One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Copyright
Shameless
Copyright© 2016 by Cassandra Delecroix
All rights reserved.
This book is meant for entertainment purposes only. Names, characters and events are all products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental. All comments and conversations written within these pages are part of a fictional story and are not meant to be taken in the literal sense. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the permission of the author. The author acknowledges the trademarked status of products referred to in this book. Trademarks have been used without permission.
One
I walk aimlessly down the sidewalk, no particular destination in mind. Boredom has always been my enemy, and I’m looking to ease it tonight. As I wander down the unfamiliar sidewalks, I let my gaze drift around at the houses lining the street. I’ve been walking for a while, and this area seems busier, and every so often, a car drives past. People are out and about, driveways full as residents—likely college students—throw parties or have friends over.
I’m guessing that this is a rental neighborhood, because I can hear loud music escaping from multiple homes. The university must not be too far from here.
A couple walks past me, the girl clutching the guy’s arm as she giggles. I politely step aside and pull my long, dark hair away from my face. It’s hot tonight. I’m in one of my usual tanks and a pair of my favorite jean shorts, my feet bare in my Converse sneakers. I hadn’t figured that I’d have to walk this far to find a party, and the heat is taking its toll on me.
There has to be a party somewhere around here that I can crash. I’d passed a few a couple of blocks back, but they hadn’t been big enough for me to blend in unnoticed.
A soft sigh escapes me, and as I pass by a house, a dog barks and lunges towards me from the front yard. I tense, ready to flee, until I realize it’s on a chain, and it’s abruptly yanked to a halt. Feeling relieved, I move on and absently wonder if I’m going to be able to find my way back to my aunt’s house.
The sound of tires squealing reaches my ears, and I peer down the block to see the bright red taillights of a car as it speeds off down the street. This block is lined with bumper to bumper cars, so there must be a party up ahead.
I continue walking, and as I approach the end of the block, the corner house across the street has a party going in full swing. Loud music can be heard from the open windows, and it looks like the inside is packed. A small group of people linger on the steps of the house, chatting and smoking.
My mood brightens.
Perfect.
As I approach the street to cross it, I notice a couple standing by a sports car parked at the curb along the side street. They seem to be arguing.
“Fuck off, Blake,” I hear the woman snap as she spins on her heels and stalks off towards the house, the moonlight reflecting off her blonde hair as it sways behind her.
The man—I can’t see much but for his shadow—watches her for a minute before he turns and opens the driver’s side door of the car.
Now that the fight is over, I look down the street, and upon not seeing any cars, I begin to cross it as I hear an engine rev—probably the man and his car. Bright headlights suddenly shine upon me, and I look up to see that the car is abruptly pulling away from the curb and headed straight for me. There is no time to jump aside because he’s going too fast.
A horn blares, tires squeal, and then I feel the impact as the car knocks me aside. I land a few feet away in a heap on the pavement, and I lie there, unmoving, as I draw in a deep lungful of air.
Shit.
Getting hit by a car was not part of the plan tonight.
A car door opens and slams shut. Footsteps rush over, and I sense someone leaning over me. “Oh fuck, no, no, no. This can’t be happening,” a masculine voice says with alarm.
Pain is starting to register, but I’m relieved that it only seems to be located around my right hip and thigh. Nothing else hurts, and I am lucky that I hadn’t hit my head.
Unfamiliar hands touch my neck, searching for my pulse.
My eyes quickly fly open. “I’m alive,” I mutter as I roll onto my back, wincing.
A face hovers over my own, and I blink as I study the guy leaning over me. I expected him to be older, but he looks to be my age. Headlights are shining on us, and his hair is a light blond, his eyes an indistinct dark color.
He gazes down at me. “I didn’t see you,” he says grimly.
“Yeah, I kind of figured.”
“Hey, she okay? Should I call for an ambulance?”
I turn my head to find that the small group that had been hanging on the steps of the house are now standing at the curb, staring at us. The very last thing I need is to end up in the ER. I have enough problems without adding a medical bill to them.
“I’m fine.” I struggle to sit up, my hip protesting, but I ignore it. I’m somewhat disoriented from the fall, but the world quickly rights itself.
The guy—the one who hit me with his car—backs up to give me a little breathing room, and he frowns at me doubtfully. “Are you sure?”
“I’ll survive.” I peer down at myself, making note of a few scrapes on my knees, and my right palm stings. Except for the throbbing pain in my hip, I seem to be fine. I glance at the crowd at the curb. “Honestly, I’m fine. No one needs to call anyone,” I assure.
The guy kneeling beside me sighs with resignation. “We should call the authorities.”
“Is that what you want?” I ask, peering at him.
His eyes lock on mine, and now that I can see them more clearly, they look dark brown. “It should be reported.”
I glance where the crowd had been, only to find that it’s dispersed. I turn back to him, holding out a hand. “Help me up.”
He looks like he wants to protest, but then he takes my hand, his warm palm sliding against my own. I draw my legs beneath me, and he gently tugs me up until I am standing. My hip is throbbing like a bitch, but everything else seems to be working just fine.
I pull my hand out of his. “Look, I’m fine. Let’s just forget this ever happened,” I suggest.
He’s looking at me with bewilderment now. “Why would you do that?”
“Are you that anxious to have the police involved? You’re looking at a drug test, breathalyzer, and whatever else they do when someone hits someone else with their car,” I point out dryly.
He falls silent.
“You’ve probably been drinking, and the last thing I need is medical bills. Really, I’m fine.”
He regards me with those dark eyes of his. “I can take you to the hospital and pay your medical bill for you. I’m good for it, I swear.”
“All they’re going to tell me is my hip is bruised.”
He’s quiet once more, his hands tucked in his jeans pockets.
I glance at the car we’re standing in front of, it’s a red Camaro with black racing stripes. Sweet ride. “You should move your car before someone comes along.”
“So you’re serious about walking away from this and not reporting it?” he asks tentatively.
“Yeah.” I want to get out of here before another car comes
along, and now that my night is ruined, I’m wanting to go back to my aunt’s house. “I’d say it was nice to meet you, but it really wasn’t. Next time, watch for pedestrians.” With that said, I turn and begin walking across the street in the direction I’d came from.
I’m doing my best not to limp, but it’s a lost cause. I start down the sidewalk, mentally counting how many blocks I think I’ve walked since leaving my aunt’s. It’s going to be an excruciatingly long walk.
“Wait!”
I stop and turn to watch as the guy jogs over in my direction.
He pauses once he reaches me, and his eyes drift down my body in the dim light provided from the corner street light. His eyes settle on my hip and he frowns. “How long of a walk do you have?”
“Long enough,” I say a tad sourly. I’m in pain, and it’s beginning to make me crabby.
“Well then, let me drive you wherever you’re headed. It’s the least I can do,” he offers.
My eyes narrow. “How much have you had to drink tonight?”
“Not much. I wasn’t distracted from alcohol, I was distracted over a fight I had with my girlfriend,” he explains. “Do you want that ride?”
“I think I’m going to take you up on your offer,” I agree. There’s no way I’m going to be able to walk back on my own.
We begin walking down the sidewalk towards his car, and I feel him studying me. “You’re really hurting, aren’t you?” he asks guiltily.
“It’s better than being broken.”
“True.”
We cross the street, and he hurries to open the passenger door of his car for me. I gingerly walk over and carefully ease myself into the seat. Once my feet are tucked inside, the guy closes the door. His car smells like it’s new, and his cologne permeates the air. I’ve never cared before how a guy smells unless he has a stench radiating from him, but this guy’s cologne smells really good. Out of curiosity, I look around, and even in the dark, I can tell that the car is kept clean.
A second later, we’re pulling away from the curb. “I’m Blake,” he introduces.
“Fallon,” I murmur. I stare out my window, watching the houses pass by.
“Fallon? That’s a unique name.”
I shrug in response. I’m not much of a talker. I learned a long time ago that people don’t really care what I have to say. He’s simply giving me a ride home because he feels guilty.
“Where were you headed?” he asks curiously.
“A party.”
“Sorry I ruined your plans.”
“It could have been worse,” I say.
He falls silent and slows the car down at a four-way stop. “Where am I headed?”
“Decauter Street.”
We cruise through the four-way stop, and he glances at me again. “Decauter, eh? That would have been a real bitch of a walk.”
“Yep. I figured you were the lesser of the two evils.”
“Thanks,” he says dryly.
He seems to know where he’s going, so I settle back in the seat and stare out the windshield.
“What are you going to say when your parents ask about your hip?” he asks quietly.
“I live with my aunt, and she’s gone a lot. She probably won’t even notice.”
I’m thankful when he doesn’t ask anything else, and a few minutes later, he pulls onto Decauter. “Which house?” He slows the Camaro down to a crawl as he awaits my answer.
“Down at the very end, by the corner.”
He presses down on the gas, and we drive further down the street.
“Right here,” I say, gesturing at the single story house to the right of us.
He immediately pulls into the driveway and lets the car idle. “It doesn’t look like she’s home,” he comments, and I can hear the frown in his voice.
“She works second shift.” I reach for the handle and push open the door.
“Wait. Are you going to be okay on your own?” Blake asks with concern.
I turn to peer at him. “A bruise isn’t going to kill me. It’s not like I hit my head or anything.”
“It just doesn’t feel right to leave you alone.”
“I’ll be fine.” I gingerly climb out of the car and carefully shut the door.
Blake climbs out as well and looks at me from over the top of the car. “I should give you my number in case you have any problems with your hip. I meant it when I said I’d pay for any medical bills.”
“Go, I’m fine.” I wave him off and start walking stiffly towards the front door.
I’m relieved when he doesn’t persist, and I am conscious of his eyes on me until I open the door and slip inside. Headlights shine across the living room as Blake backs his car out of the driveway.
A loud groan escapes me, and I slowly make my way towards the bedroom located at the very back of the house. I just want to take some pain reliever and go to bed.
~*~
By the time Monday rolls around, I can walk without limping—that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt, though. I consider myself quite lucky since the accident could have been much worse. I don’t have a car, so the only way to and from anywhere is to walk. Thankfully, my aunt lives about eight blocks from the local high school, and in the opposite direction, it’s about nine or ten blocks to downtown. Everything is within walking distance. I’d be up shit creek if I’d broken an ankle, leg, or hip.
As I walk down the sidewalk, my backpack slung over my shoulder, I set my jaw and think about the upcoming day. I’m absolutely dreading my first day at my new school. I’m going to hate the stares, the whispers, and the attention that being new will bring me. The only time I like attention is when a guy is giving it to me, otherwise, I like to fade into the background.
It’s not like I have to go to school, because there isn’t a single adult in my life that would insist that I go or threaten me if I skipped. I could actually choose to turn around and not bother finishing my senior year, but I don’t want to end up like my mom. I’m desperate to make something of myself, and that means graduating.
School has always been my least favorite thing to do. I’m pretty sure every teenager feels that way, but I have my reasons for hating it, and it has nothing to do with the never-ending pile of homework. No, it has more to do with the fact that I can’t help myself, and I inevitably become the school slut.
You see, there’s this cycle that I seem to go through, and it’s impossible to break. I know exactly how my senior year is going to play out here in this city. Friends will be impossible to make, so it’s pointless trying. I learned a long time ago that I can’t keep them and they always leave. Of course, it’s my own fault that they turn their backs on me. They either get sick of competing with me for a guy’s attention, or they get pissed when I inevitably sleep with their boyfriend. I can’t seem to resist any cute guy that gives me attention. It doesn’t matter if they have a girlfriend—I’m too addicted to the exhilaration I feel when a guy wants me, of having his undivided attention during sex. It’s the only time I ever feel wanted, and I’ve grown obsessed with feeling ‘wanted.’
I know that I’m messed up.
My past isn’t a pretty one, and it’s shaped me into the person that I am today. It’s a struggle each and every day to not be like my mom, but the sex I just can’t deny. I have no self-restraint, and I know that I am more like her than I want to be, and it scares me. I know I’ll never outgrow the desperation of feeling needed, but I can at least control all the other aspects of my life. I’m not going to drop out of school, and I refuse to go down the same path she had. I have every intention of graduating and somehow going to college to better my future. Drugs will never be a part of my life, neither will an unwanted pregnancy, or an abusive boyfriend, or even prostitution. I am and will be better than that.
I pause on the sidewalk and stare at the school before me. It’s a looming, two-story brick structure that has me feeling on edge. I will be spending the rest of my senior year within that building, and I am no
t looking forward to it.
I know there is one thing that has to change this year. If I want any hope of avoiding fights or pranks, I need to stay away from the guys that are taken. I need to survive this year and graduate. I tell myself that college will be different, it won’t be as bad. Just eight more months of this misery, and then things will get better.
With a soft, resigned sigh, I start walking towards the school. I receive a few curious looks as I pass by students lingering on the sidewalk. After mentally bracing myself, I go up the concrete steps and enter the school once I pass through the metal detectors. I try not to look at anyone or pay much attention to the groups of students in the lobby. My only goal today is to focus on locating all my classes and getting there on time. I would hate to have to stand in front of the entire class and give my name to the teacher while everyone gawks at me. Definitely not my idea of fun.
The office isn’t too hard to find, and after I receive my schedule, I walk down the crowded hallway in hopes of finding my first class. I’ll track down my locker later.
My eyes happen to connect with dark brown ones, and I blink with surprise when I see Blake. He’s standing at a locker with the pretty blonde from Friday night, but his eyes are completely focused on me. He even quits talking in mid-sentence as his eyes follow me as I walk by. His girlfriend frowns and looks in my direction, and she promptly scowls when she realizes that her boyfriend is staring at another girl.
Not wanting to cause any trouble within the first five minutes of my arrival, I quickly drop my eyes and hurry past. Blake is hot as hell. I’d been in too much pain Friday night to care much, but now in broad daylight, he’s cuter than I’d thought. He also has a girlfriend—he’d even said so himself. Hot or not, I need to control myself and not instigate anything with him.
This year is going to be different, I remind myself firmly.
The rest of the morning flies by, and at lunch, I hide out in the library. Eating alone in the cafeteria has always been a form of torture, and I plan on avoiding that embarrassment as much as possible.
Shameless (Loving Fallon Book 1) Page 1