It All Started with a Lie

Chapter 11.1

I glance between my two escape plans, the doorway, him, or the mass of people surrounding the sorority girls, her. Emma or Klaus, which is the lesser of two evils.

It will be too mortifying to walk past him alone while he flirts with the girl I'd been with just a few weeks prior.

Instead, I join the mass of people cheering. They have returned with the liquor and have started pouring out shots, one for each girl. I push my way to the front, facing Emma's back so that she will not see me. Some of the grls strip from their tops, others take a shot. Emma stands perfectly errect, not moving a muscle. It is tradition for a freshmen to go first and she knows it. Only one is needed but they seem to have nominated Emma, handing her a shot that tremles as she reaches for it. A boy, not much older than us and clearly not experienced offers his hand to signal his request to be the one to lick the salt from her body. He stares at her like a vulture stares at a dead racoon and I can practically hear her intenal screams at the sight. I want to laugh at the scene, pretend this is some sort of punishment for the things she'd done to me, but then she turns and I can see the tears welling in her eyes and my cold heart softens. I sigh, hating myself for the decision I am about to make, but I never do anything half-assed, so when I make up my mind I do so with confidence. I push through the last body that blocks me from the inside of the circle. "Actually, I think I'd like to be the one to start this show off." I take the shot from Emma's hand and she let's out a breath so loud I can hear it over the music and through my earplugs. I do not meet her eyes, reufsing to look at her. I do not need her silent gratitude. I do not want it. I turn and smile my best smile to the man, who now that I am up close I can see has oil-coated hair so thick it matts to his head. "If that's alright with you, of course."

I try not to gag at his flake crusted lips as he licks them to moisten them, take in my appearance, and grin as if he's won the lottery. "Perfectly fine by me, babydoll." I have a harder time restraining myself from gaging at that one.

I push my thoughts down as I lay on the table, ignoring the sounds of chatter around me, hoping that if I ignore it as much as possible, it will be over with quicker. My back hits the cold wood table, and a hand brushes my shirt up to pour the salt on the top of my navel up to the start of my ribbones. The lime is bitter as another set of hands puts it in my mouth like one would put an apple in a hogs mouth just before serving it to a room of ungrateful, hungry men. I am nothing but a pig to this crowd. My face is still and emotionless as they discuss some more, discuss what I have no idea. The concept seems simple enough, maybe they have to teach that poor, disgusting boy how to take a body shot. Or maybe it is only mere seconds but the humiliating feeling of laying on that table makes the seconds drag on for ages.

Finally, he gets ready to take the shot. I expect the boy to be terrible, clumsy, shaky, as he drags his tongue along the trail of salt but he is not. He is confident, and firm, and goes so far as to lace his fingers with mine as he draws his tongue along my stomach. My every muscle tenses in anticipation as they await for his touch and every spot his tongue caresses is left with a flood of warmth that drawls the breath from me. I am appalled by my body's desire towards him, the skinny boy with the braces, but I can't help myself. I can feel the base of the music through his palms and I tighten my grip on his fingers which are calloused, large, and burning. His lips brush across my ribs as he smirks in triumph. I cannot even begin to imagine how it looks, the awkward boy smirking. He leaves me only to take a shot of the tequila, his thumb running along my index finger and I shiver at the roughness of his skin. But it is not the boy's face that hovers above mine as he reaches for the lime. Instead, I am met with eyes so blue it is unreal and a face I know all too well. I should let go of his hand, but I don't. I let him take the lime from my mouth, sour coating my tongue as his teeth sink into it, his lips grazing mine, lingering for a moment too long that I almost think he might kiss me, and I realize I want him to, so badly I nearly bite down on the lime to stop him from taking it. But he does take it, releasing my hand leaving me only with a sour taste in my mouth and the lingering warmth of his body.