My Brother's Sexy Best Friend (18+)

If You Won't Live For Yourself, Then Live For Me

A/N Trigger Warning: This chapter contains brief mention of self- harm. 

Matt

Prom.

She should have been there with me. We had planned upon it. Fantasized about it. Even coordinated our evening wear to match; settling upon a deep burgundy for her dress that paired with the vest of my tuxedo.

But when the green buds had bloomed on the tree branches and the smell of lilac hung in the air on that evening in late spring, she was noticeably absent. It was as though she were a ghost, living on only in flashes of memories that played before me in a loop. 

I shouldn't have gone to the dance, wouldn't have gone but Addison had convinced me that it would be the cherry on top of our high school experience. Silly me. When one's time in school was spent being bullied and despised, the cherry on top could only be rotted and mushy. It would never be the same vibrantly red one that she would get to enjoy, bursting with a mix of sweet but tart flavoring.

But I had begrudgingly shown up to Prom anyway and the only dancing I did was with the recollections that haunted me. Sighing, I tossed the black napkin I had been shredding onto the dinner table, contemplating if I should just leave.

Fuck it. I'm going.

As I stood to make my departure, I smacked directly into Aimee wearing a deep purple gown with a high slit in the thigh. Her green eyes sparkled mischievously, her lips slowly curling up into a sinister grin as she looked me up and down. "Don't you look handsome?" She purred. Stop.

She circled around me as though she were a vulture zeroing in on her prey. "Would you like to dance?" She asked, her voice oozing with honey. Truly, sincerely not. But true to fashion, she didn't listen. I yelped as she tugged forcibly on my hand, nearly yanking my arm right from the socket. "Come on," she urged. "No one will even be paying any attention to us."

That's what I'm afraid of. Who's going to rescue me when I start shooting off my distress flares? "I'm all set," I replied. "Dancing isn't really my thing."

"It's my Prom," she pouted, ignoring my protest and continuing to pull me along. "Don't ruin it for me." I wanted to run away, throwing tables behind me to block her path as I went but I had once again elected to take the route that allowed myself to be steam-rolled upon for the sake of having someone in my life that maybe cared about me.

So, I would entertain her.

Upon entering the dance floor, Aimee wrapped her arms around my waist, immediately resting her head upon my chest. The act was fairly innocent, but I should have known that nothing was ever strictly wholesome and pure when it came to her. Slowly, she slid her hands down until they were firmly cupping my behind. I stood there awkwardly in response, my limbs at my side. And then she squeezed. 

And not the delicate little press of the fingers that one may do when checking the ripeness of a peach at the market. This was a healthy fondle that one did when wanting to ensure that they had wrung every last drop of juice out of a lemon. Only she wasn't making lemonade with my ass cheeks. 

"Whoa, hey there!" I exclaimed, jumping back by about two feet. "Do you want to simmer it down? I'm not a piece of fruit and this isn't your front yard lemonade stand." I did a quick scan of the room to confirm that nobody had caught Aimee's grope show.

 She rolled her eyes, dragging me to her by my belt loop and slamming her hips against mine in a seductive shimmy. "Don't be so uptight," she called over the thump of the bass. "It's Prom."

"I don't care if it's the King's coronation!" I shouted. "I'm done! I told you that I didn't want to dance." Shrugging her off me, I swiveled on my heel and headed straight for the exit.