Destroy Me (Crystal Gulf Book 1)

by Shana Vanterpool

  “Why?” Justine growls. “Will it make it harder to fuck her and me if we tell each other how small your dick is afterward?”

  “Is it that small?” I wonder.

  She grins at me. I can’t stand how pretty she is. Her dark eyes, dark hair, and her entire face remind me that Bach thought the same thing. She exudes sexiness and confidence. Even wearing a pair of Dickhead’s boxers and a tank top, her hair messy, she still looks gorgeous.

  She holds her hands up, leaving a few inches between her thumb and index finger. “That small.”

  Dickhead scowls at her. “Maybe I’m not small. Maybe you’re pussy is too loose.”

  She doesn’t even miss a beat. She touches herself and gives him a heated look. “This pussy made you cum like a little bitch. You were begging for it.”

  He shakes his head at her. “You’re the only bitch in the room.”

  Whatever happened to sensible conversations? How’s the weather? What’s for dinner? Can you pass the salt? I turn back to my laundry and pour some detergent in the washer over Bach’s clothes. I try not to remember taking them off him. It’s not a happy memory. But then again he didn’t leave me with any. They’re all tainted in sex and alcohol.

  As the two of them continue to argue about the elasticity of her vagina and his lack of phallus girth, I grab my empty laundry basket and hop on the folding table to watch. By the looks of it Justine’s winning. I wish I had some popcorn.

  When Dickhead stomps out of the room the winner rejoices. “What an asshole,” she grumbles, turning to look at me. “You live in this complex?”

  “Mhm.”

  “You mind letting me borrow some clothes? I have a feeling mine are going to end up in the pool. Good thing I left my purse at Dylan’s.”

  “How’s Bach?” I can’t help myself. I don’t even know why I keep trying.

  A knowing look fills her dark eyes. “How should I know?”

  “I thought you would.”

  “I haven’t seen him in a few days.” She puts her hand on her hip. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “Yes,” I admit, swinging my legs. A few days was a lifetime in Bach years. Although I do wonder if he isn’t with Justine who else is he with? What other girl came first?

  “Can we go get some clothes now?”

  I hop down and leave the laundry room with her following me.

  “Why are you asking me how he is? He’s been up your ass for a month.”

  I glance back at her, gauging her expression. “He was only doing it for Dylan. Apparently I’m a pathetic gullible idiot and he was supposed to watch out for me.”

  “Is that want he told you?” She laughs and rolls her eyes.

  “What did he tell you?”

  “Bach doesn’t tell me anything unless it has to do with his dick. Sorry,” she hurries, seeing the rage on my face. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  How does she want me to look at her? Does her vagina ever get a break? I walk faster to my apartment. Her bare feet follow. When I get inside I go straight to my room and open my drawer. She plops down on my bare mattress. “You want something comfortable or jeans?”

  “Comfortable.” I toss a pair of gray velour sweats and a plain white T-shirt at her. She catches it and appraises them. “These are expensive.”

  “I bought them on sale.” I didn’t. Mom bought them for me when she was at the mall. I don’t know why I feel uncomfortable admitting it to her though.

  She nods, as if this makes her feel better. “I’m not giving them back by the way. So don’t kick my ass for them later.”

  Like I would want them back. “I’ll leave you alone to change.”

  “Can I take a shower? My old man’s not leaving until tomorrow and I’d rather make out with you than go back home right now.”

  “Making out with me is the deal breaker?”

  She laughs, not taking it back.

  “Yeah, sure, whatever.” I have to remind myself that these are Bach’s friends. They make Len look chaste. “I’ll get you a towel.”

  She jumps up and finds the bathroom all on her own. When I hear the water turn on I bring a towel in and set it on the counter. What’s next? Are we going to compare blow job techniques? Something tells me hers will win. I go to my kitchen to get something to eat. As I’m slathering a slice of bread with peanut butter I hear her singing. The door is cracked and her beautiful voice seeps out with the steam. I sing along with the pop song, knowing that my voice makes hers sound even better. The girl can sing.

  I sit on the couch with my sandwich and listen to her voice light up my apartment. It chases some of the loneliness away. When the water shuts off I turn the television on so she won’t think I was listening to her. She comes out with her hair mysteriously dried and combed and smelling like my hair products. I remind myself to throw my deodorant out. She drops her wet towel on the back of my couch and plops down next to me.

  “I am so exhausted.”

  I wonder why. Sarcasm pleases the New Harley. “It wasn’t really that small was it?”

  Even her laugh is sexy. It’s throaty and husky. “No.” She eyes my sandwich. “Are you going to finish that?”

  “Yes. You can make your own. I’m not your maid.” I can see them together and it’s bugging the hell out of me. She blew him in the car. She swallowed it. I have an incredible memory.

  “Yes, Little Miss Perfect.” She rises and goes to my kitchen. As she takes out the bread she looks at me. “That’s what Jona calls you.”

  “Jona’s an idiot.”

  She smiles warmly at the peanut butter. “I know.”

  I don’t know whether to ask her how she can sleep with other men when she’s clearly in love with Jona or to leave it alone. I saw it when they sang together. The way she looked at him like his guitar played way more than a song for her. Then again I was grinding against Bach right after Dylan left. Justine and I probably aren’t so different. Men gave us no choice but to find one. Sometimes the choices we find on our own aren’t always the best ones for us.

  I sit back on the couch and pick at a spot of Bach’s crusty throw up. He must’ve missed it when he cleaned up. Probably because he couldn’t wait for his obligation to Dylan to be over. “Why don’t you want to go home?”

  She sucks peanut butter off her thumb, taking a long time to answer. “Let’s just say my old man’s got a heavy fist when he drinks. And he drinks all the time.”

  I pick at Bach’s puke harder. “I’m sorry.”

  “No biggie. He’s done worse. Will do worse.” But she looks down and slaps her two breads together like the worse is still to come. “You have milk?” I shake my head. “Oh well.” Back on the couch she folds her legs under her. “Is that puke?”

  “It’s Bach’s.”

  She makes a face. “Of course it is. He can drink, can’t he? I’ve never seen someone run so hard in my entire life. I mean I’m running. We’re all running from something, but Bach, he’s got a demon on his back.”

  My eyes flash to hers, not interested in his puke any longer. “What happened to him?”

  “I don’t know. I asked Jona and he doesn’t know either. Plus our relationship isn’t like that. I only asked Jona because I wanted to know. Bach and I don’t talk, if you know what I mean.” She grins at me, knowing damn well I want to shove her sandwich down her throat. “Well, we talk. But it’s mostly just in moans and screams.”

  “Is that how you regularly communicate, or can you form words too?” It’s my turn to laugh. New Harley pats me on the back.

  “Fine. No more Bach jokes. Didn’t know you had that in you, Little Miss Perfect.”

  “If I’m perfect then what are you?” I’m two for two.

  “If we both called Bach right now which one of us would he answer?” She raises her eyebrow bitchily.

  She has his number? I don’t have his number. I consider attacking her beautiful face, and then remember she’s probably been in more fights than I have. I’ve neve
r been in a fight. But New Harley kind of wants to. “If I called Jona and told him how gorgeous I think he is what would he think of Little Miss Perfect then?”

  She runs her tongue along the inside of her cheek. I’ve seen boxers do the same move right before the bell rings. She puts her finger in my face. “If you even think about touching Jona I’ll rip your arm off and shove it up your ass so you can tickle your own ribcage, do you hear me?”

  New Harley takes over. She knocks Justine’s hand away roughly. “Get your finger out of my face.”

  Her nostrils flare. “Or what, princess? Are you going to hit me?”

  “Right now, Justine, I’ll rip you a-fucking-part. Don’t mess with me. You keep throwing Bach in my face and this game is going to get bloody.”

  Something in my eyes must hit the warning button in her head because she sits back on the couch and appraises me as if she didn’t back down to Little Miss Perfect. “If you want him so much why don’t you go and get him?”

  “Why don’t you go and get Jona?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Jona doesn’t do relationships. I don’t do relationships. Plus could you imagine us together? We’d get the award for the world’s most screwed up couple.”

  “Bach and I would get second.”

  “You know what I think?” she says, not waiting for a reply, because let’s be honest, I don’t. “We should move on. There are plenty of other guys out there who would kiss our feet and eat our pussies for much less of a headache than those assholes give us.”

  I knew I didn’t want to hear what she had to think. “I’m not sure I want some stranger between my legs.”

  “It’s a thrill,” she insists. “Don’t tell me you’ve never got head?”

  She makes sex unsexy. “Like a man would a random blow job?” She nods. “No. That’s how you get gonorrhea.”

  “You’re such a loser.” She shakes her head. “You probably still think sex is about emotion and blue birds and love songs, huh?”

  “It isn’t about what you think it is either.”

  “Yes it is. You just don’t want to believe it.” She grabs my hand when I pull away. “What has being perfect gotten you? You’re picking Bach’s puke off your couch cushion while he’s probably got his dick in some other girl right now. That’s what Bach does. He isn’t going to change because you want him to. None of them are. So why can’t we have fun too? Why do they get to choose what we can have, when we can have anything we want?”

  New Harley thinks Justine has a point. The old Harley however can spot the holes in her declaration. Thankfully I’m used to holes. My body’s full of them. I can ignore them a lot easier now. “I don’t know.”

  “That’s what I thought.” She’s proud, although her pride probably left a stain on my couch next to Bach’s puke. “Listen, you want to hang out tonight? I feel like corrupting you.”

  Before I can stop myself I do it. “Sure. I was just going to sit here all night and search for more puke anyway. Hanging out with you is probably the same thing.”

  She snickers. “You’re kind of a bitch.”

  “That makes two of us. And you can’t corrupt me.” I get up and go to the sink to wash my hands, digging Bach out from under my fingernails. “I’m incorruptible.”

  “You wanna bet? I can corrupt the best of them.”

  I can never be like Justine. I’m full of holes, not stupidity. “What are we betting?”

  She takes a second to think about it, walking toward me as she does. “If I can give you a good time tonight you have to pay for the alcohol for my party tomorrow night.”

  “If I don’t have a good time, which we both know is probably more likely, you have to tell Jona you love him.”

  Her grin is so damn salacious I think I just made a deal with the demon on Bach’s back. “Deal?”

  “Deal,” I agree, shaking her outstretched hand.

  “You have to try though, princess. I want you to forget what your idea of fun is. We’re not going to the library and playing solitaire. We’re going to Jona’s party tonight and we’re going to get naked, drunk, and turned the hell up.”

  “I’m not getting naked.”

  “Fine. Two out of three?”

  “I hope Jona reciprocates.”

  “I hope you have cash on you.”

  I let her hand go. She’ll thank me later when she’s happily married to the love of her life. I wasn’t going to lose this bet.

  “What are you going to wear?” I look down at my clothes, making her groan. “Did you wear that to brunch? I can’t walk in there with you like that. We’re going for sexy. Not grandma.”

  “Dickhead in the laundry thought I looked cute.”

  “Dickhead in the laundry room thought I looked sexy,” she reminds me.

  “Well I’m not going to the mall with you so we’re going to have to pick something I already have.”

  She lets out a pained sigh. “Can I go look or are you going to trust me?”

  “I don’t trust you.”

  “Too bad.”

  Thirty minutes later I’m allowed into my room. There’s an outfit laid out on my bed that I’ve seen hookers wear on TV. The black skirt is supposed to go with tights and a cardigan, the black and red corset goes with my Halloween costume last year, and my black heels are the same ones I wore on my date with Bobby. I gawk at her proud grin. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “If you don’t wear it I will. Bach will love it. The leather corset will drive him crazy.”

  “Will he be there?”

  “He never misses one of Jona’s parties.”

  New Harley cackles. “I think I’ll wear it.”

  “Hell yeah!” She pats me on my ass and goes back to my closet. “Now I have to find something else in this 50’s closet for me.”

  “Not that I care what Bach thinks.”

  “Right,” she agrees with her back to me.

  “He’ll probably be there with someone else anyway.”

  “Probably.”

  “But then again he doesn’t give a shit.”

  “He rarely does.”

  I pick up my pillow and toss it at her. She turns around and laughs at me.

  “Your pity party is a lot more fun from over here. How’s this?” She holds up a pair of sheer black argyle tights, the same ones that are supposed to go with my skirt. “How fun would these be to take off?”

  I’ve never thought of clothes with the intention of taking them off. Why put them on to begin with? “With what?”

  “A long shirt?” She turns back to my closet, pulling out my favorite long red V-neck I save for winter. Holding it up to her she raises her eyebrows. “This shirt, these tights, with no panties. What do you think?”

  “You’re already sexy, Justine. You don’t have to wear stuff like that to do it. But if you want, go ahead. If anyone can pull that off you can.”

  She looks at me funny. “You think so?”

  “I think so.”

  “I’m still going wear it, but I’ll keep that in mind for next time. Let’s get dressed. It’s going to take a few hours to get you worthy of an entrance with me.”

  A few hours later I stare at myself in the mirror. New Harley loves it. She’s sexy in a way I have never been. Her legs are long, smooth, and glossy with my strawberry lotion, her breasts are plump and round, poking out the top of her corset enticingly, and her waist leads the way to her curvy hips. Justine straightened my hair, even though I insisted it was already straight. Although I have to admit the absolute straightness of it frames my face in an attractive way. My lips are red and glossy, and my eyes are rimmed in blue eyeliner, making their pale brown accentuated.

  “So? What do you think?”

  I rotate once more. “Eh.”

  “Oh come on! You’re almost as hot as me.”

  I ignore her. I’m hotter. “It’ll do.”

  “What about me?” she asks, dabbing at her pink lips with her finger.

  “You’re sexy. Poor
Jona’s going to have a heart attack.”

  “Good,” she snarls. “Bastard deserves it.”

  Her outfit actually looks amazing. My shirt is just long enough to cover her ass and the argyle print covers the parts of her it can’t. She’s wearing a pair of my red pumps and her dark hair is curled at the ends in a way that makes me even want to pin her against the wall. Fine. She’s hotter.

  Together we’re scorching.

  “Too bad we can’t pregame.” She pouts at herself in the mirror, sliding her tongue around the inside of her mouth to remove the lipstick. “Going to a party already lit is the best part.”

  I remember the orange pills from Bach’s puke clothes. “Wait right here.” I run back into my room to grab them out of my shorts. When I come back I drop them in her waiting palm. “Courtesy of Bach.”

  Her face lights up. “Little Miss Perfect isn’t so perfect after all. You ever roll?”

  “No. You can have them both.”

  “No way. We’re doing it together. Just don’t get all lesbian on me. This shit will do that.” I try to kiss her and she laughs, pushing me off. “I’m sure Bach would love that.”

  I bet … “Fine. Give me one. What do I do? Just swallow it?”

  “Just swallow it, princess.”

  Before I can chicken out I pop the pill in my mouth and swallow it down before it can melt, a plan forming in my head. Two can play at this game. “Now what?”

  She wraps her arms around my waist and kisses my cheek, staring at our beautiful reflections in the mirror. “Now we make them pay.”

  I let New Harley drive. If I don’t I won’t go. Because despite my brain churning, I don’t want to go to this party. Justine plays with my radio, turning it on to a hits station. She rolls down her window and lets the cool air from the gulf lift her hair as she sings along. She only stops singing to give me directions to frat house alley. There’s a different air when I pull up to Jona’s house. New Harley inhales it while I try not to breathe too much of it in. I don’t try too hard though. I spot Bach’s Corvette in the driveway and New Harley wants to do more than pee in the backseat.

  Cars line the street and college kids crowd the frat house lawns, drinks in hand and academics long forgotten. Loud rock music and country music mix, blaring from the frat houses when I get out.