Izzy Moffit's Road to Wonderland (Road to Wonderland Series Book 1)

by James, Victoria L.

  A small smile creeps on my face at the thought as I shuffle my back against the kitchen counter and nudge my, now-growing, boobs closer together. They're getting there. I'm slowly catching up. My body is taking its time, but as my mother says, Rome wasn't built in a day. I figure God must be sweating like a hairy bollock, taking his time to make sure he gets my mountains right. At least that's what I'm hoping. I'm pretty sure he knows I'll hunt him down and kick him in his saintly danglies if he so much as gives me a misplaced beauty spot.

  “Well, doesn't someone scrub up nice when she lets her hair down,” says an all too familiar, smooth voice beside me.

  The instant blush that creeps on my cheeks is embarrassing as I tuck my chin down and try to hide behind my hair. “Leave off it, Matt. You're verging on stalker status,” I squeak, not wanting to look up and see his face.

  His body slides in next to mine, the tops of his arms pressing against me and the heat from his skin making my stomach do some really weird flippy things it's never done before.

  Breathing out a heavy sigh, his voice drops lower. “How can I leave off it when you look like you do tonight?”

  I tilt my head to face him and adopt some kind of paralyzed half smile.

  Damn. He looks so good… really good. Too good! His piercing blue eyes wear nothing but my reflection and his ruffled dark hair screams for me to run my hands through it. Then there's the arm porn. The sleeves of his light blue shirt are rolled up to his elbows, showing off the twitching muscles in his forearm. I try to avoid looking him up and down, but the instruction my brain is sending to my eyes is being drowned out and over ruled by the instructions that are being shouted at me from that unexplored area between my legs.

  Ah... Shit.

  “I had you down as a lot of things. Cheesy was not one of them.”

  “Hmm,” He smirks, “what did you have me down as?”

  “A dork, mainly,” I snicker.

  He fakes an over exaggerated, shocked expression. “I'm one of the most popular guys in school, mind who you're talking to.”

  My eyes drop down to stare into the depths of the cup in my hands as I laugh. “You should know your high school crown means nothing to me.”

  “I know it doesn't. That's why I can't stop myself from wanting you.”

  My whole body freezes and my eyes widen at his words. Sure, I had an idea of what he was up to, but hearing him... him of all people say he wants me, leaves me nothing short of speechless.

  “You're beautiful,” he whispers softly, reaching up to tuck my hair behind my ear so he can see me properly.

  “Lay off the cheap beer, Matt. It's messing with your head.” I chuckle awkwardly. There's no real laughter behind it at all. It's just a noise for me to make that I'm hoping will drown out the thudding sound I'm certain my jaw must have made when it landed on the floor.

  “I'm sober,” he says matter-of-factly, before he grabs the beer from my hands, slides it on to the counter and moves to stand in front of me. His finger lifts my chin until our eyes lock. This is his signature move, I can tell. He's oozing confidence and charm. The smile on his face is already screaming victory. The narrowing of his eyes as they fall to my mouth lets me know he's about to go in for the kill.

  “Do you want me to kiss you, Moffy?” he breathes.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No,” I gasp, but we both hear the lie.

  “Are you sure? Your body is telling me otherwise.” He moves even closer, pressing his hips against mine. My own betray me by pushing back.

  “I...”

  “How about I just kiss you here?” he asks, dropping his soft lips to my forehead and letting them linger until I close my eyes and hold back a sigh.

  “It's still a no.”

  “Or I could kiss you here?” he moves his mouth to the apple of my cheek whilst his hand reaches up to my neck and he brushes his thumb beneath my ear. His warm breath washes over me and I can't control the way my knees go a little too weak from his touch.

  “N-no.”

  “You're so fucking cute.”

  “Shut up,” I whisper, my eyes flickering like crazy to try and gain some clarity, but I'm lost in a cloud of Cooper.

  He lowers his head, his mouth as close to mine as it can get without actually touching it. “Make me.”

  The second his hand squeezes the back of my neck, I'm gone. I don't register any kind of decision to kiss him. It just happens.

  I've kissed guys before now, but never really been kissed back. Not like this. The way his tongue moves against mine, the slow, steady massaging, the slide and flick of it against the roof of my mouth, his lips getting closer and closer with every tilt and roll of his head, it's indescribable. Every sound around me fades to nothing. I'm so lost in this moment that I couldn't break away even if I wanted to.

  He somehow manages to push himself even closer, bringing his knee in between mine so our legs scissor. I can feel every part of his body reacting against mine, especially the area in his trousers. A small flicker of doubt passes through me before I squash it and lose myself in his touch again.

  Then he speaks, his mouth mumbling against mine in between slow, soft kisses.

  “I can't believe your father lays his hands upon this face the way he does.”

  My eyes squeeze shut as though they are actually flinching from the pain of a slap, and my body tenses in his grip. Our mouths break as I pull back and just stand there rigid. I can feel the blood drain from my face. Every bit of warmth that was there quickly leaves my body in an instant.

  “What did you just say?” I growl almost silently.

  His hands reach to pull my hips closer, but I manage to step back and hold up a single finger as my eyes slowly flutter open.

  “Hey, it's okay. It doesn't affect how I see you,” he says in the most patronising tone I have ever heard in my life.

  My head tilts up to glare at him, all my anger threatening to pour itself out onto his face.

  “What exactly do you think you know, Matt?”

  I hear his gulp rather than see it. He's fucked up and he knows it.

  “People talk, babe,” he manages to croak out.

  My eyes widen. “Oh, they do? And what is it that they say about me exactly?”

  Releasing me altogether, he runs a nervous hand through his hair and sighs.

  “Moffy...”

  “Spit it out, Cooper, or I swear to god...” I can't finish my sentence. I'm caught between feeling sick, angry and stupid, all at once.

  “Okay,” he says, shuffling his feet backwards. “But don't shoot the messenger.”

  I don't respond. The raising of my brow tells him enough.

  “There's rumours that your dad is a wife beater and that you've been caught in the cross fire on more than one occasion.”

  My eyes search his helplessly. I'm all out of words. The wind has literally been knocked out of me. People know. They know about me, about my life, about my deepest, darkest, most hidden secrets.

  “Some have seen bruises,” he adds.

  “W-what?”

  “Is it true?”

  Now would be a good time for a joke or a laugh, or, fuck... anything. My silence is making him believe it. I can't have people know what my life is really like. I've worked too hard on this mask I wear. I won't let them destroy it with rumours.

  Straightening my shoulders, I somehow manage to stop any tears from falling, my hands working quickly to flatten down the skirt of my dress as I snort out a laugh and shake my head.

  “Where the hell has that one come from? Jeez, have people nothing better to do than make up such bullshit?”

  His frown soon mirrors my own. “I don't know. I'm sorry, I thought you knew.”

  “What? That people have been accusing my father of hitting me? Huh. Believe me, if I had heard that one before, I would have tackled it head on.”

  “So, he doesn't?”

  I freeze again, my unintentional pause causing a weird a
ir of tension around us before I somehow manage to rub my lips together and shake my head.

  “No. No, he does not. My father is a good man.”

  As soon as I've said the words, I feel the nausea rise in my stomach. Those six words, six tiny little words… they have the ability to knock me off my feet and strip me of what little pride I had left inside of me. They're what she says every time he hits her. It's the ultimate lie I swore I would never allow myself to tell.

  Yet, here I am.

  “I have to go,” I gulp.

  His slow nod speaks volumes. He doesn't believe a word I've just said. All I've done is confirm whatever it is he already thought he knew. My panic hits high alert. I'm swimming across an ocean with an anchor strapped to my ankle, trying to drag me down. I can't... I won't... I can't let my father win.

  Moving without even thinking, I grab my bag from the counter, lay one hand on Matt's shoulder, lean in close and whisper seductively in his ear.

  “If you help me squash this rumour, I'll give you anything you want. I'll do anything you want.”

  The breath he takes gets lodged in his throat as he stares straight ahead, his skin bursting into goose-bumps against the warmth of my mouth.

  “Anything?” he breathes.

  “Anything…”

  Matt turns his head to mine, his lips moving against my ear as he speaks. “Consider it dead.”

  My whole body sags against him in relief. “Thank you.”

  His hand circles my waist whilst his other hand grabs my arse cheek and squeezes it tight. “I'll call you.” he moans.

  “Okay,” I whisper, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “But right now, I really do have to go.” Kissing his cheek as sincerely as I can, I pull away, lower my head and start to make my way outside and as far away from the crowds of happy drunks as I can possibly get.

  I can't even begin to think about what I've just agreed to and what it all means for me in the end. I just can't. The only thing that's keeping me standing right now is the relief that someone is going to try and help me cover the story and keep my mother safe. That's all I want. That's all I care about.

  If handing over my virginity on a plate saves her in any way, then I know it's something I will never regret. She's all that matters.

  Five

  14th January, 1999

  It’s amazing how long you can get away with avoiding people for if you really want to. Since the beginning of November, I’ve worked my way around the school like it’s got a secret underground network, which only I know about and only I can navigate.

  Even though I know I should, I can’t hate Matt for what happened at that house party of his. True to his word, the rumours going round stopped before they’d even really begun. He’s told the entire population of year twelve that he came to my home to collect some science notes, met the infamous Mr. and Mrs Moffit and was calling time on the whole thing. There’s no way a guy like Izzy’s dad could lay a finger on his wife. No way at all.

  I guess it turns out that Matt knows how to lie. Really lie. Even I’m almost convinced by some of the stuff I’m hearing. Being one of the most popular guys in school has its advantages. What he says goes. No one questions him and no one bats an eyelid when he says black is white and white is black.

  I’ve been waiting for him to claim his 'prize' ever since, but the only words he has spoken to me since that party was the day he tapped me on the shoulder in the school cafeteria, approximately one week later.

  “I’ve dealt with the gossip mongers,” he says quietly as I turn around to face him, my cheeks flaming as I quickly scan around us for any signs of eavesdroppers.

  “Thank you,” I say, nudging my back pack further on to my shoulder just for something to do.

  “See you around.” He winks.

  My eyes flicker up to meet his. I know exactly what he is referring to, but all I can manage is a shameful nod, watching as the smile erupts on his face before he turns to leave through the hall doors.

  Since then, there’s been nothing. A few times I've seen him walking towards me and somehow managed to slip away. I know he knows I’m avoiding him. I can tell by the look on his face every time our eyes accidentally meet across the classroom. The arrogant smirk he wears lets me know he’s still clinging on to the IOU I signed over. He’s plotting. He’s taking his time with this. He’s making me fucking squirm.

  It’s almost the end of another school day. Paris and I have one more task to complete before we can leave and then we are heading straight out of here. She’ll go home to her parents; I’ll pretend to go home to mine, but sneak into the sanctuary of the tree house without anyone knowing.

  “I can’t believe I owe library fees,” she snorts.

  “I don’t understand why this shocks you every single time. You have a time limit, Goose. If you go over that limit, you pay a fine. There are posters all over the school about it.” I struggle to hold back my short spurt of laughter at the look of disgust she flashes me.

  “But I’m broke.”

  “You’re always broke.”

  “No, this time I’m really, really broke. Dad is making me pay for the damage I did to the bike when I tried to start it the other week and bunny hopped it into the fucking garage wall.”

  “He won't make you pay. He's way too soft with you.”

  Ignoring me completely, she waves a dramatic hand in the air. “Then there's your birthday. God knows what I'm going to get you with the fresh air I have to pay for it.”

  “And you still owe me five quid,” I remind her, just to add insult to injury.

  “Go to hell,” she laughs, punching the top of my arm. “Just because you didn’t screw him before Christmas, it doesn’t mean it isn’t going to happen. I’ve seen the looks he flashes you across class. The sexual tension is doing my head in. Just fuck Matt alr-”

  I’m about to argue with her when I notice her head snap up in front of us. My eyes immediately follow her line of sight only to see the devil himself stood not ten paces away, outside the library doors.

  “Paris,” he smirks.

  “Matt!” she cries out a little too enthusiastically. I haven’t told her about the promise I made to him at the party. I haven’t dared to. She would kill me in ways I can’t even begin to contemplate. Kill me for being so weak. Kill me for worrying over stupid rumours. Kill me for even considering going through with such a ridiculous trade off. But most of all, she would kill me for keeping this a secret from her for so long.

  As much as I’ve wanted to tell her, she’s had her father to look after and the effects of his chemo are draining her more than she's letting on. My high school drama just isn’t important right now.

  Matt doesn’t turn to look at me. His eyes are locked in on my best friend and all I can do is stand there feeling like I’m being played, pulling my books further into my chest as if they’re going to protect me.

  “How’s things?” he asks her in a tone that indicates he really couldn't give a shit.

  “Great! I’m just paying off stupid late fees with Mrs Coldwell in the smelly book room. Oh, and planning Moffy’s seventeenth birthday party in three weeks.” She beams with excitement. “You’re going to make it, right?”

  I can’t help but close my eyes to try and hide my disappointment. She’s just invited the one person I didn’t want anywhere near me on my birthday. She doesn’t know. It isn’t her fault. This is all me, all my mess. I have to strap on a smile, even if he is refusing to look at me. So that’s exactly what I do. When I open my eyes, he’s showing all his pearly white teeth off through a huge Hollywood grin as he pushes himself off the doors, his face totally focused on my best friend.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I have just the gift in mind, too. One she will never forget.”

  My stomach drops in perfect synchronicity with my face as he walks away, brushing past Paris and gifting her with a quick wink just for dramatic effect.

  Paris’ squeals echo from every wall. She’
s excited because she thinks I am, too. I can’t let her think any different without making her ask questions, and if she asks questions, I’m not sure I have enough strength left to lie. So I do what I always do: I fake it. I smile as genuinely as I can, wrap my arms tighter around my books and squeeze my shoulders together in an attempt to try and hide the shudder that’s threatening to tear through me.

  “Looks like I won’t be a virgin for much longer.” I grin, trying desperately to ignore the nausea that's now taken hold of my stomach. This is going to be the worst birthday of my life.

  What have I done?

  Six

  4th February, 1999

  I’ve never noticed how annoying my wallpaper is before. The edges of the border are starting to curl back on themselves, making it look dated, tatty and worn. Sitting cross legged upon the edge of my mattress, my eyes burn holes into the dreary patterns that surround me. Music blares through my earphones, drowning out any chance of more internal monologue with myself. I don’t want to feel or hear anything. I’m aiming to achieve numbness and I’m almost there. Right up until the point the song switches on the CD player and the lyrics that follow hit me like a slap in the face.

  My mouth moves silently as the words to REM’s Everybody Hurts make my blood pump faster, for all the wrong reasons.

  I practically rip the earphones out as tears threaten to fall. Scrambling around as quickly as I can, I switch CDs, replacing Michael Stipe’s voice with that of Robert Tepper and the rest of the Rocky soundtrack. Whilst it won’t quite provide me with the numbness I crave, it will provide me with something else I need: Motivation.

  Today is my seventeenth birthday. I’m almost an adult, but not quite. I’m still so young, but, God, do I feel old. I’m fighting tiredness and fragility every damn day. I so badly want to take charge of my life instead of just sitting here, waiting for the cruel to dish out my next serving of humiliation and shame. I can’t live this life any longer. I can’t let anyone else be in charge of my destiny.