by Kelly, Hazel
Sins of the Flesh
Hazel Kelly
© 2014 Hazel Kelly
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, copied, or stored in any form or by any means without permission of the author. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
All characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Kate
Chapter 2: Dawn
Chapter 3: Kate
Chapter 4: Dawn
Chapter 5: Kate
Chapter 6: Dawn
Chapter 7: Kate
Chapter 8: Dawn
Chapter 9: Kate
Chapter 10: Dawn
Chapter 11: Kate
Chapter 12: Dawn
Chapter 13: Kate
Chapter 14: Dawn
Chapter 15: Kate
Chapter 16: Dawn
Chapter 17: Kate
Chapter 18: Dawn
Chapter 19: Kate
Chapter 20: Dawn
Chapter 21: Kate
Chapter 22: Dawn
Chapter 23: Kate
Chapter 24: Dawn
Thank You
“Sometimes the wrong choices bring us to the right places.”
-Unknown
Chapter 1: Kate
I kicked him in the balls.
Not surprisingly, he didn’t see it coming. Just like I couldn’t have predicted that he was going to tell the entire boy’s lacrosse team that I had a “bush like a 70’s porn star.” Which isn’t even true. Not that I would know anything about porn star bush from any generation.
And for the record, he wasn’t complaining when he was screwing me in the back of his station wagon on Saturday night.
Anyway, after I delivered the swift kick, I did the only thing I could think to do. I went home, got a pair of scissors, and stared at my crotch for a while. Then I snipped away at my pubic hair one little tuft at a time until it looked like a recently mowed lawn. Or perhaps more accurately, the lawn of people who are about to go out of town for a while so they cut the grass extra short. A barber might call it a number two. Maybe even a number one.
In fact, it was so short that afterwards it itched and snagged at my lacey underwear so much I couldn’t even think about anything else. Except for whether other girls were putting themselves through the same excessive grooming bullshit.
And for what?
To impress a boy whose erect penis looked like an acorn that even a squirrel would pass over?
To make matters worse, he barely even made it inside me before he busted his nut. It makes me sick now to think about how considerate I was of his feelings. Like when I told him that it was alright, that it happens to lots of guys.
Or at least every guy I’ve ever slept with.
I didn’t even mind at the time that there was no sexual pleasure in it for me. Because I thought it was satisfaction enough that I finally got to hook up with Ian Hendricks, captain of the lacrosse team and star of so many girls’ fantasies at my high school.
I thought sleeping with him would make me feel good about myself. Or make me more popular. At the very least, I thought I wouldn’t have to worry about finding a date to the next few school dances.
Instead, I got absolutely zilch except for an ill-placed hickey and a reputation with the boy’s lacrosse team for being the girl whose pubes are a fire hazard.
My only hope is that someone gets alcohol poisoning or expelled soon so people forget about my newsworthy crotch.
God forbid the rumor keeps spreading until the only way I can stop it is to reveal a hairless pussy to the entire school. Which probably wouldn’t even work. As soon as my pants fell around my ankles, I’d go from being the victim to the perpetrator.
But what really hurts- besides my snagging panties- is the realization that Ian never actually cared about me all that much in the first place. All the bullshit that came out of his mouth about how cool he thought I was and how much he liked me was just the toxic spawn of enough Jack Daniels to sedate a small horse. And I fell for it.
I genuinely believed he wanted more than to get in my pants and spread vicious rumors about what he found in there. It pains me to admit it, but I really can’t decide who the bigger schmuck is.
My only saving grace is that I didn’t submit to his will when he tried to push my head down. After all, the way things are going lately, he probably would’ve busted in my eye before I even had a chance to lick his mini Chupa Chup.
So the only real outcome of the handsy, drunken tryst was that it made me want to die of shame. Which is nothing new. I’ve felt that way a hundred times. Unfortunately, shame takes her time, making me suffer just enough that I wish I were dead but not enough to put me out of my misery.
So while I wait for humiliation to stop my heart, I just keep doing the only thing that makes me feel better. I binge until I’m numb all over, until my eyes go dull, and my stomach is stretched to its limit. Then I purge until my throat is raw, my eyes are bloodshot, and my stomach growls with emptiness.
Because even though life sucks, at least I can eat all the junk food I want without getting fat.
And it does make me feel better. Sort of. For a second. Not the part when I’m throwing up. Just the before and after.
I like to pretend the food is my problems. But no matter how many times I chew them up, spit them out, and flush them away, nothing ever gets fixed. If anything, I’m left more miserable and depressed than ever.
Of course, I wish I could stop doing this to myself. But I can’t.
Most of the time, I just want to go to sleep and wake up tomorrow and be halfway through my twenties. Thirties even. It doesn’t really matter. I just want to be somewhere better and easier than here.
I mean, there must be a parallel universe or something where I can enjoy a single marble frosted donut without feeling compelled to scarf the whole box and make myself sick. A place where there are no boys, only men. And they don’t lie to your face, blow their load at the speed of light, or hurt you by gossiping about the landscape design of your vagina.
Chapter 2: Dawn
I let a yawn escape through my nose and wondered if Tina might like to have lunch tomorrow and whether my car needed an oil change. But something began to penetrate my thoughts before I could decide if I needed to buy milk on the way home.
“Hello? Dawn? What do you think we should do? Dawn!”
The sound of my name jerked me back to reality. “Yes, Judy?”
“Were you even paying attention?!” she asked, leaning back on the couch.
I sat up straighter and answered her pinched face.
“I’m sorry. I just thought it was so lovely that you were both talking to each other. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
Judy rolled her eyes and blew so much air out from between her lips I thought she might wiz around the room like a deflating balloon. Meanwhile, her husband, Thomas, sat motionless except for a hand that came up to wipe her spittle off his cheek.
The ice queen folded her arms. “Well?”
To be honest, I had no idea what she’d been banging on about. But by then I’d been counseling couples for so long that I didn’t really have to listen all the time.
It was obvious that Judy would never put in the work necessary to disarm the hostile environment she’d created at home. And even if she would, I doubted that Thomas was sufficiently motivated to win back whatever crumbs of respect she still had for him.
Any idiot could see they were a terrible match. It was a mystery how they ever hooked up in the first place.
My best gue
ss was that she got pregnant and they weren’t creative enough to think of a more practical solution than getting married. Or perhaps they were both lonely and thought things might be easier if they were lonely together.
Which sounds nice in theory, but it never works. I know because I was really lonely one winter and decided that maybe I just felt alone because I wasn’t around enough people. So I went to the mall. Big mistake. All that did was make me feel even more alone by highlighting exactly how many people there were that I was isolated from.
Of course, it didn’t help that it was Christmas time, and I had a broken heart.
For the record, things are better now… though one could argue it’s been too long since I truly enjoyed someone else’s company. Apart from Tina. And Snarls.
And in my weaker moments I do wonder how things might be different if Scott were still in my life. How could I not? He was the best company I’ve ever had. It’s only natural that I compare everyone to him.
That’s the real reason I feel so alone. Not because other people aren’t alright, but because they’re not him. They can never be him, and they can never make me feel like I felt with him.
When were together I felt shiny and interesting and sexy. Like a 2.0 version of myself. Like I was more than the sum of my parts. I also felt twenty years younger. Which I was.
Funny how when we’re young we think everything is the end of the world. When Scott left, I could’ve sworn he took every last drop of color and whimsy from my life. If someone had told me back then that it was all going to be okay, I would’ve told them to go fuck themselves.
But it was okay. I was okay. And after I stopped feeling sorry for myself, I realized I could be shiny and interesting on my own.
But I think it’s all right that I still miss him sometimes. Because it means what we had was real.
“Well?” Judy asked again.
“You really want my opinion?” I asked, knowing the hour was up. It was time to either hook them for another session or get them to fuck off with their terrible vibes forever.
“That’s what we’re paying you for, isn’t it?” Judy asked, uncrossing her legs.
I looked at the couple on the couch, baffled again at their ill matched energy. Judy’s whole body down to the hair on her arms was sitting straight up. Beside her, Thomas was slumped like a pile of dead leaves.
I hooked my pen under the bracket on my clipboard and cleared my throat. “Have you considered sleeping with other people?”
“What?” Judy leaned back as if I’d struck her across the face. “No, of course not!”
“What about you Thomas?” I turned to him and so did Judy, her eyes focusing on him like laser beams.
“No,” he said, shaking his head emphatically in case Judy couldn’t read his lips. “I haven’t.”
“Well that’s fantastic for you both.” I scooted to the edge of my seat. “That means you both still want to make this work.” I clasped my hands and shook them. “I can’t tell you how important your continued commitment to this process is. That’s what’s going to get us through.”
Judy’s mouth fell open.
“Unfortunately, that’s all the time we have for today. But to build on the good work you’ve been doing, I want you to force yourselves to give each other some real kisses before I see you again. At least three. And they have to be a slow, openmouthed kisses for as long as you can stomach.”
Judy swallowed and made a face like she’d thrown up in her mouth a little. “Are you serious?”
“Completely,” I said. “It’s about time something good came out of you opening your mouths in each other’s presence. Am I right?”
Judy shook her head, grabbed her purse off the floor, and stood up.
I rose from my seat with her and looked back and forth between the two of them. “Do you think you can at least give that a try, Thomas? I think a little tenderness, albeit calculated, is just what you need.”
Thomas shrugged and peeled himself off the couch. “Sure.”
Judy pinched her mouth like she was trying to keep something foul from escaping it so I opened the door for them and stepped out of her way.
“I’ll see you in two weeks,” I said, patting Thomas on the back as he passed.
When they reached the elevator, I closed the door, sunk into the chair behind my desk, and turned my thoughts to my plans for the evening.
I would pick up a nice bottle of wine on the way home. Then, I would spend a relaxing Friday night on the couch eating take out and watching TLC with Snarls curled up beside me. Just like I did last weekend.
But as I reached for my keys, a scratchy fit of tickles overwhelmed my throat and I suffered a coughing fit so intense it made my eyes water. And as I blinked the tears away, I realized a change of plans was in order.
The palm of my hand was spattered with blood.
Chapter 3: Kate
While I waited for the garage door to open, I drenched my fingers in hand sanitizer and cracked the windows. Then I stuffed my cigarettes to the bottom of my backpack.
Just as I expected, my Mom was hovering by the mudroom door pretending to sort laundry when I walked in the house. Well, she was probably really sorting laundry, but the woman’s always got some kind of ulterior motive.
If she would just ask me, I’d tell her what her real problems are. But she seems to think catching me smelling of cigarettes is priority number one. And while I know I shouldn’t be smoking, maybe I could cut down if she wasn’t always stressing me out.
Sure enough, before I even had my shoes off, she was wrinkling her nose and sniffing the air. I feigned ignorance just to see how exaggerated her facial expressions would become.
“Have you been smoking?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips.
“Smoking?”
“You stink like my sister.”
I could tell by her face that she was taking it really personally.
“I can’t believe you’re smoking. You know if you get caught you’ll get kicked off the team.”
I sighed. If there was one thing I wasn’t worried about, it was getting kicked off the lacrosse team. It was my senior year, and I was the second highest point scorer. Plus, I’m not an idiot. I would never smoke anywhere near school.
“It wasn’t me,” I said. “You know I don’t smoke.”
“Don’t lie to me. I can smell it on you.” Her eyes started to do that bulgy thing where all the white begins to show.
I just stared at her, admitting nothing.
“Don’t tell me you’re still letting Annie smoke in the car?”
I pursed my lips.
“Are you serious, Kate?! Does she really not respect you enough to not smoke in the car?!”
It pained me to throw my best friend under the bus, but Annie always reeked like cigarettes and didn’t try to hide it. So she was a natural scapegoat.
Besides, it wasn’t me she had no respect for. It was rules and authority figures. Like my parents. And The Man.
She was also suspicious of any music recorded after 1979, people who thought poems always had to rhyme, and anyone who didn’t use credit unions.
Unlike my Mother, I found her quirks and convictions refreshing.
“Can I go now? I have a lot of homework.”
“Unbelievable,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m going to have a word with her next time she’s here.”
“I understand,” I said. Then I turned and headed upstairs.
I would’ve made a mental note not to bring Annie around, but that wasn’t necessary. Annie didn’t like coming to my house anyway. Probably because my Mom was always sniffing around her like an overly ambitious mall cop.
Once, she even told Annie not to say like so much. Obviously, Annie didn’t appreciate being told how to speak, especially since she wasn’t even talking to my Mom at the time. Plus, at her house, as long as we didn’t drink and drive and we only smoked outside, Annie’s parents were just glad to know we were safe.
&n
bsp; Of course, I know my Mom means well, but if she would just loosen up a little, we might actually get along from time to time. Unfortunately, I’m starting to think that’s never going to happen.
To be honest, I think I must have been switched at birth. Like somewhere there’s a conservative girl my age with no personality and an allergy to alcohol. And she feels like she’s in Hell because her parents are rock stars who can’t figure out why she doesn’t love going on tour and getting drunk.
And I can’t do anything about it. It’s not like I can tell my Mom my theory. It would break her heart.
One time when I was little, I got pissed at her. I don’t remember why, just that we were in Target. Anyway, I started yelling “You’re not my Mommy! Stranger danger! I don’t know you!” And other stuff like that. Apparently her feelings were hurt for weeks afterwards. Weeks!
Then a few months ago, I stayed out all night without calling, and she totally flipped out when I got home. We ended up getting in a huge fight that ended when I told her I hated her guts. She burst into tears and went running into my Dad’s arms.
Fortunately, he made it all better by telling her whatever she needed to hear. Probably that I'm just a hormonal teenager and that I didn’t really mean to hurt her feelings or be inconsiderate. Which is the truth.
But sometimes I’m just so angry I don’t even recognize myself.
Of course, she still tells me she loves me sometimes. But I wish she wouldn’t. I don’t deserve it.
I bet she’d stop if she knew how screwed up I am. But she doesn’t have a clue. Probably because I’ve gotten so good at hiding my vices behind my straight A’s and my varsity uniform.
I don’t think it helps that my brother is a freaking golden child. Like he would’ve been a brilliant Nazi. Not that Chris is into ethnic cleansing or has it in him to kill anyone because he definitely doesn’t. But he’s awesome at following orders and rules without question.
For example, I thought the best thing about having a brother was that someone would always be on my side, but he’s never done anything but let me down. Like I thought as soon as he got old enough, he would help me protest unjust bedtimes and unnecessary strictness. But instead he always loved sleeping, loved being sent to bed, and loved getting tucked in so tight he couldn’t move his arms. He even loved to eat his vegetables as long as they arrived by a fork making an airplane noise. Pathetic.