❝she was the girl, who bit the horizon, who peeled the stars from the sky and put them on her tongue, the girl who was hungry for the universe, who craved magic and saw the broken boy for who he truly was- a broken boy.❞
Beca...
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Chapter 10
Questioning Sexuality and Giving Makeovers
Jem
From the permanence of today's chain events, I couldn't deny what a fucking irrevocable idiot I was. How could I let her crack open my walls? I can't believe how close Ellis was at discovering my secret, finding my bruises. That can never happen. I won't allowed it. It was bad enough I was haunted by her overbright cherry-scented presence, I didn't need it everywhere in my own personal business. The fact that her cherry-tinged fingers had brushed against my bruises, her touch lighter than chiffon, lighter than silk, lighter than the punch that had created an unsettling feeling n the pit of my gut.
I sighed airily, feigning interest in my phone so I wouldn't be tempted to scrutinise her expression as I called Heath. Heath Burnwood was an aggravating bastard. But he was a loyal aggravating bastard.
I called him for a ride to his party because I did not have a vehicle of my own. I have a licensewerebut its don't have a car because A) my father sold our singular transportation to pay off our mortgage and B) we're in an economic recession. Or at least we're trying to compensate for the results that came out of the economic recession.
Fifteen minutes later, Heath arrived in his crappy, war-torn, barely alive and rarely functioning Chevrolet babe magnet of which he had named Roxy. He honked the whole street awake, probably scaring everybody out of their wits, when he found Ellis and I sitting by the street side, looking glazed at the pavement with bloodshot eyes. Fuck, he was already half-way drunk. He flung the shotgun seat open and I leapt onto my feet, accepting his invitation into his car.
"How the fuck did Caleb let you drive?" I frowned.
Heath shrugged nonchalantly and noticed the petite girl by my side. "S'up, Ellis! You're comin' to the party?"
God only knows how he hasn't veered into a telephone pole.
Ellis nodded, digesting the sight of his messed up blond hair and wrinkled shirt with a crinkled nose. "Yes, I am."
"Well, c'mon in!"
The car's seats were shredded leather and peeling so Ellis swallowed painfully and muttered a soft prayer of hoping to not catch some infectious disease before clambering gracefully into the backseat. The stench of whisky was so empowering my mouth to salivate at the thought of alcohol.
"Should he be driving?" wondered Ellis, who sounded concern, not in a general sense but panicked as in an Oh-My-God-I-Might-Die-Due-To-Heath's-Intoxicated-Driving. Admittedly, driving in an engineering nightmare nicknamed Roxy, also known as DTM (Death Trap Machine) to Caleb and me, was pretty high on my worse ways to die list since it was so horrifically mundane and also, this pretty face does not deserve to go at the age of seventeen.
"Heath, why don't we exchange? You don't look so good."
"Bitch, you're talking shit. I look fucking amazing!"
