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There's always something unusual about first love - as if tequila has burned our rational thoughts and possessed our brains.
For seventeen-year-old Florence "Flora" Summer, her childhood friend, Tristan Asher, is the cheap wine she couldn...
"You taste like peppermint," I murmured between the kisses, and god, I liked them more than anything now.
His mouth came near my ear as he sucked the spot with his lips. I shivered. "You taste stale."
Every nerve of my body exploded like firecrackers as I lost myself in his touches, kisses, and taste. I could barely manage to speak or think straight with our fevered closeness. "What does stale taste like?"
"Aspartame." He murmured low like it was a bad thing before sinking into the last silver of space between us and kissing me again. This time, it was more daring than the previous kiss — an urgency to match mine. Everything that was rainbows and sun shines now turned into dark angels rising out of the ground like the Devil's fingertips, like the untouched metaphor of starved love, like the jet-black sky before a rainstorm. It was absurd — forgettably addictive, insecurely secured, gently explosive.
We were drawn closer by some invisible, inevitable magnetic force. I knew that nothing could make us fall back on time, not even tequila. There was no going back now. And the worst truth was though we made no sense in any capacity, I wanted him so badly. I kissed him back more fiercely; it felt like the first time I was doing something that made me happy.
Safe.
I couldn't stop touching him: his perfectly sculpted shoulders, his smooth skin, his toned and taut back, his silky hair, everything. And temptation never failed to prove itself magnificent and us wrong. I let out a moan that seemed to drive him crazy. My fingers brushed the bruises on his knuckles. The ones he got from a fight with Eric months back. My heartbeat picked up: he hit Eric for me; he got into fights with the scandalous boys when they humiliated me.
Everything he did was for me.
I couldn't think straight anymore as one of his hands slid beneath my shirt. A gold rush of every delicious thing shivered me. His breath came hard and heavy on my neck as long as it lasted. I arched back as he left a trail of kisses along my throat. Our kisses felt unusually dark as burning coal, subtle in overhyped and intensely negative passion. Yet I felt warm and secure with Tristan.
But most importantly, loved.
I untangled my hands from his hair as he slowly pulled back, his hands around my waist and mine gripping his collar. I suddenly felt colder without his lips on mine. They were already red and swollen from kissing. He rested his forehead against mine before brushing his lips with mine; I smiled at him.
"It was—" I kissed him roughly before he could finish and pulled back. "This. This was it." I've never been so desperate before. His gaze fell on my lips for a second before he looked around.
I swallowed hard when his gaze fell on my lips again before straightening the top of my plaid shirt. "You're going to be the death of me." Tristan breathed hard.
My legs weakened. Whenever he talked of something like this, something inside me would awaken. Before I could say something, he brushed his thumb across my cheek. "You never know what I dream about, Flo. And I'd do anything to make them come true." He murmured before catching my mouth again.
I wished I could trap this in a whisky bottle and hold on to it forever. It was early winter, and his voice was like a raspy shivering breeze, thick in emotion, through the stretched limbs of dry branches.
✶
Muffled laughter echoed in the hallway as I entered the house.
The door was unlocked, meaning Mum didn't go to work today. Sighing, I silently entered the house and kicked my shoes off. Mum was sitting on the couch facing a man whose face I couldn't see. Her newly dyed hair was curled and kept loose, which I could never do with perfection, and her clothes — an off-shoulder sweater Dad gifted her on her birthday and a tight pencil skirt. I gasped. Jesus, help me! Mum with a freaking man. The first thought that came to my mind was to yell at her for wearing Dad's gift for another man and throw him out of our house. Didn't Mum love Daddy? They have always been sweethearts to each other. Was Mum changing? Was she having an affair? What, no, it's my Mum! She could never... cheat. But she was sweet talking with him, and she looked happy. The low, rich voice of the man seemed familiar. Way too familiar.
"Mum," the call seemed foreign on my tongue. I blinked back my tears when their heads snapped back at me.
It's Andrew freaking Asher. Tris's Dad — the sick bastard all of us hated, was in our house, Daddy's place. But now, I hated Mum. How dare she do such?Bring the fucking scoundrel to Dad's house? Damn her!
"Wow," I clenched my jaw. I wished I could say many things and throw them out, but I was in no mood today.
"Lorrie!" Mum beamed. Damn her! Something inside me tore my heart apart. Fury and disgust poured throughout my blood; My limbs shook as I clutched my bag strap. It disgusted me to hell — she was cheating on my Daddy. She straightened her skirt before standing up; Andrew's hand hooked around her waist.
"Hello, Flora," Andrew smiled before walking towards me. "You're so grown up now." Fuck you, Andrew. I wished I could punch him right here.
"Hi." Frowning, I stepped back. No way would I sweet-talk with scoundrels like him. "Uh—" I frowned before looking away, "it's—um—it's quite a surprise you're here," I looked at him, eyes hard, before putting my bag on the floor, "instead of the Asher's mansion." A fire was flickering in me. Something echoed at the back of my mind. Mom's a cheater; Mom cheated on Dad; she betrayed us.
"Flora." Mum gave me a death glare, her voice cold. "I told you to beha—"
"You told me a lot of things that don't matter now, Mum. Not to me, at least." I let out a breathy, bitter laugh. "Not after this." I gestured between her and Andrew. A surge of hellbound desperation of kicking the sick man out of our house crossed my mind. Never have I been so confident in my words. I could see something dark setting in both of their eyes.
"Well, it was—we both know how it was to meet you." I forced a smile. "I'm honest." I glared at Mum. "Daddy once told cheaters lie, haters spread."
My whole body shook as I forced myself to my room and collapsed on the bed. My head started spinning; I could think anymore — not anything about them but my sweet Daddy. I knew Mum was cheating; I knew everything about them.
Everything around me was burning and growing at seventeen. Was this supposed to be like this? To get my life fucked up early and learn to untangle the spaghetti mess? Seventeen has always meant to be wild and crazy. There was nothing I could hold back and live. Mum would be in bad blood with Arthur. And if anything happened because of him, I wouldn't leave things like that. I wished Tristan could...
Holy shit! Tristan! No way was I going to tell Tris about this — no freaking way. I couldn't risk things again. It was so heartbreaking to see him so vulnerable like years back. Never would I let him shatter into pieces again, for broken people save broken people 'til they break into a million together.
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Hey, lovelies! I'm so sorry for the insanely late post. Things sucked, and free time was scarce. So I finally got time to edit the chapter and post it. What do you think of this? Let me know; I'd love to hear them!
