Lyra Parish - Weak for Him

And I would find it.

On the corner, a club bled the music and flashing lights that I so desperately craved. It would be my kryptonite. After three shots of tequila, I made my way to the dance floor. The liquor quickly found its way through my bloodstream because I hadn't eaten. I felt as light as a feather as I shook my ass, dry humped a few guys, and even got asked back to a hotel room or two. Even a few girls hit on me and wanted to take me home. I never knew gay clubs had so many straight people.

Three more shots of liquid gold and I was the pretty girl on top of the world: the virgin who could command them all with her toned legs and tight ass. The one wearing the slutty outfit and dirty mouth that made the filthiest of filthy blush. I gave them fake names, and numbers, batted my fake eyelashes, and said nasty things I wouldn't normally say.

In a matter of hours, I had transformed into someone I didn't know. Another person wore my skin, used my voice and body, and I watched from the sidelines as she acted out, fulfilling the destiny of becoming the little slut that Finnley created, in a place where creeps and perverts roamed and ruled. No one would judge me where the sin of the city ran wild. How could they? And there was no one around to reel me in from my mistakes. Not even Finnley could save me from the shadows of wickedness, and for a moment, I thought I might lose myself.

Once I was tanked on the brink of oblivion, I called Charlie to deliver me back to the mansion. While I waited, a young man, no older than me, offered me a shot, and I took it as I spoke filthy things to him: sucking cocks, eating pussy, and other nasty things that I never said to strangers. He wanted to leave with me in tow. If I continued to act out, virgin girl would be no more. But I had standards no matter how much of a whore I pretended to be.

A few more shots and my face went numb.

I barely could stand. The cute guy carried me to the parking lot, and I could hardly see. My world rocked and swayed, and my vision went hazy, then black.

Hard slaps across the face, pointless cursing, and I had come to—barely awake, alive even. I felt like I was dying and I had no control of my body.

Finnley held a flashlight in my eyes, and I tried so hard to talk.

Nothing.

"She's been fucking drugged. Who the fuck let her go alone? Jennifer?"

Finn's voice echoed like my name had been said a million times, but I was fading.

Fading away to nothingness.

"Jennifer. Stay with me. Please."

Blackness.

Then silence.

I woke to an empty, dim-lit room. I didn't know which day it was, or whether it was early morning or late afternoon. The last thing I remembered was going out, alone. Oh god, and being ridiculous.

I reached for my phone. It wasn't there. Damn it.

My mouth, sticky like I had swallowed liquefied sugar, needed water.

Stumbling from bed and down the stairs in a T-shirt and underwear proved to be harder than I imagined. My legs felt weak and shaky. Damn, my whole body did.

I chugged the water like it was going out of style and could hear a steady beat of music coming from somewhere in the house. The microwave read 6:21 p.m. I peeked out the window; no cars lined the drive except for V.

But the music continued and my head pounded along with it. I needed to find it and ask someone really nicely to turn it down.

As I walked to the stairs, I stopped and listened.

Was that… I heard it again… jazz music? Ray Charles?

Leaning my head against the basement door, I knew it was Ray Charles. "Get Around, Woman." I had danced to it one time in school.

Since no one was home, maybe Finn forgot to turn off the radio or something.

I opened the door and stumbled my way down the steps. The lights were low. But bent over the bed, ready to fuck, was a face I never thought I would see in Vegas.

Abbie.

Abbie and Finn.

My Abbie? My Finn?

What. The. Holy. Fuck!

I reached for something, anything to grab as my legs went from under me.

Finn carried me up the stairs in his arms, alone. He laid me on the bed and sat down. We looked into one another's eyes and refused to speak a word.

Not one single word.

I wanted to, but how could I? What would I say?

The last time we spoke to one another—and seeing him almost fuck my best friend—left me speechless.

A few minutes passed, and I turned my back toward him and stared out the window. No words could describe how I felt.

Betrayed?

Jealous?

I hated that I cared. I hated that I hated my best friend for wanting to be with him. There, in that room. But if I were single, and not contracted, would I have done the same?

The shadows of the trees floated past the window, nightfall was upon us, and I knew he wouldn't leave regardless if I demanded.

"Why is she here?"

"Because you almost died, Jennifer. I had to let someone know. She was on your emergency contact list."

I rolled over and peered into his eyes. "What did you just say?"

"You were drugged at the club. Almost overdosed on Rohypnol. You didn't respond well to it, and you were out for almost a week. In the hospital for a few days until you were stable and then I brought you home. I didn't know when you'd wake up. We were all worried."

The last thing I remembered was the cute guy at the bar handing me shot after shot, and I took each one like a damned idiot.

"I was worried," he added.

"Bullshit. You didn't look too worried when you were about to fuck my best friend in the basement, did you? To me, it looked like you were having a grand time. Completely carefree!"

His jaw clenched. Speaking of the fucking devil, Abbie entered the room and stood next to Finnley. Her hand met his shoulder and squeezed.

I couldn't watch it.

Watch them.

Watch her be touchy-feely with him.

I knew her. Everything about her and how she worked, and flirted, and…

"Go away," I said, pulling the blanket over my body. I wanted to sleep, although I had slept for a week.

"You're being a baby," Abbie said.

I turned my body around and looked at her. "You're being a whore. But then again, what else is new?"

"And you're being a bitch, and hypocritical," Abbie said.

"Ladies, really?"

"Get. Out!" I said. "Both of you. Now!"

"Abbie, leave," Finnley said. She refused until Finn spoke with that dominant Sir tone that said "listen to me."

She pleaded with her eyes, asking if she could stay, but with a slight shake of his head, she was gone.

"Unbelievable," I whispered. "Un-fucking-believable. How long has this been going on? Few days? The whole time I've been lost in dreamland?"

"I'm not talking about this with you. I owe you no answers."

I sat up in bed and crossed my arms.

"First you decide to fuck with my emotions? Then you allow me to get over it and then fuck with me again. After I am on my deathbed, my fucking deathbed , you decide to fuck my best fucking friend. Then you have the nerve to stand here and tell me you don't owe me any fucking answers. Finn, I wish you would just fuck straight off. You are a prick. An asshole. This biggest douchebag I have ever met, and if I ask you for a fucking answer, I expect it."

His stance loosened, and his face softened.

"I'm sorry."

"Wait. Wait a fucking second. What did you say?"

"I'm sorry. I was wrong. It was a misjudgment on my part," he said.

"I'm glad that you're man enough to apologize and admit you were wrong, but it's still un-fucking-forgiveable."

"What more can I fucking say to you, Jennifer? I can't take it back. All I can do is tell you that I'm sorry and that I was fucking wrong. Either you can accept it or not."