Nixon

••• Seventeen •••

"No."

Emily laughs.

"You're such a wuss," she shouts across the table as Oliver crosses his arms, refusing to try some weird meal she packed today as I sit at the table, meeting Terrance's gaze. For the past two days he's kept his gaze on me, looking at me in class, watching me, offering me gentle smiles as I question what it is about. "Come on!"

I decide to zone them out, remembering the tone Nixon's voice took, one rough and filled with power as I felt my stomach turn with butterflies. How could someone so bad make me forget all of that, how he's older, how he's rough, how he's, well, how Nixon is himself? As the bell rings, I throw away my plate, grabbing my backpack as my next class awaits.
By the end of school, I'm following Emily to her place, ready to start our girl's night. We'll be hitting a nice restaurant in the city followed by some art Galla for sculptures. I've brought my change of clothes, a piece of clothing that I got about two weeks ago to just spoil myself with.

Once changed before a mirror, Emily hands me my heels. It's a beautiful dress, navy, just like how Nixon likes it, the dress silky, mid-thigh, no back, and a low front, costing me quite a bit. The heels are just silver pumps that match a statement necklace I have on, watching as Emily finishes up zipping her little black dress, one that makes her look mature and professional. We finish our hair, both with buns, and as we grab our clutches and my keys, we are excited to head out.

The drive is filled with singing along to the radio while my car's roof is done, smiles on our faces as we see the first skyscraper, the one where Nixon's office is.

I decide to just forget everything about Nixon for tonight as we park and head to the restaurant, eager to try the food here at a French restaurant that has been highly recommend by her parents. For the most part, we discuss school and graduation, all until I decide to ask a question.

"What's the Crimson Piano?"

Emily almost chokes on her chicken, her skin paling as some people look our way. She runs a hand through her lilac hair, nervous as I see her biting her lip.
"I just want to know."

"Just a story from seven years ago."

I raise an eyebrow as she takes a sip of her sparkling water, trying to collect herself. "Just a silly story, Lily, one about a piano and some other shit. It's a silly tale most people try to bring up to freak others out."

I leave it at that, knowing soon enough I'll get my answer.

As the night passes, I find myself inside an art Galla, looking at everything from Vitorian-style sculptures to modern. Emily grabs us another set of some finger foods as I take my time looking at the patterns carved into one sculpture of some abstract art piece.
"Beautiful, right."

"Agreed," I reply as we head to the next piece.

Another hour and another story up and Emily has decided to head onto the balcony for some fresh air as I come before a beautiful sculpture. It's a nude woman, one you would expect from Rome or Greece, the white stone polished, her body plump and breasts rather large, her lips thin and her posture leaning to the left.

"Beautiful," someone whispers, lips brushing my ear as shudders run through my body. "Though I'd rather prefer you to be naked before me."
Right before I can even think, I've landed a hard slap right across his perfect face, seeing his eyes change millions of different colors as my face is stern. "You have no right to say that to me."

Nixon grabs my wrist, squeezing tightly.

"I believe I have every right, you do wear my mark."

I want to slap him again. I want to yell.
But I can't cause a scene. Not here. Not before all of these people.