𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧.✓ completed

Untitled Part 7

Chapter Seven

Willow

Sunlight shines across my face as I open my eyes and roll over, stretching my arms above my head. My bed is empty, causing a cold emptiness to seep into my bones. But I feel refreshed, probably more than I have in a long time.

Then it all comes rushing back to me: my hands on Beck's chest, my leg over his hip, the way he grinded against me. For a split, mind-losing second, I wanted him to do it again until I remembered the rule and why it exists.

Technically, I didn't have a hip-to-hip contact rule. Still, that didn't mean I felt any better about what occurred between us. That's what I tell myself. Sometimes, I wonder if I lie to myself as much as I do to everyone else.

Thankfully, Beck shrugged off the incident. I feel so bad. After handing him a rule that we could never kiss, I violated him. Talk about mixed signals.

He probably thinks I'm crazy. Honestly, maybe I am. I don't even know why I did it. Okay, that's a lie. I did it because I couldn't get the sight of his chest out of my mind.

When I closed my eyes, I fell into a dream of Beck and me kissing, my hands all over his bare chest, and my hips grinding against his. So, apparently, my body decided to act out the dream in real life.

Stupid, traitorous body.

God, I suck.

Sighing, I roll over and focus on if my mom and her friends are gone. The place is silent except for a dog howling from outside. It'd be a peaceful way to wake up if I hadn't just sleep-fooled around with my best friend. Plus, my bedroom reeks of pot.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I look at the clock and grimace. Six o'clock in the morning and not everyone has left yet.

"Hey, mini-Paula, why don't you open the door, get your sweet ass out here, and put on a little show for us," a guy says from the other side of the door. "Isn't that what you do? Dance, right?"

I fuse my lips together and close my eyes. Go away. Go away. Go away.

"That uniform you were wearing ... That's what it means ... You're a dancer at Crazy Morelliesin's. How come I've never seen you there before?"

Because I'm not a dancer.

But what you do might not be any better.

"Does your mama know where you work?" he asks. "I bet she does ... She used to do work there herself when she was younger."

I swallow the shameful lump clogging my airway. While I knew my mom had dabbled in stripping for money, I never knew she worked at the same place as me.

I really am like her.

No! I'm not! I haven't even dated anyone and will never date anyone. Plus, I'm going to college. One day, I will be better than her.

Well, that's what I tell myself as the guy hammers on my door for the next half-hour.

When he gives up, I try to go back to sleep, but my worried mind keeps me up, and finally, I haul my behind out of bed to check out the damage in the apartment.

Before I head out into the mess, I crack the door open and peer into the hallway to make sure the house is empty. I don't spot anyone passed out anywhere, so I open the door wider and step out.

My nose promptly crinkles at the stench of weed, booze, and sweat. The mustiness in the air makes me want to run to the bathroom and take a shower. Needing to check on the place first, I put one foot in front of the other as I endeavor into the living room. The sofa is tipped upside down, the coffee table is pressed sideways against the patched wall, and a pile of beer cans is stacked in the middle of the room. My initial instinct is to clean up the mess ASAP, but I need to go peek in on my mom first.

Turning my back on the mess, I walk back to her bedroom and find her bed empty. I check the bathroom, the closets, and then the kitchen. There's no sign of her anywhere. She must have never come home from the bar.<

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I grow worried at the thought of all the places she could be: whoring herself on the corner, shooting up in some sleazy hotel, or lying dead in a ditch somewhere. All except the latter has happened.

I slouch onto the table and lower my head into my hands, debating whether or not I should track her down. Usually, I do, but Beck is supposed to be coming over today to tow my car. Although, after what happened last night, I question if I should let Beck off the hook and call Ari to come help me.

Backtracking to my bedroom, I pick up my phone either to call Beck or Ari—I haven't decided yet. Then I note the missed call from Wynter. I decide to call her, procrastinating my car ordeal.

"Hey, lazy butt," Wynter greets me after I yawn a hello.

"That's a first." I flop down on my bed and stare at the water stained ceiling. "Usually, you call me a crackhead."

"Yeah, well, I figured I'd mix it up a bit. Make life a little more interesting," she teases. "Seriously, though, why do you sound tired? Usually, you're up at the butt crack of dawn."

"I had a rough night."

"Because your car broke down?"

"Yeah. And there was a party going on and some guy woke me up at, like, six o'clock in the morning." I don't bother mentioning the party was being thrown by my mom. While Wynter knows I don't have a fantastic home life, she doesn't know all the details like Beck does. I also don't bring up Beck staying in my bed or that I rubbed myself against him for various reasons, one being that Wynter will look way too much into it.

"I don't know why you still live there," she says. "It'd be so much easier if you just moved to Fairs Hollow. And it's not like you love living with your mom."

"It's more complicated than just that," I mutter, massaging my temple to reduce the pressure pushing against my skull.

"Why? I mean, you're almost nineteen. You shouldn't have to live with your mom anymore if you don't want to."

"Yeah, but she needs help paying rent and stuff." And making sure she doesn't die in her sleep.