Chapter 2 The fuck do you think you're doing

Unlocking the front door, I tried to be quiet as I helped Clara inside

"...s-stupid BITCH doesn't know what he's missing."

Wasted Clara did not have volume control, especially not horny, wasted Clara.

Scott had turned her down and Clara was not dealing with that rejection well.

Hell hath no fury like a narcissist scorned.

"Hey, shh!" I whispered, "Your dad's probably asleep!"

"Pff! Fuck 'im!"

"Okay," I muttered to myself, "Let's get you upstairs."

The ordeal of dragging her ass up to her bedroom and laying her down in her bed took twenty minutes. Getting her on her side so she wouldn't choke on her own vomit took another five.

I breathed a sigh of relief when she passed out. Sierra was currently in a similar state in the backseat of the Uber and getting her settled would probably take even longer.

When both were incapacitated on Clara's bed, I stared down at them with a smirk.

Then, taking my bag with me, I walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.

With the mix of pills and alcohol in their systems, they'd be out for hours.

More than enough time for what I had planned.

Inside, I stripped, tossing aside my party clothes, pungent now with the reek of smoke and spilled beer.

If they smell, then I smell...

Opening the linen closet, I pulled out a fresh towel and hung it over the shower rod.

Under the steamy spray, I washed away the sweat and the stench of the day. I wanted to be fresh and clean when I let George Coleman defile me.

Humming to myself, I stepped out, drying off before slipping on a nightgown that was a little too lacy for a simple girls' sleepover.

The baby pink satin slid down my skin until the hem brushed against my mid-thigh.

Catching sight of myself in the foggy mirror, I looked into my own eyes, knowing that this was the point of no return, wondering if I had the guts to actually go through with it.

Then a slow trickle became a flood as I remembered all the slights, the cuts and bruises to my ego that I'd had to endure, that I would have to endure to survive the rest of high school.

I remembered betrayal, and the white-hot rage it left in its wake.

Fluffing my drying hair, I smiled at my reflection. At eighteen, I had the kind of body and face that men couldn't seem to resist, and coupled with the will and desire to make Clara pay, Daddy Dearest didn't stand a chance...

Downstairs, I made my way silently across the low pile carpet. In the darkness, the distant glow of the sodium streetlights made the shadows lengthen, turning the familiar first floor into an alien landscape.

My destination was the master suite, a set of rooms I'd only been inside once, but remembered vividly.

Clara and I had snuck in while her mother was busy making dinner. It was eighth grade, and Clara wanted to steal a pair of earrings for the dance that night.

After raiding the jewelry box, Clara had taken a detour to her mother's underwear drawer and fished out a massive, purple dildo, giggling with childish naiveté at the idea of a woman getting herself off.

As Clara re-hid the marital aid, my eyes landed on a wastebasket and the pair of tied-off condoms atop the rest of the refuse.

George had been out of town for days.

If I had been less young and more worldly, I would have recognized this for what it was – direct evidence of a marriage about to implode.

As it was, I said nothing.

Even in the early days of our friendship, I knew better than to speak out of turn with Clara.

Now though, I twisted the knob of this forbidden room and tiptoed inside.

With the curtains drawn, it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom. The door latch gave a quiet 'click' as I shut the door behind me and turned the lock.

On the wide expanse of linen and infidelity, George Coleman lay asleep on his back, a plain white t-shirt visible above the sheets.

I stood there for a moment, watching the slow, regular rise and fall of his chest.

Walking up to the bed, I stopped beside him, gently pulling back the covers to reveal his sleeping form.

Scanning down his body, I smirked when I noticed the insistent bulge in his grey sweatpants.

Let's see if we can help him out there...

I reached down to get my fingers around him when his hand shot out and caught my wrist.

"-the fuck do you think you're doing?"