Maybe it’s the fact that I had my first taste of birthday cake. Maybe it’s the presents that the Old Ladies bought me, but I think it’s mostly the fact that I am surrounded by good people. At least, that’s how it feels.
The ugliness of the Donkey Punchers is nowhere around this clubhouse. People aren’t sitting around getting high all day and night. Women aren’t being passed from one man to another, their bodies sick with drugs and marked with bruises. Random young girls aren’t being brought in and out.
It’s just different here.
This club isn’t perfect and I have a feeling that they aren’t law-abiding citizens, but they’re good compared to where I was before here. Smiling at the women around me, I can’t help but wonder if it will be like this always.
Will they accept me as one of their own? What will happen tomorrow? The questions swirl around, and they grow dark. I can’t work the bar of the clubhouse my entire life, and what will happen to me when my purpose there is over?
Then I feel his eyes on me. Shifting my attention across the room, he’s there. His eyes lift and they meet mine. My breath hitches as I stare across the room at him. Licking my lips, I look down at my feet, then slowly lift my gaze back up to meet his own.
“He’s so in to you,” Gisele says, her voice soft and low.
She’s close to my age and although she seems a bit jumpy and nervous, I like her a lot. It will be nice to have someone around who is close to my age. She only lives a few feet away in one of the two houses that have been built on the property. Another one is under construction.
I don’t know why, but the fact that they have members living so close with their families, it warms my heart—it’s a little compound.
“He saved my life,” I admit before I turn my gaze from him back to her.
She’s smiling at me and she shakes her head a few times. “Yeah, Coen saved mine too.”
“He did?” I ask.
She continues to smile, nodding her head, but doesn’t elaborate. I don’t ask her to either, it’s not my place. Although, I’m extremely curious. Maybe she’ll feel comfortable enough to tell me one day, maybe we’ll be real friends.
For now, I’ll continue to show kindness and hope that she will trust me. I would love to have a friend—a real one.
I’ve never had that before.
“Coen saved me and I like to think that I saved him too, at least a little.” Her cheeks turn pink and she clears her throat.
Turning my head, I watch as her man makes a beeline for her. He has eyes for nobody else, not a single other person in the entire room, and there are dozens. I wonder if Dylan looks at me like that, then I shake my head. He doesn’t and he probably never will.
It’s a girl’s dream to have that, to be looked at that way, and I have a feeling it doesn’t happen to all of us. I know that it didn’t happen to my mother. My father usually looked at her as though she were a burden, as if she were no better than an annoyance, as if she were gum on the bottom of his shoe.
I try to recall what she looked like, her features, but my memory has faded over time. I can’t even remember her voice, let alone the details of her face. I remember blonde hair, big boobs, and a laugh that filled the room the few times I heard it.
I think that I would be lucky to have it just once, to have a man look at me that way one time in my entire life. Although, I have a feeling it won’t ever happen. As much as I wish it would happen with Dylan, I’m under no teenage clouded illusion that it will.
The wholesome party evaporates quickly and the real party begins. The volume of the music goes up as do the voices of the people, including cheers from the men, and squeals of women.
It’s my cue to leave.
The Old Ladies are still here, still talking and drinking amongst themselves. I take the moment of distraction to slowly slip away.
Gathering the gifts that they gave me, I hurry toward the back bedrooms. I’ve been staying with the clubwhores, and I figure this is a good place for me to make a home since I’ll probably end up being one of them sooner rather than later.
Once I sink down on the bed, I look at the presents. I opened them, then placed them back in their bags and boxes. The music pounds in the background, but I ignore it. Instead, I slowly open the gifts again, savoring them.
My first presents.
It’s mostly clothes, I’m sure they all knew that I needed them. There is a bag of bath and body stuff too. It smells heavenly. I don’t realize that I’m being watched, not until I hear a throat clear.
Turning my head, I lift my eyes to the man standing in the doorway. “Not allowed inside,” he announces on a chuckle.
Licking my lips, my eyes scan down his body, then lift back to those intense eyes that I love to gaze into.
“Oh,” I breathe when I realize what he’s said.
“C’mon out here, I’d like to talk.”
Standing, as if by his command, I set the gifts down and walk through the doorway, my shoulder brushing his entire torso when I do. I try to hold back the sigh at the sensation of his body touching mine, even if it’s only my shoulder and arm.
Once I’m in the small living area, I turn to face him. Dylan slowly makes his way toward me. Inhaling my breath, I hold it as he closes the distance between us. He stops just far enough away that he isn’t touching me, but he’s
