001: Where It Started

/One Year and A Half Ago/

{~Cherry Reed~}

When I was young, I thought the world of my father. He was the man who taught me how to ride a bike by screaming and shoving me when I couldn’t get it right. He was the one who took me to school every day. Driving towards the school at an alarming speed, then telling my sister and I to jump out or risk being beaten.

Yeah, I thought the world of that piece of shit. Thought he was amazing, even though my little brain couldn’t understand why this amazing man was always getting angry and treating me, my mom, and my twin like trash.

Why am I reminiscing about the asshole who once threw me out at night in the middle of a thunderstorm and told me to... and I must quote this great line, ‘learn to deal with life, you little bitch.’ What a man. Why am I thinking about him? Well, that’s because of THIS jackass.

Jazzy tightened his grip around the steering wheel, his eyes narrowed into a harsh glare. “I can’t believe the rumors about you are true. You’re just some insecure bitch, probably with some unresolved daddy issues. How can you dress like that and tell me no? Do you know who my father is? He’s the best fucking lawyer in this fucking pack. And if I asked him, he’d have you...” He stutters over his words as though realizing his father can’t do shit to me.

Firstly, because I once called him a turkey necked brittled backed bitch— I was high— and secondly, because my stepfather has a higher status than his useless father.

So he’s just talking to the air.

God, why did I come out tonight? I have a performance tomorrow, I should be sleeping, but instead, I decided to come out. Have a fun night with my boyfriend. I should have known Jazzy would push. Each guy I dated thought they’d be the one to fuck me. They never are. They can’t match up to the man I actually want.

I shook my head to stop that train of thought and immediately regretted it. Shit, what the hell did I drink? It had vodka and something red. This is why I mix my own drink. Jazzy was clearly trying to get me wasted so I’d say yes to him fucking me. If only he’d known a drunk version of me is violent, not complacent. He’d have saved his energy.

The car comes to an abrupt stop, shaking my whole body. My head ached even more, and I let out a loud groan as my vision blurred.

“Jazzy, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?” I flinched. The last thing I need is him yelling. My skull might crack open. “I’m so damn tired of you, Cherry. We've been dating for three weeks, and all you do is tease me.”

I waited for my eyes to clear up before turning back to him. “Three weeks, and you want sex? Do I look like a cheap slut?”

His nostrils flared. “Get the fuck out of my car.”

I blinked, surprised by the malice in his tone. I glanced around. There’s nothing here but trees and an empty dirt road. Where did this asshole bring me?

“You can’t be serious. Take me home.”

“No, get the fuck out now. I won’t deal with your nonsense. The guys were right about you. Pretty face, but a prude in the sheets. You act all tough but buy into this waiting for the right guy shit, your bitchy sister is always preaching.” He breathed out and glared at me.

I clenched my fist and swung it at his throat without e even thinking twice about it. Jazzy coughed; he hadn’t been expecting that.

“Talk about my sister again, and I’ll feed your small dick to a dog.”

“You...” he wrapped a hand around the spot I’d hit, wheezing, and I pushed open the passenger side door. Getting out before he could compose himself.

I slammed the door and watched as his car peeled off within seconds. The headlights flashed in the night. I kept staring until I could no longer see it. Thankfully, I took my bag before I got out. I should call a cab, but I’m fucking pissed.

Why does this always happen?

I’ll admit, I get dumped a lot for various reasons, but the one that keeps coming back is sex. Every single guy has the same problem. Granted, some of them wait months, not three weeks like that shrimp dicked fool that left me here.

I swear, I don’t get what they fucking want from me. It’s all fun when we kiss, hug, touch, everything seems to be going well, but the second they want to go further, I’m immediately turned off. I can’t stand the thought of someone else fucking me.

“AHHHHHHH!” I screamed into the night. A big mistake, my head throbbed, and I stumbled down to the dirty road waiting for the pain to pass.

I pulled my knees up, not caring that my dress rode high up my thighs. I rested my chin on both of my knees.

This is all my fault. I have to admit that much. I’d be able to go all the way with a guy if I weren’t hooked on the one man I shouldn’t want.

Nathaniel is..... my mother’s husband. Plain and simple. He actually taught me how to ride a bike like a normal person. He came to get me when I got into my first fight. Telling me I was right to defend myself.

He taught me how to fight. Paid for my therapy and explained why my father’s actions had been wrong. He made my sister and me feel safe. He made my mother happy. Happier than her mate could ever make her.

I shouldn’t want him the way I do. I should see him as a father. The one who stepped up. Instead, I’ve condemned myself to a sinful life of lusting after him. I should just call a cab, go home, and tell him why this boyfriend ended things. I always say it’s nothing big. That my heart isn’t broken. And he’ll always comfort me. Like the good man he is.

He’d be disgusted if he knew what I really thought. He’d throw me out of the house if he knew I touched myself to thoughts of him. My mother would disown me.

I sighed aloud, staring at the trees in front of me. I could hear the sound of birds and other bugs going about their day. What am I supposed to tell the cab? I’m in the middle of nowhere! Where the hell am I? How did Jazzy find this place? I should have paid attention to how he got here. I’m so stupid.

I thought we were going back home. We’d had a huge fight at the party when he told his friends he was getting lucky tonight, and I said no, he wasn’t. I just assumed he was going to take me home or somewhere we could cool off. But then he kept asking if we could do it somewhere privately, or in his car, and how he wouldn’t tell his friends. Because he loves and respects my boundaries.

I clicked my tongue. Son of a bitch probably can't even spell boundaries.

I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone. I had a bit of connection, so that was good. It means I’m not that far from civilisation. I immediately blocked Jazzy’s number, then pulled up my taxi app.

I thought about it for five whole seconds before leaving the app and calling the one man a drunk girl like me shouldn’t be calling. God, help me. I pressed the phone against my ear and waited. Poking my boots while I waited for him to answer.

“Cherry.” His voice came out deep and sleep-drunk. Fuck. It’s almost 2 AM. I shouldn’t be bothering him. “Cherry.... What’s wrong?” I heard him exhale. “What did that bastard do?”

He sounded tired and angry. My stomach tensed, and the foolish omega in me melted. He sounded safe. Like a man who wouldn’t scream obscenities at me or accuse me of having daddy issues for not wanting to fuck.

That’s one of the many reasons I love him. When it comes to men, there’s no one better than Nathaniel Cross. It’s a shame he’s twenty years older than me, and married to the woman who gave me life.

What a cruel, cruel joke the gods played on my life.