Pushing open my bedroom door, a sense of power rushes over me. I trust no one, and that means no one can hurt me. No one can touch me. I’m untouchable because of this revelation. I can’t be hurt again. I will fight for my control and my freedom for that little girl. For that broken part of me that yearns for it. Slamming my bedroom door, I take another pull of JW and look toward my closet.
Smirking, I place the bottle on my dresser and make my way to my closet. Flicking on the light, my eyes find my black skinny jeans. They’re ripped at the knees and stick to me like a second skin. Grabbing them, I run my fingers over all my crop tops, opting for the most revealing one I can find. A straight across strapless crop top that shows all of my toned stomach. Looking at both items, an idea clicks in my head. Taking the clothes back to my room, I toss them onto my bed and pull open my underwear drawer, taking out my fishnet stockings. Yes, so much yes, this is perfect. Taking everything to my bathroom—and the bottle of my old pal Johnny Walker—I lock Nate’s side and my side and turn on the shower. Slipping under the hot cascading water, I take my bottle in with me and sit on the bathtub floor. Hugging the whiskey, I squeeze my eyes closed as the first teardrops. The beading water trickling over my flesh, down my arms like an assault, reminds me of Black Friday’s touch.
His rough, aged hands squeezing my nipples tightly.
His rough bearded face scrapping down my delicate chest.
A sob escapes me before I can stop it and I scrub my face angrily. Angry that he’s getting tears and hurt so many years later. Bringing the bottle back to my lips, I take a few long pulls of the liquid until I no longer feel like crying. Then I get to my feet and turn off the faucet, the condensation a reminder of my surroundings, bringing me back to the now.
I’m here.
Now.
At home.
Safe.
Safe? Am I? My sanity is because I trust no one. No one will have the power to let me down. I’ll expect the worst in people to save disappointment. Wrapping my towel around my body, I quickly dry myself and slip into my little Calvin Klein G-string and then into the fishnet stockings and black jeans. I pull the fishnet waistband up to my ribs so you can see it ripple over my flat stomach and everywhere my jeans are ripped, before sliding on the little crop top boob tube. Smiling down at my outfit, I run the towel through my hair. I look hot and I feel reckless, a toxic combination for me.
I blow out my hair and throw on makeup. Going heavy on the eyes and bright red on the lips. Well, Dad would be proud of the look I have going on right now.
After battling over how to do my hair, I settle on a high messy bun that sits like a bundle of brown curls on the top of my head and grab my bottle. I’m slipping my original Adidas sneakers on when my bedroom door swings open, and Tatum walks in fully dressed in a tight little skirt and heels, clutching a plastic bag in her hand.
“Now, I got Absinth and a couple of kegs,” she murmurs, rushing into my room without looking at me. She places the drinks on my bed and finally turns toward me. Her face changes, a small smile creeping onto her mouth. “Well holy shit who fucked on a stick. Where is my friend? And please, don’t bring her back.”
I roll my eyes and take another drink. “She’s gone.”
Tate looks impressed. “Well, I like it. Totally digging this look. Carter is downstairs with Ridge starting the music. I hope that’s okay, by the way. I saw both of them in town while I was getting alcohol and sort of dragged them with me. But I kind of got the impression you wanted a full house tonight so you wouldn’t mind.” She adds a cheesy smile.
“Of course I don’t mind. A thick bass line starts thumping against the walls as the alcohol warms my blood even more. “I want to dance. Let’s go.” I pull her toward the door and she pulls back.
“Wait!” She reaches for the plastic bag again and smiles. “Okay, now I’m ready!”
We pound down the stairs, me with my bottle of whiskey clutched between my fingers and Tatum swinging the plastic bag. Hitting the bottom of the stairwell, Carter whistles at us, a mischievous grin on his face.
“Damn, mami….”
“Hey!” I smile. He pulls me in for a hug, and I slouch into him, my muscles slightly relaxing for the first time since this afternoon. Inching back, he pushes a couple of loose strands away from my face and smiles his boyish grin.
Pressing back softly, I look over his shoulder at Ridge, who looks like he has almost finished setting up the little makeshift DJ booth area in the sitting room. I point to the floor-to-ceiling doors and nudge my head at Tatum. “Open up the doors and turn on the Jacuzzi and pool lights. Tonight is going to be a long night.”
“Long night, huh?” Tatum wiggles her ass, sliding open the doors. “Well, as long as I get fucked, I don’t care.”
“All class, Sinclaire,” Carter murmurs.
Tatum flips him off. “Never claimed to be classy, Mathers.”
I roll my eyes, leaving the two to banter between each other and making my way toward Ridge. “Hey!”
He looks over his shoulder, putting all the wires and cords back into the little black boxes.
“Hey, Madi. Hope it’s okay. Your friend,” he looks over at Tatum, “is a little
