Secretly Yours || FreenBecky [Completed]

Chapter 1

YEARS AGO

From an early age, Freen found herself constantly uprooted, moving from one house to another. Her parents' separation when she was three meant a shuffle between them, dwelling with her dad until he remarried, and then returning to her mom. Fortunately, her maternal aunt stepped in, providing solace in her expansive home—an abode that, while not opulent, always seemed rich to her schoolmates. It was a profound relief; unlike the horror stories of mistreated nieces burdening their aunts, her aunt never subjected her to such hardship.

The logic behind mistreatment puzzled her. Offering refuge, only to lash out later, seemed counterintuitive. Thankfully, her upbringing was different. Despite a fractured family, she thrived in a nurturing environment, void of siblings or noisy neighbors, situated in the tranquil heart of nature. It wasn't a disdain for children; rather, a preference for solitude and a disdain for people in general.

Her irritation peaked as she observed the revelry around her—people making fools of themselves through dancing, singing, and exchanging affections. This wasn't her kind of party. The only celebration she relished was what she termed a "me party"—a solitary affair with her collection of horror and thriller movies.

Not to be mistaken for a gothic aficionado, she merely craved solitude, preferring the excitement of suspenseful movies over the commonplace cringe of romantic tales so prevalent these days. The clichés of "you are my world," "I can be your universe," and "you are the star that lights my whole world" felt tiresome and unappealing.

"You should enjoy this," Richie, her exuberant best friend, declared, pouring tequila into her cup before diving back into the festivities.

Richie, the catalyst of her teenage rebellion, demonstrated how to flirt with danger without spiraling out of control. Despite his rebellious exterior, he was the one person she could trust, a friend who understood her like no other. He might have seemed like a delinquent to others, but to her, he was a dependable confidant. No hotel escapades, no lewd remarks, no actions that could upset her—Richie knew her boundaries.

As the couch became a rendezvous point for a couple eager to engage in amorous activities, she sought refuge in the kitchen, discarding the offending tequila that assaulted her senses. Alcohol had never been her preference; its mere scent left her head spinning.

"Why waste a good drink?" a voice queried from behind. Turning, she encountered an unfamiliar face, possibly a junior. She bore a resemblance to Richie, but in all her years of friendship with him, he never mentioned a sister. Could she be a cousin? Why speculate? She detested engaging with people.

"Not to my liking," she replied, filling her cup with water. Taking a sip, the unmistakable taste of tequila made her grimace, eliciting a smile from her.

"That's embarrassing," she thought, deciding to ignore her.

"You're from  moors side, right? You don't know how to party," she remarked, her British accent giving away her origin. "Drink this." She extended a cup.

She furrowed her brow, declining the offer. Trusting a stranger with a drink at a party? What if it contained some substance that could jeopardize her upcoming college drug test? She couldn't afford any complications.

"Oh, come on. No additives here. Why would I harm someone as stunning as you?" she teased, sitting on the kitchen counter and handing her the cup. "I won't hurt you, little fella. Go on," she encouraged.

She hesitated, eyeing her suspiciously before placing the cup back beside her. Why heed someone who referred to her as 'little fella' when it was evident she was older than her? Her ego stung. Did she look like a minor? True, she had just turned 19, but she was no longer a minor.

"There you are, feisty little lion." Richie's inebriated entry into the kitchen diverted attention to both of them. "Oh, you two haven't met?"

"No, I don't know her," Freen stated, leaning on the counter, awaiting Richie's introduction, annoyed by her presence.

"She's my little sister, Freen. She studied in London and is here for the summer," Richie explained, looking at her expectantly. "Becky, could you look after her? I have something to do." He eyed the cup, approached her, and forcefully made her drink without warning, catching her off guard.

"Damn you!" Freen exclaimed as the liquid burned down her throat. "You know I dislike this kind of drink! I'm a lightweight!"

Richie chuckled, patting his sister's shoulder, and walked away, leaving Freen to shoot him a defiant middle finger.

"So, that's why you avoid drinking, huh?" Richie's sister inquired as she checked on her. The room spun, and the alcohol-induced dizziness made it challenging to stand. Richie had coerced her into downing a cup of vodka, catching her off guard. Some of it even ended up on her clothes.

"Let's go to my room. You should change your clothes. You stink now," Becky suggested, amused. "I'm Rebecca, but people call me Becky."

Ignoring her attempt at camaraderie, she resisted befriending Richie's sister, whose demeanor mirrored his cunning nature.

In Becky's room, Freen directed herself to the bed. Her head throbbed, and the desire to lie down overwhelmed her. Richie's misguided attempt at camaraderie with the vodka, knowing her lightweight tendencies, left her feeling betrayed. She clutched the bedsheets, feeling Becky's eyes on her.

"Are your lips a virgin?" she asked, catching her off guard.

"I have a boyfriend," she retorted, truthfully. He might be at home, lost in his usual mobile games.

"That's not what I asked," Becky replied, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Have you had your first kiss?" she probed again.

"No," she responded, hoping to end the interrogation.

"Aren't you curious about kissing a girl?" she continued.

"No," she maintained.

"Well, I am." Becky gently lifted her chin, locking eyes with her. "Don't you think we should kiss now?"

Despite her commitment to a boyfriend and her orientation, the temptation of Becky's lips proved surprisingly intriguing. Was this the alcohol talking, or was it truly her?

"No one will know?" she asked tentatively, torn between curiosity and the boundaries she had set for herself.

"Nobody," Becky assured, leaning in for a kiss. Closing her eyes, she succumbed to the softness of her lips against hers, intoxicated by the aroma of vodka that clung to her breath. Was this an unexpected exploration of her desires or just the consequence of a drunken night?