My Wish Upon A Star

Chapter 11 - You've Done a Stellar Job at Procreating

Chapter 11

You’ve Done a Stellar Job at Procreating

I would like my period to be an actual person, a physical representation I can actually beat up to the curb. Honestly, if my period was a person, I would kill it slowly and painfully, and then I’d decimate its body in acid and call it good. And I wouldn’t even be remorseful. I would do it and love it. Because you just know that if your period was in fact a person it’d say shit like “oh, I’m sorry, did you like that pair of underwear? ‘Cause, yeah, that’s ruined. Oh and your pricey Egyptian cotton bedding? Ruined too. Oh and you’re not ugly enough, here have some pimple in your face please. And just to be sure you really piss people off, let’s make you even bitchier then usual.”

I hated getting my period.

And what I hated even more was just starting it, the night I went to eat at my none-boyfriend’s parents.

How Victor had convinced me to come and meet his parents, I still didn’t know. Well that’s not exactly true, I knew exactly how he did it—with his face between my legs. Still, I was kind of in denial about the whole thing.

Meeting his parents—what the hell was wrong with him? Did he want to get disinherited?

When his driver parked the car in front of their house, I glared at Victor. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He smiled a little at my reaction. Oh you are so never getting laid again. “What?”

“This!” I pointed to the freaking castle, “this is your parent’s house?”

I knew he was a Rockefeller and I knew his family was loaded, but this was too much. Their house was bigger then my freaking high school!

Victor looked sheepishly at me—I didn’t like that one bit. “Actually, it’s just one of their cottages.”

I blinked twice, slowly. “That’s it, I’m breaking up with you.”

This time, I got a laugh. “We aren’t actually dating.”

Groaning, I ran my hand over my head, smoothing down my hair tied into a ponytail. “Then why the hell am I here?”

“Because my parents are talking about setting me up with their friend’s daughter Clarissa and sex for her is doing the star, so if I show up with you and say I’m already seeing someone they’ll drop the case.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And you know that star thing how?” He winked at me but didn’t answer. Little bitch. “Fine, I’ll go in but once I’m done shedding my uterine line, I swear, the kinky sex you’ll have to do with me will leave you with scars. You’ll probably have to go see a therapist afterwards. And you’ll be singing SpongeBob songs with me.”

It seemed like Victor had a hard time keeping himself from laughing. He wouldn’t be laughing if he knew exactly what I had in mind. “I don’t agree to the singing, but fine with everything else.”

I groaned again and slapped his arm. “Little bitch.”

“Feisty nymphomaniac.” He pressed a soft kiss against my lips and got out of the car.

            Breathing in heavily, I tried to give myself a pep talk and remember not to break anything, or touch anything, or really look at anything for too long—seriously what the hell was I getting myself into? I was actually more worried about going into that house than that time I had a job interview to do house work in a container by the docks.