His Guilty Pleasure (FIRST DRAFT)

(5)

Trigger warning--this chapter involves sexual assault. It is a very real thing and a very serious topic. I do not take it lightly. I tried to make it as sensitive as possible. There is no really gross description or anything. I debated whether or not I should use it, but as someone who has personally experienced sexual assault, I feel like I've AT LEAST earned the right to at least use it in a story. The experience is vital to the development of my character. Like it or not, sexual assault shapes a person. It shapes my character and I am sorry if it is offensive, I tried to make it as non offensive as possible, but please skip this chapter or don't read if this is something you can't handle.

Gabby

"Just a little more blush..." Camille bites her lip in concentration as she powders my apple cheeks. "Done! Turn around!"

I swivel around and face Camille's vanity table and mirror. I look good. There's no point in denying it. Camille gave me metallic-y smokey eyes and heavy eyeliner and then played down all of my other facial features by using only neutral colors. My eyes, my best feature, demand attention. Not to mention the eyeliner wings are on fleek.

"You should seriously be a makeup artist."

"Tell me something I don't know." Camille has done the opposite for her own makeup. Her eyes have a light coat of orangish eyeshadow and she has on a bit of mascara, but she has chosen to play up her lips with a bold, red color. She looks like a model, with her clear skin and wide eyes. She's chosen a sparkly mini-dress that looks more suitable for New Year's than a back to school party, but she rocks it, as expected. I wear a flowy black top that shows off my chest but not my stomach and some boyfriend jeans and heels. Camille picked it out for me, of course, respecting my wishes for an outfit that is "sexy yet conservative."

After my date with Christopher, I don't think I'll be wearing anything tight or blatantly sexy anytime soon.

My hair is in loose waves that fall just past my breasts and Camille has her blond hair slicked back in a tight ponytail. "Look at us." She admires her work in the mirror. "We look hot."

I can't help but agree. Camille might be the conventional Victoria's Secret kind of hot, but tonight, I have my own kind of sexy girl next door look to me. Camille lets out a squeal and turns to me, giving me a little shimmy.

"Let's go rock this friggin party's socks off!"

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"Shit." I breathe when we pull up to Emily Gordon's house. The sheer size of it never fails to amaze me. I turn to Camille who is looking at herself in a compact mirror she's brought along, fixing her lipstick. "You sure they're okay with me coming?" I question, biting my lip. Emily is part of Camille's clique, not mine. In fact, she's been nothing but rude to me for as long as I can remember.

"You sure you need to be eating that, Gabs?" (When Camille, Emily, and their friends all went to a pizza parlor and I proceeded to chow the fuck down.)

"That outfit looks so...comfortable!" (First day of sophomore year when I wore my new Prada sundress that was a little too tight. Comfortable was Em's code word for ugly, I'd soon come to learn.)

"Camille, want to borrow a shirt for tonight? Sorry Gabby, I'd offer to let you borrow one, but it wouldn't fit..." (Two weeks ago, when the three of us went bar hopping.)

I have to put up with Emily for Camille's sake, but I know she wouldn't invite me to this party alone. Camille had to have put her up to it--that is, if I even am invited.

"Of course they are!" Camille promises, snapping her compact shut and turning to face me. "Serious, Gabs. Everyone loves you!"

I bite my tongue.