Hurt Like Me

by P. A. Brokenshire

  "These are decent," she said, looking at the three posters I'd already done. "You're no artist though."

  "No shit," I snapped back at her.

  "For what it's worth, neither am I," she replied matter-of-factly, ignoring my venom. "I'm better at the background stuff- numbers, words. I don't have any talent short of being able to read a book in one sitting, and binge watching 6 hours of TV without a bathroom break. That isn't exactly something college essay worthy. I was lucky to have a dead mom to write about or NYU would have told me to fuck off."

  My anger lessened. I chuckled. Shit, she was funny. And apparently morbid as fuck. Zero filter. Like me. If I had been sitting here with Heather or Trevor or someone else, they would be talking about some party or something equally vapid like the weather. Not Avery. It was refreshing to have a real conversation with someone.

  "I can cook," I blurted out, capping a marker and tossing the last poster on the pile. "Like actually cook. Beef wellington, roast chicken, casseroles, all that shit."

  Her eyes met mine, her interest genuinely sparked, but that's all she was getting. I wouldn't tell her the history, that I had been making my own food most of my damn life because if I didn’t, I would have died. I'd been stealing any food I could get my hands on since I was 5 and cooking since I was 7. I'd been lucky that I hadn't starved long before that.

  "Mom is going to be mad," Chris said, devouring the taco casserole I had thrown together. She would be if she saw me eating, especially if she found out where I got the stuff to make it. Mrs. Johnson always forgot to lock her back door. It was easy enough to break in and get what I needed.

  "Then we'll just have to eat it all," I replied. It would give me a stomachache, but it was better to be stuffed than hungry. Chris didn't know that. He would never know what it was like to starve. Mommy's golden child would never go without food. I wanted to hate him, but then he passed me another tortilla and it was impossible. I'd die for him a thousand times.

  I bit down on the inside of my cheek again, breaking skin to remove the echo of my childhood. The taste of blood on my tongue was enough to knock me straight. I'd need another hit of something soon, something to numb my brain. Probably a lot of something. I needed a real break.

  "I think it's nice that you can cook. My dad always makes our food. The only thing I can make is spaghetti with that jarred sauce and frozen meatballs."

  Apparently, that's all she had to say. We sat in a comfortable silence for the rest of class and while she was intently focused on whatever bullshit she was doing I slipped the printout I had brought into her bag. A little indication of my plans. I wouldn't be surprised if she thought about me tonight when she discovered it. In fact, I was very much hoping she thought of me. The image of her in bed with her hand between her legs made me hard again. I had to situate myself when the bell rang. Maybe I would do a little thinking of Avery too. This angry Avery that couldn't cook and was a morbid bitch. I'd think about that angry mouth and those eyes staring up at me, scorching me with their rage. Granted it would be with some girl's mouth or hand wrapped around my dick instead of my own fingers. I certainly wasn't going to do the work.

  Chapter 8

  Avery- 10 years ago

  I didn't expect Heather to suddenly take me under her wing or include me in her little group which was good because neither of those things happened. She did wave to me when we passed each other in the hall though. It seemed that at the very least I could be acknowledged, and I'll admit it felt nice. It felt nice to be thought of as a person- to have Chris invite me to sit with him at lunch, to say hi to people without them sneering at me. I wasn't stupid enough to think that it was more. It wasn't. But it was nice. Maybe I could make it to graduation easier now, maybe school wouldn't be so damn miserable all the time.

  Even Garrett seemed to be less of an asshole. I didn't know that was possible. He actually helped me in class and talked to me. I thought about what he said. He liked to cook. That thought still boggled my mind. I never expected those words to come out of his mouth and now I couldn't stop thinking about him in the kitchen, cooking a roast or some other equally outrageous dish. I bet he was good at it. My mind unwillingly conjured him in nothing, but an apron and I could feel myself blush. If he could not be so hot that would be great. Maybe then I could ignore him, forget about the attraction I felt. I turned my focus back to my book, reading the same page I'd read five times. By some miracle, the distraction finally worked. I found myself lost in the story.

  The house was getting dark by the time Dad got home. He took one look at the boxed macaroni on the stove and groaned in disgust. I laughed.

  "Yeah, well, you left me to fend for myself," I said defensively from the couch. I'd put down my book to watch the latest episode of Inflictions. My eyes darted back to the TV I was excited for what would happen to Jill and Xavier after she found out that he had cheated on her with his best friend, Connor.

  I could hear Dad in the kitchen, shuffling around as he put the rest of the macaroni into a bowl and popped it into the microwave. Bowl and beer in hand, he joined me on the couch with a heavy sigh of relief just as a commercial break started. He was always tired, giving me those weary smiles of his. I wished he didn't work so hard. Then there were the calls. He'd disappear in the middle of the night sometimes to help someone. One of his guys would fall off the wagon and Dad would be there to pick up the pieces. He was too good of a person. It would kill him one of these days. My chest ached at the thought. Dad was all I had left. Losing him would devastate me.

  "This show is still on? Aren't you too old for this?" He teased me, knocking me out of my bad thoughts. I'd been watching Inflictions since middle school. I never missed an episode. I had a poster of Xavier in my bedroom and spent way too much of my time reading fan fiction. "You have to have something better to watch."

  I shushed him, nabbing a bite of macaroni from his bowl.

  "Back off, heathen."

  "How dare you refuse your only daughter sustenance," I said aghast, stealing another bite as a toothpaste commercial played.

  He laughed, knocking off his boots as he started into a series of never-ending questions about the latest episode. Dad was so full of crap. I had a feeling he enjoyed this show far more than he let on. By the time I got done breaking down the latest episode, the commercial break had ended. He tried to keep talking, but I threw a pillow at him. The last thing I would let him talk through would be Inflictions, especially when it had just gotten good. Xavier was caught in the act and the rest of the episode was a snowball of consequences.

  "So, Xavier is dating Connor now? Scandalous," he said as the end credits ran. "I can never keep track of whether he is gay or not."

  "He's bi, Dad. He swings for both teams. He gets with anything that moves. Don't you remember him telling that to Patrick last season?"

  "Oh, yeah! The foreign exchange kid. What happened to him?"

  "Hit by a bus."

  Dad gasped in mock horror, carrying his bowl to the sink, and tossing his empty beer in the recycle. When he came back, he grabbed the remote from me. I wanted to argue when he turned off the TV to head to his room to shower, but he gave me the look, that notorious Dad look.

  "Homework?"

  Shit. I did have some homework to do, and it was getting late. I told him goodnight and with a grumble I shuffled into my room. I reached for my bag just as the shower started. Dad shut his door. He'd go to bed and he wouldn't bother to check in again. Not like he used to. He used to double check before bed to make sure I wasn't wasting away my study time. We had toed a line since my birthday in January. I was no longer a child. In a few months I would be on my own. He tried to give me space without giving up being a parent. It was new to both of us. We were so used to depending on each other. It was weird. If I really wanted to, I could put off my homework, but he trusted me to take care of myself and I wanted to make him proud. My history work would only take a half hour tops.

  I opened the top zipper to pull out my
assignment but found myself holding something unexpected- a very obscene photo. My hands dropped the printout on my desk like it would electrocute me. My heart pounded. I rushed to shut my bedroom door and lock it. Hot panting breaths escaped me, my eyes wandering back to the photo. In an instant I was electric. I knew who put it there. Garrett. It was just his style. And mine. I couldn't deny it. My whole body was hot at the image. A nude redhead woman was on her knees, hands tied behind her back with a collar on her neck attached to another damn leash. She looked up; her eyes focused on the man above her. I licked my lips at the sight of her mouth wide open, cum leaking from the corner as the man wiped at her lip with his thumb. Saliva filled my mouth and I ached. I could feel myself throbbing, clenching. There was writing just below the photo.

  Bet this photo makes you even wetter than the first one. Who would have guessed you had a kinky side? This one reminds me of you. Another naughty little pet being put in their place.

  I sucked in a breath. I guess he did see my reaction to his phone in the library. I hated him. I hated him even more because he was right. Moisture pooled in my panties. My thighs clenched at the thought of him writing these things. An image of him stroking himself to the photo popped into my head. I could almost see his dark hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks with sweat, a hand inside his boxers moving vigorously, imaging a woman on his knees in front of him. Is this what he was into? The submission? I liked the idea. I liked his taste in porn. God, that was terrible, and my body didn't care. It wanted...touch.

  Eying the door warily, I left the printout on my desk and laid back onto my mattress. I could hear the shower running in the background, but I tried not to think as I reached my hand below the waistband of my sleep shorts. The only thing that accomplished was my mind conjuring up images of Garrett above me, my mouth opening to take him in like the woman in the photo. I held back a moan as I slid my fingers between my legs. Everything they touched was wet. I tried to tease myself, but I was already so swollen. There wasn't anything slow or sensual about the way I felt. I gave in to the moment- rubbing my clit in tight circles at the image of Garrett thrusting into my waiting mouth. My mind was racing. I could almost feel his fingers in my hair, slamming his cock into my wet hole as I moaned around him.

  "You like this, don't you? I want you to choke on it."

  His voice in my mind sent my hand into a frenzy. The fantasy shifted. He had me on my stomach, my arms restrained behind me. His whole body shook as he pounded into me. I was getting close.

  "You're so wet for me, so needy. Such a good little girl."

  My head flew back into the pillow as my free hand gripped the sheet. I imagined that he flipped me over, spreading my legs wide as he leaned into me. His eyes were that beautiful, fathomless shade of blue. His lips curved up mischievously as I struggled underneath him, my hands now pinned behind me. He leaned forward, taking my breast into his mouth as I begged for him to let me cum.

  "Yes, Avery. Cum for me."

  A rush of warmth overcame me as I slammed into my release. I bit my lip to stifle the sound of Garrett's name on my lips. My fingers were sticky, and my insides felt like liquid. It was the best orgasm I'd ever felt. Not even two seconds later shame hit me. I pulled my hand free, wiping my wet fingers on my sheet as I came down from my high, refusing to acknowledge what I'd just done, who I had thought about as I spasmed. I rushed to the bathroom to clean myself and brushed my teeth. The shower in the master bedroom turned off and I hurried back to my room, shoving the photo deep under my mattress. I somehow found myself three questions deep into the worksheet. I couldn't for the life of me remember answering them. My mind was still very much on the shadow that was Garrett. He was invading my space, my fantasies. I still knew he was an asshole. I knew he was just fucking with me. The trouble is that was what I wanted. I wanted him to fuck me. I was crushing on my tormentor. What the fuck was wrong with me?

  Chapter 9

  Garrett- 10 years ago

  "Do you really think she is going to show up tonight?" Trevor asked. He laid out all the liquor and pulled a baggy of white powder out of his pocket for us.

  "Fuck if I know."

  I was too focused on the cocaine to give a shit. I hadn't said or done anything that might offend her. We had even worked together on those ads. If she did show tonight, I knew I would probably have to finish the project myself. I didn't really give a fuck. She needed to be put back in her place.

  Trevor prepped the lines with a credit card and snorted a line before offering me the straw. Cocaine burned like a mother fucker. I'd only done it a handful of times, but the high was immediate. Thank fuck.

  "Heather seemed to think she'll show up."

  "I can't believe she fell for that shit about you liking her," I said with a laugh.

  "Girls, man," he replied with a shrug. "They're fucking stupid. Do you want to play a few rounds of War Fate before everyone gets here?"

  I shrugged my shoulders and poured myself a whiskey. Trevor turned on the game console and handed me a controller. The cocaine made me giddy. I usually let Trevor win. This time I felt my competitive nature take over and I managed to best him several times. He chucked his remote and gave me a glared daggers at me. Thankfully, he was back to his normal self by the time the keg showed up and the music started to blast through the speakers. I didn't need him to be in a shit attitude all night.

  It wasn't long until the party was in full swing. I walked around the house in the dark, nursing another drink until I saw Heather's car pull up. Show time. Heather was the first one to step out. Though she wasn't my target tonight I still felt my dick get hard at the sight of her. She was wearing the tightest red dress I'd ever seen. It looked like a second skin. I managed to duck behind a tree in the yard to miss making eye contact with her.

  I didn't look again until I heard heels on the porch and Heather's high-pitched squeal as she greeted one of her stupid friends. With her gone I took the chance to peek around the yard. Avery stood by herself. Of course, she would linger behind. She clutched an empty water bottle in her hand. I swore under my breath. Heather had gone so far beyond picking a choker. She had dressed Avery in a black dress that showed a stupid amount of skin. My dick twitched in my pants. I could swear it got harder. The bitch looked down right fuckable. It was a drastic change from what she usually wore. I made sure that my dick was situated tightly in my jeans and made my way over to her.

  "You look decent for a change." I said, giving her a once over for her benefit. She huffed a breath in annoyance but didn't bother to try and cover up.

  "You don't have to talk to me tonight," she said, making her way onto the porch. She practically strutted in her kitten heels. Zero fear. The height difference gave me a decent view of her ass, just the hint of black lace. "In fact, I would prefer it if you didn't."

  She really was a force to be reckoned with when she was mad and as much as I hated to admit it, it was a massive turn on. I loved her anger, her sharp tongue. I could get her riled up so easily when we were alone. Put her in a crowd and she would do anything to avoid the attention. I planned to break her tonight with that little tidbit of knowledge. Attention is exactly what I had in mind.

  "Oh, come on. I've been pretty nice since the library. Even picked your stupid invention. I haven't given you any trouble. Chris made sure of that," I said, stepping onto the porch and opening the front door of the main house. The house was so big that it would be easy to avoid Heather and get Avery exactly where I needed her.

  She eyed me cautiously, considering my peace offering. Finally, she walked through the door and I followed. Trevor was waiting for us in the foyer.

  "Oh, hey, you came! The kitchen is super busy. I'll take you to the good shit," he said, waving us into the den. It was dimly lit with a soft glowing lamp in the corner. Trevor's parents had one of those fancy wet bars with a high-top counter to separate it from the rest of the room. I gave him a look and he nodded. It was confirmation that he made sure Heather was comfortably
in the living room. He invited Avery in here to make sure we could keep them separated. "What do you want to drink?"

  "Um...just like fruit juice and vodka is fine," Avery said, crunching the plastic bottle in her hand.

  "Coming right up," Trevor said, pouring her a drink as I washed my glass. I reached for the water bottle and she handed it over reluctantly.

  "See you got a pre-party drink," I said with a chuckle, tossing it in the recycle.

  "Heather gave it to me. She said it would help me relax."

  Pre-party drinks were Trevor's specialty. He liked to give them out to girls as incentive. A little alcohol to get the blood flowing before a party. The more drunk they were when they showed up the better. Trevor placed her new drink on the counter and pushed it towards her. She took a sip with a grimace but didn't refuse the alcohol. Instead, she turned away from the bar with drink in hand and glanced over at a group of fully stocked bookshelves.