me, call,” I say, sinking back down into the chair.

He nods then disappears into the house.

The people who were out on the porch when we first came out have migrated to the back lawn to play Frisbee, so I relax back in the chair. While I’ve always been okay with being by myself, I find myself wishing I wasn’t out here alone. I think about going back inside and finding Beck and Willow, but what if they’re up in one of the rooms or something? I could always go find Grey, but I’m not sure I feel that daring just yet. And wandering alone . . . What if I run into Piper and Logan? I don’t want to put up with drama tonight. I just want to relax.

I take out my phone to read the email that is supposedly from Aunt Ashlynn as I work up the courage to go track down the guy I like. As I’m typing a quick response, asking her when her birthday is, I hear the back door coast open.

“I was beginning to worry that you didn’t come,” Grey’s voice sails over my shoulder.

An uncontrollable, goofy smile rises on my face. I quickly hit send then look up at him. “I was starting to wonder the same thing about you.”

He steps onto the deck beneath the porch light, and I discreetly check him out. He always looks good, but he looks extremely sexy tonight in a pair of loose-fitted jeans and a black, thermal shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Like Beck, he has a backward baseball cap on his head, but unlike Beck, Grey’s eyes aren’t glazed over and bloodshot.

He pulls the door shut, his eyes all over me, taking in every inch of my body and face. “You look nice.” When his gaze lingers on my chest, I fight the urge to cross my arms, remembering what Piper said about me being flat chested. He drags his eyes off me and notes the vacated back deck. “Why are you sitting out here alone?”

“Ari was out here with me a few minutes ago, but he had to go home.” I lay my phone down on the table and cross my legs. “I was inside for a bit, dancing, but it got too hot.”

His brow teases upward. “You dance?”

“What can I say? Apparently, I’m a closet DJ and dancer.”

“Really?” He seems particularly interested in my declaration. “Do I get to see these dancing skills anytime soon?”

“Sure.” I rise to my feet, preparing to go inside, but he moves away from the door, takes out a phone from his back pocket, and swipes his finger across the screen.

“You got a phone?” I ask, tucking my hands under my legs.

He nods, glancing up at me. “My mom gave it to me when I got home from the session. She called it a congrats-you-are-no-longer-a-criminal present.” He taps his finger across a small crack in the screen. “It’s actually used, but it works.” He shrugs. “The house finally sold, so she says she can afford to turn the service back on now.”

“That’s good,” I say with uncertainty. “You seem sad about it, though.”

“I’m not sad. I’m just . . .” He sits down in the chair across from mine, setting his phone down on the table beside mine. “I know it’s a good thing, that we can’t afford the house anymore now that my dad’s gone, but it was the house I grew up in, and a lot of my memories with my dad happened in that house. I kind of feel like I’m losing him all over again.”

I reach forward and thread my fingers through his. “I’m sorry that’s how it feels, and I know it’s going to be hard, but I don’t really think you have to lose him all over again. The memories belong to you, not the house, and you can always think about him whenever you feel like you need something to hold on to.”

He studies me like I’m a complex puzzle he’s trying to solve. “You really are an amazing person. You always make me feel better when everything’s so shitty.”

“Grey, you know that’s not true. You heard what I admitted when we were running through the forest that day. I wasn’t lying. I don’t steal because I’m poor. I steal because I’m messed up.” I start to pull away, but he tightens his hold on my hand, trapping it against his knee.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, and you don’t have to answer me, but why do you do it?”

My chest tightens. “You really want to know?”

He nods. “But only if you feel comfortable telling me.”

“You’ll hate me when you find out,” I whisper.

He swiftly shakes his head. “I don’t think I could ever hate you, Luna.”

I don’t believe him, but I still feel like I need to tell him the truth, feel like I need to get it off my chest. I need to spill my secret to someone.

“It’s just this thing I started doing . . . to get control, I guess.”

“Control?” He looks lost.

I sigh and tell him about the first time I stole, how I felt this need to gain control over my life somehow and how stealing briefly gave me that. I confess how many times I’ve done it, how badly I felt afterward, and how I wish I knew I could stop, but I’m not so sure I can.

“When’s the last time you’ve done it?” he asks, his voice giving nothing away about how he’s feeling after hearing my confession.

“That time you saw me at Benny’s was technically the last time I ever put anything into my pockets.” I tip my chin down and focus on picking at my nails because it’s simpler than looking him in the eye. “It doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about doing it. The other night, my mom told me I’m going to have to cut my hair, even though I love my hair the way it is . . . and I wanted to climb out my window, run to the store, and stuff as many things as I could into my pockets just so I could breathe again . . . And this morning I was at the gas station . . . I almost put a candy bar into my pocket, but the cashier saw me and said all this stuff to me. It was so embarrassing.”

He stays quiet for what feels like an eternity, and it takes me forever to work up the courage to look at him. I instantly startle back from the intensity in his eyes when I do, unsure what the look means.

“I want to stop,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Every time I do it, I promise myself never again, but then something happens with my mom or dad, and this pressure builds inside my chest, and it feels like I’m going to explode and say stuff that will make the situation worse. So I bottle it down and deal with it the only way I can.”

“Have you ever told anyone how you feel?” His expression remains indecipherable, making me very uneasy.

I shake my head. “You’re the first person I’ve ever talked to about this. Even my friends don’t know that I do it.”

He reaches out and molds his hands around mine, bringing me the smallest amount of comfort. “Can you do me a favor? The next time something happens when you feel that pressure, can you talk to me first before you do anything?”

“You really want me to keep talking to you after what I just told you?”

“You think I’d stop liking you because you steal sometimes?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Luna, I let my friends torture you for years. If anything, you shouldn’t be sitting here, talking to me.”

“You’re not that guy anymore, though,” I say. “You’re nicer, and you care about people more.”

“But that doesn’t mean I didn’t do those bad things. Things you forgave me for, even though I don’t deserve forgiveness,” he says. I open my mouth to say he deserves forgiveness, but he cuts me off. “Just let me get this out, okay? Before you say anything.”

When I nod, he continues.

“What I did to you back in sophomore year . . .” He struggles for the right words. “I never should’ve turned you down like that. I acted like an asshole on purpose, showing off for my friends because, back then, I thought their opinions mattered. And when Logan spread those rumors about you, I should’ve stopped him instead of shrugging it off. I should’ve been a better guy, like my dad thought I was, but I wasn’t. I was a self-centered jerk who only saw things from his point of view.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “But I get it now, that not everything is one layered. People have so much shit they’re going through, and a lot of them are struggling just to get through the goddamn day. The last thing they need is for some arrogant prick who thinks he’s better than everyone else to beat them down and make their life even more complicated.” He turns my hand over, palm up, and sketches his fingers along my scars. “You have to deal with so much, and I wish I could’ve seen that.” He looks up at me with shame written all over his face. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” My voice is thick with emotion. I might have said I was okay throughout the years and didn’t care who said what to me, but the truth is, hearing him apologize makes me realize just how hard it was to deal with all the teasing and ridicule. “And I forgive you.” I already forgave him, but it feels like he needs to hear me say it aloud.

“I’m going to make it up to you somehow,” he whispers, his gaze skimming across my lips.

Yes, please, pretty please, make it up to me by kissing me.

He gives me exactly what I want, leaning forward and pressing his lips to mine. My skin hums from the contact, and I let out this uncontrollable, somewhat embarrassing gasp. He seems to like the noise, though, and groans in response, slipping his tongue into my mouth.

Oh. My. God. This is way better than just using lips.

My lips part as my head angles back, giving his tongue full access to explore my mouth. Every graze of his lips and brush of his tongue drives my body into a mad frenzy. My mom may have told me kissing was a horrible thing and that I shouldn’t do it more than I have to, but God, was she wrong. Really, really, wrong. Kissing is amazing.

His hands glide down my arms and come to rest on my waist. Gripping tightly, he lures me forward, toward him. I’m not sure what he’s doing until he suddenly picks me up and sets me on his lap with one of my knees on each side of him.

My eyes widen in shock, and for the briefest second, I hear that voice in the back of my head telling me what I’m doing is wrong. But I shove the voice aside with surprising ease and fall blindingly into the kiss, letting his hands rove all over my body.

I’m still nervous, though. With each touch of his hands, I worry he can feel all my flaws, and my self-doubt starts to wear on me.

He finally pulls away, sucking on my bottom lip.

“You can tell me to stop whenever you get too uncomfortable,” he says.

“I’m just a little nervous. I’ve never . . . done this before.” My cheeks stupidly warm.

He grazes his knuckles across my cheekbone. “Do you want to stop? We can go dance, get something to drink, whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” I muse over the foreign concept. “I like the sound of that.”

He smiles at me as I slant forward, sealing my lips to his again, kissing him because it’s what I want.