*favorite chapter so far

Chapter Twenty-One: Do That Again, and I’ll Castrate You

I stared up at my ceiling, enjoying the silent solitude that had washed over the entire house. It was Friday night and a few hours ago Elle and Nick had told me that they were off wherever to do whatever for the entire weekend. They’d be back Sunday night. It was pretty common for them to ditch me like that—they trusted me enough with the house alone, and knew that since I hated people, there was no way that I was going to invite a mass of them over to drink and dance and wreck the house. We had a mutual understanding.

      There was just something about being home alone that I really liked. Sure, the house was big enough so that if I wanted, I could practically go day without ever coming in contact with a soul, but when I was completely alone and knew that I was completely alone, it was just so much better. It was hard to describe, but that feeling of independence that came with being alone appealed to me. I was always at my best when left alone, so whenever my parents ditched me, it was usually a plus for both parties.

      The low and drawn-out melodies of the doorbell sounded, and I figured that it was either someone trying to sell me something, someone trying to convert me to something, or the mailman, so didn’t bother moving from my comfortable spot. And then it went off again. And again. And again. Soon, the doorbell was being rung by the second, not allowing the long pattern to fully play out. Someone was obviously under the impression that the house was inhabited, and they wanted to address the particular inhabitant.

      Normally, I would’ve just ignored whoever was at the front door, but because they wouldn’t stop pressing the doorbell and it was starting to give me a headache, I figured that it would be in my best interest to tell the individual who was causing the “ruckus” to shut the hell up. And thus, I heaved myself off of my bed, and tripped into the hallway. After passing through the elongated corridor, I met the stairs, and hopped down them, covering my ears so that the noise wasn’t as loud. I really hated that doorbell.

      I reached the front foyer, where the door was located, and quickly glanced around, searching for something either sharp or that could be used as a fill-in bludgeon. Since I happened to live under Nick Ross’ roof, I found a single ski just lying around, and figured that it would be useful enough, if needed. Creeping as stealthily as I could, I made my way over to the door with the ski in hand, and opened it, ready to pounce on whatever preacher, creature, or idiot that had made me walk all the way downstairs.

      “Hiya, Liv,” the idiot on the other side said as I stared at them blankly, “why the hell are you holding a ski?”

      “Self defense,” I answered, though I probably should’ve questioned what they were doing at my house or why they felt the need to give me a migraine.

      “Oh. Nice,” they nodded casually.

      “Yeah,” I trialed off. “So, uh, Luke, what the hell are you doing at my house on a Friday night?”

      The boy before me smirked, making my stomach knot together as I figured that that only meant trouble. His attire was customary, consisting of a mere leather jacket, Converse, jeans, and a white T-shirt. Everything about him seemed to be “regular”…except for the fact that he happened to be standing on my front steps on a Friday, when he happened to be Luke Daniels and probably possess plausible plans other than involving me. “Uh, Liv, where are your parents and why aren’t they judging me right now?”

      “Nick and Elle are away for the weekend,” I replied, though instantly wished that I could’ve taken the words back as his smirk grew.

      “So there’s nobody else in that big old house of yours?” he asked with an edge in his tone.

      “The house is neither old nor mine—it belongs to my parents. Oh, and to answer the main question: no, I’m alone,” I said slowly, studying his face.

      Though I was only taking in his expression, the rest of him wasn’t too bad to look at, either. He had these dark eyebrows, and while on some guys eyebrows were irrelevant to their appearance, on Luke Daniels, they were anything but irrelevant. His lips were a soft pinkish color, and he had a light coating of stubble along his jawline. The term “ruggedly handsome” was probably invented for Luke Daniels, because that was exactly what he was: “rugged,” yet handsome. Then, I shifted my gaze to his eyes and immediately regretted it.

      There was something mystifying about Luke Daniels’ eyes. They were gray, and held emotions behind them that I couldn’t quite decode. He was holding so much back behind those enchanting eyes of his, and the more I stared, the more I wondered and the more I wanted to know what exactly he was hiding. Luke Daniels was a boy of many secrets, and few answers. I liked him that way, but contemplating the endless list of “whys” got tiring after a while. Those slate eyes of his, though… They could probably make any girl melt—even the most solid.

      “We should throw a party,” he declared evenly, ceasing my roaming eyes.

      “No,” I instantly turned down. “I don’t like parties.”

      “You’re a rich teenage girl, you have a mansion all to yourself for the entire weekend, and you don’t want to throw a party,” Luke listed some facts that he happened to know about me. “You’re a strange one, Olivia Ross.”

      “Thanks,” I said, putting down the ski as he invited himself in without even asking. He just waltzed right past me, entering my house with no hesitation.

      “Hey, Liv,” Luke began, turning his body completely around so that he was facing me. His gaze was fixed securely on me, as if he was trying to figure something out. When he reached an internal verdict, a smirk emerged on that ruggedly handsome face of his. “Even though I’m five hundred percent sure that your answer is going to be ‘no,’ can I kiss you?”

      As I replayed what he had asked back in my mind, I literally froze and was pretty sure that my heart stopped beating when I came to the last phrase in his words: “Can I kiss you?” It was so sudden and strange, and I wasn’t sure what his angle was, or why he had asked it to begin with. I was practically paralyzed with perplexity. I gulped, my own thin brows that made no actual difference to the make up of how people viewed my face crinkling. “Why the hell would you ask—let alone want to do something like that?” I finally managed to question.

      “Well,” he started, biting his lip as he thought about how to answer, “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and I think that I want to try it. We’ve been hanging out a lot, and I just figured that the natural progression would be to kiss you, Liv.” He stopped, looking at me as his words sunk in. Then with another smirk, he continued. “Also, you’re pretty hot, Liv. I’m not going to deny it. And since I’m also pretty hot, it makes sense for me—one hot person—to kiss you—another hot person.”

      Not believing what my ears were hearing, I pretty much called B.S. on what he was saying. “I’m not ‘hot,’” I told him, “I’m not even ‘pretty.’”

      “Whoever planted that ludicrous idea in your hot little head, Livy, was clearly just jealous, because trust me, you’re hot,” Luke assured me with a wink. “Seriously, Liv. I’ve seen quite a few girls in my day, and they’ve got nothing on you,” he said, taking me back to a time long, long ago circa 2009, when the B.o.B song with Bruno Mars first came out. It was so long ago, but I could still hear the chorus in the back of my mind, and wondered if Luke had just intentionally quoted it, or if he truly was trying to be original. What he said next, though, I had a hunch was from the “heart”: “You’ve got that whole ‘loner-meets-antisocial-tortured-artist’ thing going for you, too. Face it, Olivia Ross, you somehow weren’t able to dodge the bullet, and got yourself some hot genes.”

      “Shut up,” was all I could think to say.

      I wasn’t “hot.” When I looked in the mirror, all I saw was an “average” looking girl, living in an above “average” looking world. Brown hair, brown eyes, no height, and a few more pounds tacked on than Piper. I had never really been one to care about exteriors, but I knew deep inside that mine wasn’t anything special. My best friends were Piper and Preston Kent, and they were practically super models, the way that they looked. I was nothing in comparison, and had accepted that long ago. Why Luke was now lying straight to my face, I couldn’t quite discern.

      “Whatever,” he rolled his eyes. “So, can I kiss you?”

      My eyes widened when he asked the question again. “Uh, no.”

      “And why not, Liv?” He took a step closer to me, so that there was only about a foot between us.

      “Because I don’t want you to,” I stated firmly, my chest pounding in my chest as his feet moved another few inches nearer to me.

      “Really?” he smirked. “I don’t believe you.”

      I opened my mouth to say something witty or flustered, when Luke took the opportunity to stick his tongue right inside, not wasting anytime. Our lips connected and I felt dizzy as he heavily kissed me, our chests heaving up and down in synch. My arms remained rigidly by their sides, but Luke took the opportunity to clamp one of his on my waist, while the other was position at the back of my head. Our tongues moved together fluidly, and I couldn’t fathom why I hadn’t bit down or pulled back, out of the osculation. Something drew me in, preventing me from going anywhere.

      It was a pretty odd feeling—that being Luke’s lips pressed to mine while our tongues were intertwined. He tasted of cigarettes, beer, and Luke Daniels. It was a pretty gross combination to taste, but for some reason, I didn’t care, and was intoxicated by it, nonetheless. I was immobile…except for my lips and tongue—they seemed to have a mind of their own. As Luke kissed me, I couldn’t internally decide whether or not I liked it. It was such a foreign thing that I had to have time to process and mull it over.

      As shocking as it was, this wasn’t actually my first kiss…or second. A few years ago, Preston and I were bored out of our mind downstairs in the Kent basement, doing nothing. Legit, we were just staring at the pink walls, expressing how bored we were. Kara and Piper were out shopping and John was working. It was just the two of us, and as we rotted in our own lack of creativity, Preston abruptly posed a question: “Livers, have you ever been kissed?”

      It came as a surprise to me that he would ask such a thing, and since I happened to be the established “weird” girl in our grade, the honest answer that I gave him was no. And then he asked if I wanted to learn. There we were: in the Kent’s basement, alone, being bored, and my relatively attractive best friend of the male gender whom I had known since before birth was offering to teach me how to kiss. Something possessed me, and I accepted.

      We spent the rest of the afternoon “kissing”—well, really trying to. According to Preston at the time who had no virgin lips, I “sucked more than someone without lips” at the topic at hand. That was at first. It had been awkward and strange and not fun and Preston was probably the worst person ever to teach anyone anything…even if in his limited realm of expertise. There wasn’t that mythical “connection” between us, often read about in books—it was just plain platonic practice.

      The two of us kissed quite a few times that day, until Preston was positive that I wouldn’t embarrass myself when a guy (or girl—he made it clear that he didn’t care which way I swung) did eventually try to kiss me…like now. We vowed to never speak of that day ever again, or repeat it, and had lived up to the promise thus far. Preston and I were best friends, and nothing more or less. We liked it that way, and intended to keep things just the way they were.

      When Luke and I finally pulled back from the intense kiss that he had initiated, there was only one thing that I found appropriate to sputter out of my mouth: “Do that again, and I’ll castrate you.”

      “Is that a threat or a promise?” Luke inquired, his breathing jagged as he stared at me in a way I had never witnessed him to do before. And that was when it hit me like a bolder to the eyelash. I. Had. Kissed. Luke. Freaking. Daniels. On. The. Lips…With. Tongue. There was no denying it; it had actually happened. The bad boy-wannabe and the “weird” girl had kissed. What. The. Actual. Fudge.

      “Don’t push me, Daniels, my dad’s a doctor and skier, so there are a lot of pointy things in this house,” I warned. “Don’t even think for a second that I’m not willing to use them.”

      “I like this Olivia. She’s feisty. I should kiss you more often,” he determined, though I sent a chilling glare his way. I still couldn’t even process that he had actually kissed me—Olivia Ross. All I was hoping was that I had fallen asleep, and that this was just another nightmare, not my reality.

      “Shut up, and why the hell are you even here, Luke?” I questioned, not in the mood for light banter. Thankfully I didn’t have any issues with germs, but I did have a few psychological qualms regarding personal space and anxiety. Even if there was no longer any buildup, just thinking about what had happened would probably steal my precious hours of sleep for the next few nights. I couldn’t wait to stress over yet another thing in my life! Because anxiety is just that much fun.

      “We—you and me, Olivia Ross—are going out,” Luke stated simply, allowing his eyes to run over me from head to toe. “But you can’t go out looking like that.”

      “Why not?” I crossed my arms over my chest defensively. Sweats and a T-shirt were all I had on. I was decent enough, so didn’t see the fuss in going out in basically pajamas. Quite a while ago, I had given up completely on fashion and caring what others thought of my attire, despite the protests of Elle and Piper. Kara didn’t really care, for she happened to be a bit too self-involved—something her children had definitely acquired from her.

      “Because while the sleeping hobo look might be fine by you, it’s not too appealing to me or anyone else with eyes.” And with that, he was off, headed up the stairs to who knows where. I followed after him, arguing that what I was wearing was perfectly acceptable, on the terms that the three B’s were covered up (those being butt, boobs, and belly—thanks to THE’s glorious dress code, I had learnt the rule long ago). He persisted on the point that someone would want to return me to a mental ward if they caught sight of me. When we reached my room, the quarrel stopped, and another one began as I witnessed Luke Daniels do a thing that even I couldn’t do: he went into my closet.

      Among being many things, my closet was essentially a wasteland for designer duds to rot until they either became “last season” or apart of Piper Kent’s closet, which actually got visited more than twice a year. Any clothes that I actually wore were in the drawers of my dresser, and my shoes were scattered about the house in various places. My closet was the landfill that Elle put things she thought that I would wear, though I never did. All those fancy brands that some people would die to have lived in my closet. I didn’t dare touch the secondary room, not even with a ten-foot ski. It was a scary place in there, and only few had ever entered and lived to tell the tale. And then there was Luke Daniels—who had gone head first into the mouth of the beast.

      “Luke,” I called, keeping my distance from the lit room that he had so bravely stormed right into, “you’re going to die in there.”

      “Liv,” he returned, “why do all of your clothes still have tags on them?”

      “Because I never go in my closet and don’t particularly like the clothes that happen to live there,” I answered easily enough, peering in, only to see him rummaging through racks upon racks upon racks of clothes. It was like a mini store in there.

      “Who buys this stuff? Your mom? Your dad? Piper?” he laughed, his hands running over all of the varying materials, until he came across one that he liked, and pulled it off its hanger, only to rest it on his arm and return to searching.

      “Mainly my mom. Sometimes Nick buys me stuff, but usually that stuff is, like, cars or skis—not clothes,” I said with a yawn.

      “Your mom has good taste,” he commented.

      “I beg to differ, but I won’t.” He let out a low laugh, emerging from the cave of clothes with a stack of black and white in his arms. The boy who had kissed me sent me a smirk, and shoved everything that he had collected into my possession as I stared down at it, as if what he had just given me was infected with a viral disease. Sufficed to say, I hated clothes.

      “That jacket that you’re holding cost more than my bike, just for the record,” he mentioned with a wink. “Put the stuff on, and then we can leave.”

      I grumbled something inaudible, and he left the room, closing the door behind him. As I stared at the contents in my hands, I sighed, knowing that the clothes probably wouldn’t kill me. I began to strip off my sweats and shirt, and then attempted to put on what I thought was a skirt, though turned out to be a dress. It was tight and short and strapless and had vertical black and white stripes, reminding me of the clichéd prison uniforms from way back when. I couldn’t fully zipper up the back, and as I looked at myself in my mirror, I wondered why Elle had bought something so…“skimpy,” though that was probably an understatement.

      “Uh, Luke,” I sighed, opening the door with one hand as my other held the back of my dress clamped together, “can you, um, zipper the back of the dress?”

      He grinned smugly at me after he had finished taking me in, and then without even an ounce of awkwardness, pulled the zipper in the back to where it was meant to be, and then removed his touch from me. After another once over, he strolled into my room, and picked up the leather jacket that he had found in my closet, and tossed it to me. I held it in my hands, not even bothering to read the absurd price as I tore the tag on, shrugging it on over my arms.

      “Now that, Olivia Ross, is one tough jacket,” he nodded approvingly at my new attire. I couldn’t argue with him, for it was, indeed, definitely a tough jacket. It was actually something that I could potentially see myself wearing and was pretty comfortable. Why I was only now discovering it happened to be one of the many drawbacks to never venturing into my closet. “Put the shoes on, and then we should be all set to go.”

      I glanced over to the shoes he had picked out, and my jaw literally dropped. Heels. But wait—they weren’t just any heels. No, these particular heels happened to be black and have large, chunky rhinestones of differing shapes and sizes all over them. They were really high, and the more I looked at them, the more I wanted to retract my previous statement that clothes wouldn’t kill me. These heels definitely would be the tipping point of my demise. They were nice shoes, and the label I read was “Kit Lawson.” I wasn’t sure who that was, but knowing Elle, it was probably some exclusive designer who charged way too much for a way to sprain both ankles. Nonetheless, I took a deep breath and shimmied my foot into the ankle-breakers.

      “I’m going to kill myself in these,” I told Luke. “Where are we going, anyways?”

      “It’s a surprise,” he said, putting a single finger up to his mouth as he walked over to my dresser. He picked up a UBT (Unidentified Black Tube), and then ambled back over to me, popping the cap off to expose a slanted stick of bright red.

      “The last surprise I went on landed me in the middle of New Hampshire in nature, and since the beginning of this one starts with me putting on a dress and heels, why the hell do you think that I’m going to want to go?” I scoffed stubbornly, not daring to move from where my feet were firmly planted. I knew that the second that I decided to take a step, I would trip. It wasn’t even a doubt in my mind.

      “You’re not going to want to go,” Luke muttered, “now pucker up.”

      I was about to ask, “What?” but before I could, the stick of red was already being shoved at my lips, smearing everywhere. Luke Daniels was putting lipstick on me. If I had had my phone on me, it definitely would’ve been the perfect opportunity for a photo. Like Piper had shown me years ago, I forced myself to press my lips together, smudging the product all around. I hated makeup almost as much as I hated clothes, though one I wore, the other I avoided like people. And here I was, wearing both clothes and makeup. Fun.

      With a somewhat demeaning pat on the head, and no mention of my ponytailed hair, Luke smiled, giving me a thumbs up. “Let’s go!”