Beautiful Disaster

Prologue: Sweet Liquor & All things Bitter

{unedited}

"All I wanted was to receive the love I gave."

—
As the warm liquid met my mouth, the clutch I had onto reality was slowly released, and as depressed as I had felt, being drug away from my problems was like a paradise to the broken. I hadn't wanted fancy clothes or 5 Star dinners, I'd wanted a getaway from the hateful woman in my life and the abusive man I had once called my father. And thankfully, the liquor that stung my tastebuds every afternoon was the cherry on top of the thing I craved most.

It's not that I craved to be drunk or craved the taste of the liquid as it stung the back of my throat, but rather the way it stole my conscience and gave me fuzzy feelings that weren't real. It didn't matter if I woke up in someone else's bed or threw up in a local trash bin on the side of the road, what mattered was the fact that I'd be departed from the hell that most people wanted me to call life. I never wanted to return home to the satin sheets of my bed, falling asleep to the unhealthy tone of my mom bickering at my dad before making love like no tomorrow.

No child deserved to be planted in the middle of their parents' problems, and as I knew my parents didn't care enough to involve me in it, I still took myself out of their lives to avoid getting caught in the disastrous hurricane they called marriage. My parents, Vicky and Maximus Paul, had claimed they were in love, but maybe too soon.

I had been in love once, and as the age difference was big, not once was it like the idea my parents called love.

It was more like secret love letters I'd place on the MacBook of my elder brothers' friend at age ten, peeking around the corner to see him simply crumble up the letter and toss it in the bin filled with clear things I hadn't known were used condoms. I'd figured it out a year later, as every time he'd toss my letter in the trash, he'd slide in bed with a new girl every night and she'd make weird sounds that I'd later found out were moans, and certainly not of pain.

I learned in Mr. Rogers' sex ed class that at first sex was painful, and the more thrusts the man produced, and the more the girls' walls adjusted to the man's penis size, the more pleasureful it became. However, actual sex was nothing like that.

Even so, I lay in a bed right now as a man strips me from my clothes, his breath smelling of mint as he comes close to my mouth before leaving small hickeys across my jawline. Maybe it was the numbness of the liquor overcoming me, or maybe it was that I was lifeless and dull, but I never twitched or moved when he slid in and out of me, whether or not his pace slowed or increased. Sex was supposed to filled to the brim with a lust-like aura surrounding our bodies, mixed in with grunts and groans and the heat radiating from our skin, but little did I know that that sex ed class was just bull, and it's funny to look back and think that Mr. Rogers is probably divorced or sleeping alone in a king sized bed.

"Probably because his false teachings, " I snort out loud as the victim who was just attempting to give me pleasure falls to my side, panting and reeking of B.O. He glances up at me, and almost for a moment do I feel bad as he's most likely younger then me. I place my hand on his forehead and stroke his hair back before frowning and pulling my satin dress back over my naked body.

The boy hurries to his feet before plucking my heels off the ground and handing them to me, cheekily smiling, "Here." I blink, dumbfound before sliding the pumps onto my feet, stumbling when I stand. Tonight I was extra drunk, but my hormones were extra wild and I felt sappy, so I patted him on the back, "Thanks." As I stumbled to his door, I glanced back at him and saw a worried look sprung across his face. "Do you need and uber? Or maybe I can drive you home?" He rushed to my side, holding me steady by the hips. Such a gentleman, yet such a foolish boy.

"Home?" I snickered, "I'm not going home." He looked about as worried as before when those words left my mouth, "Well please, stay with me." My eyes danced back to his messy but rather comfy looking bed, and I smiled. I bent down and took off my heels, taking a second glance back at the door before deciding to stay.

I climbed into his bed, and he followed after me, wrapping his arms loosely around my waist. For some odd reason, the feeling I had when he placed his warm hands on me enchanted the smile on my face, making it much brighter. I scooted closer to him and he reached back to shut off his lamp and— for once— I could finally say that:

Sleeping with a stranger in a warm, comfortable bed was worthy of being called home.

—
And, if you've reached the end of this short chapter, I will definitely thank you for even clicking on this book. I am super excited to be writing this, and am enlightened to be presenting whoever is reading this (no one) with my idealistic mind. Thank you for tuning in, and expect more of this book. Chapters will get longer, I promise!

December 17, 2017, 10:01 pm

love, grasea