All fake, of course. Oh there’d be more. I still had to get through Baby, Scary, Sporty, and Posh Spice. Trust me, Sporty was my favorite.
Walking over to him, I got all Baby Spice first. I traced my pointer finger over the horse emblem on his Polo shirt. One of the many gifts I’d bought him, months ago, when he’d turned eighteen.
He flexed his pecs when I glided a thumb over the navy blue cotton. Inhaling Mother’s signature perfume, Dirty Birdie on him, more commonly referred to by the fragrance industry as an instant hit. I gave his nips a teasing pinch. He winked. And in those flat green eyes, I saw something fuglier than I’d ever thought possible, narcissism.
Maybe he thought I’d forgive and forget.
What a pigtard.
Good Lord, I wanted to get all Scary Spice and stab him with my vampy nails. But they weren’t acrylic like Taddy’s or jewel-tipped like Vive’s. They weren’t even buffed like Blake’s to scratch up Kelle’s soon-to-be-f’d-up face. Instead, I’d asked him the dreaded question, the one that would either confirm or dismiss my own foolishness.
“Was today your first time screwing my mother?”
His mouth, which had kissed my neck and whispered in my ears—the one I had dreamt one day would go down on me, nibbling slightly on my clit, saying goodbye to Lady V hung wide open.
A thick, pinkish tongue, the one I had fantasized would flick my nipples while in our hotel room overlooking the Champs-Élysées as he thrust his fat cock deep inside me, twitched.
Nothing came out.
Zilch!
Kelle had already said enough. But I still had to hear the answer. Birdie sure as fudge wouldn’t tell me what’s what in a gazillion years.
I grabbed onto his shoulders. I shook. I demanded. I screamed. “Tell me the truth!”
“No. It’s not.” His forehead wrinkled. Amazed by his admission of guilt, I guess.
“Pathetic. That’s what you are.” Drawing my nicotine lips close to Kelle’s wide, hanging-open mouth, I spit my gum and all the Cujo-ish saliva I had built up all afternoon down his silicone-sucking throat.
“You—fat, dumb cunt!” He yelled, gagging and wiping himself.
Hearing those words was worse than any bullet to my heart. More painful than watching Kelle share himself with Mother, and never once with me.
In a flash, I got all Sporty Spice and kneed him in the balls—once, twice.
Bent over with the wind knocked out of him, Kelle grabbed at his nuts. He shouted more of the same mean ugliness at me.
“I want an apology!” Cupping my hands together into one fist, I used all my might, stood on my tippy toes, and down-punched the back of his head.
He dropped to his knees. And then I had my shot.
Bam! I kicked in his once-beautiful face. The buckles on my knee-high biker boots jingled and then ripped his skin worse than any acrylic, jeweled, or buff nail ever could.
Dang that felt good.
Violence was never the answer. However, when used in moderation, it was nothing shy of total fabulousness.
“Fuck Lex.” Up on his feet, he stood taller than I’d ever seen. He charged me.
Feet planted firmly, I stood my ground and kept my blue eyes on his crazy ones.
He slapped the right side of my face then punched my left.
Shit. I flew a foot or two back but managed not to fall. Jeeeez, I thought I’d see stars. And I’d figured those white snowballs might return perhaps, in blizzard form. Candy dots with vibrant colors too. Or at the least, my cheeks would’ve felt stung by a bumble bee.
I felt nothing. No pain. Not the loss off him. Not the stab in my soul from Mom. Why? I guess because after all of this was said and done, I still had me! Tomorrow I’d be eighteen. Life was so much better than this. It had to be.
“Sorry.” Covering his mouth in regret, he muttered that I had every right to hit him and he had never intended to hurt me.
“Whatever.” It was what it was, and what it was, was ugly. He never loved me.
“You and I didn’t have to be like this, Lex. We’d been together for a while. We weren’t having sex.” He buried his fists into his jean pockets.
Why was it that whenever a boy wasn’t getting laid by his girl, he’d use any excuse to destroy her?
“That was your choice. Not mine.” My back straightened.
I hated this subject. I’d tried too many times to seduce him. In the process, I’d lost myself and the love I once had for who I was.
“Lex, look at you. I’m not. I can’t—”
“Shut up, Kelle. We’re over!” Swallowing a scream, I grabbed my purse, riding gloves, and helmet.
“You promised…you’d lose the weight.” Pathetically he defended his right to treat me less than human.
I stepped into the elevator, pushed the button, and said, “My size isn’t of concern to you anymore.”
His arms came wide blocking the doors from closing. He slammed the hold button.
“Stop, I’m done with you.” Ready to ride Vamp out of here, I put my biker gloves on.
But I had to look at Kelle one last time. Not for who I thought he was, but for what he really was. Could someone you’d grown up with, who you’d loved so much been that blinded by Birdie’s fame? I tried to sense if he had any remorse that I might’ve overlooked.
Catching his image in the mirrored interior of the elevator car, he posed and seemed not at all regretful for today, but rather proud of sleeping with her and not me.
While the Queen of Rock must’ve been a huge notch on his belt, he’d given new meaning to her song, “Lucifer’s Mistress.” He truly was the devil in disguise.
Vive had one said, “I wished I had a penis—I’d whip it out and take a leak on him.” She was a little less tactful than Taddy with her words of wisdom.
Anyways, we’d been eating dark chocolate mousse, overhearing some cocky boy trash-talk his girl at The Black Tea Room after she’d asked us what we’d been devouring. The girl had recognized me from before at the women’s department at Saks trying to buy something to wear.
Her face had reddened with humiliation from the way her boyfriend had treated her in front of us. I had been taken aback that she didn’t get up and leave his boney butt. Instead, she’d sat with her guy, had ordered nothing, and watched him eat. All the while he’d lectured her on what she should and should not put in her mouth.