Sometimes, it’s Autism.

The girl behind the counter slides me my tray, the delicious scent of my burger and fries invading my senses. “Enjoy your meal.”

“Thanks, you too.”

Oh, God. I screw my eyes shut. I’ll think back on this moment for years to come, and the embarrassment will come flooding back.

..

…

..

I get the dreaded call, which I never understood. Why call those who don’t get the job? Just let me slink away into the darkness; no need to shout, “You’re slinking into the darkness” as I go. I’m fully aware already.

“I’m sorry to say you didn’t get the job. They felt you were a little distant. They couldn’t sense your excitement.”

So I curse my inability to make eye contact like a normal person, I curse my apathy that covers my empathy, and I curse some more for good measure because I like threes. And fives and any number that creates a natural middle point. If I text someone three emoji hearts, the middle one can be another color and voilá, you have a nice pattern.

Sometimes, it’s Him.

“Kneel, girl.”

I fall to my knees and bow my head.

..

…

..

He plucks thoughts straight from my mind, molds them after his desires, and shoves them back in. A look, a smirk, a kiss, a tasty little slice of logic, a word that triggers, a touch, and then I’m spinning and spiraling with his sadistic mindplay.

“It’s okay, I’ll catch you afterward.”

I fall, tremble, and trip, out of control.

Sometimes, it’s Characters.

I could bang my head against a wall. I want them to go there, and they insist on going in the opposite direction. I’m ready, I’m ready, I’m ready; just obey me, you imaginary people, and they refuse. They go their own way. I write them as they wish, as they set the pace for them, never me. Never me.

“How’s the book coming along?” he asks, and I tell him to go away. Go away, go away, go away. I’m arguing, you see. I’m the one fighting with fictional characters because their minds are stronger than my own.

“I can’t argue logic, okay?” I snap. So I obey characters.

..

…

..

Clutching my head, fingers digging into my hair, I rock back and forth and try to summon the right voice. I need him to speak, but the noise from another heroine is louder. Write me, she demands, and I don’t have time. I’m sorry, but I need that guy behind you; please un-gag him. I need to write him.

“Will you make the deadline?” my editor wonders.

I scream.

“What’s it like to be normal?”

“What’s it like being you?” I took a sip of my coffee and refolded the paper. My quiet morning on the porch steps took a hike whenever Pipsqueak joined me.

She glanced up at me with a scrunched nose, all freckles, sleep lines on her cheeks, and messy pigtails. “I asked you first. You’re a teacher. You’re supposed to answer and teach.”

I snorted and rested my elbows on my knees. Sun was about to come up. Soon, the dew covering the grass and bushes in my front yard would glisten with the first rays of sunshine.

“If a teacher never asked questions, there’d be no quizzes,” I pointed out.

“That would be cool.”

She was twelve or thirteen, this neighbor of mine. At times, her logic belonged to that of a genius. She had Autism and tended to put things in a perspective completely foreign to me. But then, she was also a kid. Kids didn’t like studying for tests and quizzes.

“I’m going somewhere with my question,” I said patiently.

She whipped her head to the left, then the right. “Where?”

I smirked briefly at her way of taking things literally. “Just answer, you nut. Or I’ll tell your parents you left the house in your PJs.”

She huffed. “Fine. It’s weird being me, okay? I don’t understand humans.”

I nodded. “Most people go through that. Screw what’s normal, Pipsqueak. Don’t worry about others. You do you.”

“You could’ve just said that…”

There was no winning with this little hurricane. She was extra persnickety this morning, too. New school, new teacher. It put her on edge and made her ramble.

“Never said I was a good teacher, did I?” I emptied my coffee mug and checked the time. Summer was officially over. I had a week of faculty meetings, and then I’d be seeing new seniors. New students whose lives were just waiting to be fucked over.

“Do you have to go?” she asked.

“Soon. I might give myself a late start today.”

That made her sigh. “I can’t wait to grow up so I can do what I want.”

What could I say? The girl was in for a rude awakening. One day, those emerald green peepers of hers that were constantly filled with curiosity and wonder would dim and cloud with the shit life brought. She would grow up and lose her innocence. No longer a girl… Along the way, she’d lose her honesty, too. It was what women did.

“You know what I’ve noticed?” She turned to me, a serious expression on her face. “You never smile, mister. Not even today, and—and, and, it’s your birthday!” She tripped over her words. “I almost forgot. Happy birthday. How old are you now? Oh! Let me guess, please?”

I couldn’t even fake a smile. The times she dropped those tidbits of genuine reflection or observation, it felt like she was kicking me in the gut. Of course I never smiled. I had nothing to smile about. She’d learn one day. Or she’d meet a man who would get a taste of it. Perhaps she’d make her future son feel it. It…being this hollow void that somehow weighed a ton and dragged you down.

“Are you thirty?” she guessed.

I nodded. “Good guess.”

She snickered. “I remember you turned twenty-nine last year.”

Right. Well, it was time to face another hellish day.

*

“Do it,” I whispered.

I sucked in a breath and pressed the barrel to my temple.

Do it, do it, do it.

My reflection in the bathroom mirror caused my hand to tremble, and I promptly screwed my eyes shut. This could all be over if I only had the balls to pull the trigger. History would be wiped clean. I’d feel no more hatred. I would be gone. Erased. Would I find peace? Or would I just…fade into nothingness?

Do it, do it, do it.

A rushing sound thundered in my ears. My throat closed up. Fuck—it would be over. Wasn’t that what I’d craved for as long as I could remember? The rage wasn’t even the worst of it. This sense of confusion and loss, being lost, constantly wondering, was what I couldn’t live with. I didn’t fucking understand myself. I didn’t know who I was other than a box of crippling emotions. I had no identity.

You never smile, mister.

“You coward.” My eyes burned behind closed lids. “It would be over.” I tensed up as I brushed my finger over the trigger. “Do it.” You’re almost there.

But what if…

A strangled sound escaped me, and a tear rolled down my cheek.

I was caving.

You never smile, mister.

Two knocks on the door were followed by my wife’s voice. “Are you almost done? I have to shower.”

The air was knocked out of my lungs in defeat. Lowering my hand, I opened my eyes again and stared at my pathetic reflection. What was wrong with me? I clenched my jaw. Hating, hating, hating. It felt like I’d run a marathon.

“Yeah.” Exhaustion took over. Today wasn’t the day I killed myself, either. “Be right out.” The gun went back in the cupboard under the sink. It was time to get ready. A new day. I was driving down to Seattle for my monthly visit with my mother.

*

The blows kept on fucking coming. I dodged left, only to get a knee in the gut. Then I ducked right, and he was on me like a freight train. Jesus. I coughed, pain radiating from my ribcage.

“Pussy.” Darius grinned.

Wiping my forehead, I jumped up again and charged. Sweat poured down and caused my beater to stick to my skin. I welcomed each punch and did everything I could to return them.

I succeeded sometimes.

“Motherfucker.” He chuckled through a groan when I managed to jab him twice in the face. “You’re a good brawler, I'll give ya that. Bad day?”

“You could say that.”

I gnashed my teeth together.

“I don’t know why you keep coming here.”

Funny, I'd been asking myself that question for years. Leaving the doorway, I entered my mother’s room and eyed the new bed. The sicker she became, the more her home looked like a hospital room. According to her nurse, she couldn’t leave the bed on her own anymore. My mother was frail, and she pulled off seventy-five great for a fifty-six-year-old.

One of the two chairs by the window had been removed so she could sit there in her wheelchair instead. The round little table in the middle was littered with books and notes. As I took a seat across from her, I watched her highlight a paragraph in an old senator’s memoir.

“Imbeciles,” she muttered. “Seven typos in two hundred and sixty pages.” Glasses perched on her nose and a bag of lemon-flavored hard candy on her lap was a familiar sight that made my skin crawl. Then, everything about her made my skin crawl.

I wanted her to die.

Because of her, my upper body was covered in tattoos to hide the scars she’d given me.

I hissed and flew back, Darius’s gloved hand splitting my bottom lip open.

“I have work tomorrow,” I barked. Explaining a busted lip wouldn’t be a walk in the park.

He laughed, out of breath, and we took a break to get some water. “You’re something else, man. You’re shit at technique, but damn, you keep getting up.”

I leaned back against the ropes in the boxing ring and reached for my towel. I wasn’t bleeding too much.

When you’d been born on a battlefield, suffering was as natural as breathing. Darius’s uppercut, no matter how hard he delivered it, was nothing.

“You’re like a dog, Avery,” my mother noted. “Regardless of what I do, you’ll come crawling back. You need a leader to follow because you’re too weak to stand on your own.”

I stared at her, forcing a casual expression. The fury I carried for this woman was putrid and all-consuming, and it was slowly suffocating me. Yet, I did come back. Every goddamn month, I drove down to Seattle to see her.

I didn’t say much when I was here. Was there anything to say? She wasn’t going to wake up one morning and realize what she’d done. By the sound of things, she already knew. Either she lacked empathy for it, or she’d made sense of it in a way that absolved her from guilt.

*

“Good morning!” Pipsqueak closed the gate after her and trailed up the path to my house.

I eyed her, tired as hell. “Morning.”

The past few days, her mood had improved to the point where she was chirpy. I assumed school was going well.

She plopped down next to me and opened a bottle of lemonade. “Nana and I made this. Want some? It’s strawberry and pineapple.”

“No, thank you.” Fanning out the paper next to me, I studied the headlines. Getting back to work and keeping myself updated helped me focus and rid the remnants of the ever-present nightmares. There’s a good one. An article about Rupert Murdoch’s million-dollar contribution to the Republicans should kick off my communication studies class nicely today. I dog-eared the page after reading the piece and moved on.

“Why do people lie?”

I frowned, giving her my attention. “Who’s lying?”

“My uncle,” she replied frankly. “Mom says he’s lying to my aunt about something. They’re all sad.”

I had to admit I enjoyed it when Pipsqueak came over sometimes. It was strangely easy to talk to a kid, but to give her advice she might carry with her into adulthood was fucking terrifying. I couldn’t go there.

I could say one thing, though. “Don’t rush to grow up. Adults are ten times worse than children.” I pointed to her bottle. “Stick to dolls, school, and making lemonade with your grandmother. Because when you’re a grownup, all that is gone.”

And you were left with the thieves, abusers, cheaters, and liars.

They’d turned me into one who was just like them.

*

Title: Lemonade & Lies

Genre: Contemporary fiction/romance.

Age range: 18+

Word count: Work-in-progress.

Author name: Cara Dee

Why your project is a good fit: It targets a wide audience in which I'm confident about my abilities.

Synopsis: Work-in-progress, but it will be a novel about redemption, friendship, forgiveness, betrayal, love, and making peace when you can't find it.

Your bio: The full version at www.caradeewrites.com

Experience: Five years in indie publishing. 

Personality/writing style: Straightforward, realistic, sometimes witty, always with as much focus on the plot as the characters.

Age: 30.

It's always out of reach. Topics and interests I burn for consume me. I disappear and get lost in people, stories, and fields. I can never split my time, because then, I'd be dividing my attention. You either have it or you don't. From me, you'll get everything or nothing. So balance will always be out of reach.

Underneath the stars and dust clouds of the Milky Way, he left his comfort zone and pushed me toward insanity. This wasn't supposed to happen. The first kiss turned me into his secret, and I was powerless to stop it. Weak, greedy, hard as a fucking rock.

"Did you hit your head?" I sucked in a breath, trembling beneath him. "You know I'm not a woman, right?"

I was the funny guy. Comedy brought smiles to people's faces and concealed my loneliness. Now my jokes were going to fall flat, because this bastard was breaking me down.

"Mm. Very aware." He deepened the kiss.

With the fingers he touched my jaw, there was a wedding ring that warned me about how badly this could turn out. He's heading for divorce, my weakness pleaded with me. Nothing's for certain, my brain argued before it short circuited.

"More." I groaned and gave up.

~Casey, Uncomplicated Choices.

He could see the fire in her gunmetal blue eyes. He sat nestled in the corner window seat catching a glimpse of her neckline as she brushed her sienna curls off her shoulder and turned the page. Her tattered copy of Slaughterhouse-Five had seen better days. An intriguing choice, he thought, wondering if she’d read it multiple times.

Occasionally, she’d bite her lip and follow it with a slow, glistening lick. He had to contain the low growl deep in his chest. They'd only made eye contact once before. It was the first time he'd run into her at the coffee shop and his cock twitched when he’d caught her subtle lemon-vanilla scent as she’d hastily excused herself.

Her fierce eyes and the way her full lips would pout just so…fuck, he wanted to see them wrapped around his cock. He needed to know more. What did she taste like? What was she afraid of? Was he right about the fire he saw in her eyes? She’d seeped into his dreams at night.

As he approached her, she reached down for her handbag as he cleared his throat, “Decent book, anything in particular you like about it?”

She looked up with a furrowed brow. Christ, that was adorable. “Mostly the parts where I’m not bothered while reading it,” she replied curtly.

He chuckled, “Fair enough.” She began to walk toward the door. He grabbed her arm firmly and twisted her on the spot. “Leaving so soon? I want to buy you another cup of coffee.”

She stepped closer and met his gaze, “It’s good to want things.”

Ripping her arm free, she pursed her lips and stormed out of the coffee shop. He followed her onto the busy sidewalk. Bustling people passed by unaware of the predator about to pounce on his prize. She glanced over her shoulder to see his bearded, smug face. She whirled around to confront him. “Can I help you with something, or is being creepy just kind of your thing?”

His gaze seemed to heat as he approached her. Desire, visibly coursing through him.

Her confidence faltered as his darkness drew closer. He noticed the unease in her flushed cheeks and shifting of her hips. She never broke her gaze. “You're a mouthy little thing, aren't you, girl? I wonder if that's because no one has ever shown you what happens to mouthy little girls.”

Rolling her eyes she replied, “Pffft, please. If you think this is mouthy, keep following me and see what happens.”

She turned to walk away, and again he grabbed her arm, this time forcibly guiding her from the view of the busy street to the alley next to the coffee shop. “Listen to me very carefully, bitch. You'll learn some fucking manners, real quick. No more rolling your eyes, or there’ll be consequences. Do you understand me?”

Her nipples hardened and her skin flushed, leaving a wave of heat traveling father down her body. She laughed, “You're gonna have to do better than that if you want to scare me, ol' man.”

His grip shifted to her neck, steadying her to meet his eyes. The crooked smile on her face made him rock hard while anger flooded his veins. He reached up her skirt and ripped the lace covering what he longed to taste. She attempted to knee his groin and scratched at his face but his reflexes were too fast. Suddenly, two fingers were ramming her soft hole. She squirmed in his grip and whimpered for him to stop. He withdrew instantly. Her eyes transfixed as she trembled, seemingly contemplating his next move. He wiped her slickness across her lips and forced his tongue in her mouth. Fuck, she was sweet. Strawberry. He leaned in and whispered, “Time to go learn your lesson, little girl.”

*

Her mind spun as she lay tied to the bare mattress in what she could only assume was his basement. Dread coursed through her entire body. Arms above her head, legs spread, she could feel the musty air all over her cold, naked body. She craned her sore neck to take stock of her surroundings. He’d humiliated her in front of all the onlookers. Their faces glared, baffled while she was dragged by her hair down the busy sidewalk. She’d struggled to break free of his grip the entire way. Not one person made an effort to help her. Instead, they watched mortified and silent.

When she came to she saw one wall was lined with a myriad of devices and what appeared to be hollow glass tubes on a rickety old rack. There was an aquarium-shaped box on the workbench below that was covered in black. There was a dank smell that filled her nose as she began to panic.

He could see her from the top of the stairs. He watched as she looked about the room franticly pulling at her restraints. He closed his eyes and took a deep, satisfying breath.

His steps were like thunder as he stomped down the stairs. He stood beside her shivering, naked body. There was something deeply sinister in his eyes and a matching smirk to boot. He lazily trailed his callused hand up her torso feeling the want in his cock. He stayed silent for just a moment, watching her struggle to be free of his touch. He could see the trepidation welling, her goose-bumped skin glistening, and the fire in her eyes wavering. “Well, hello, little girl, are you ready for your lesson?”

“Go fuck yourself,” she spat. He grinned and slapped her face with a crack that rang in her ears and pushed her face toward her tied arm. Tears began to escape her eyes as his mark formed on her cheek. He turned to the workbench, pulled down one of the larger glass tubes, and reached for the covered box below. With the fluorescent lights flickering above, he was careful not to let her see what he was doing. Finally, he turned around and laid a corked tube in between her pert breasts. His pets fit perfectly there.

Cold sweat and tears burning in her eyes, she blinked quickly to concentrate on what was inside the glass tube. He watched her face as the realization washed over her. Color draining from her neck up, she screamed violently and shuddered in horror. Agitated creatures crawling within the tube rolled back and forth in her distressed attempt to free them from her body. Failing, her voice cracked as she began to beg. “No, no, no, pleeease, no!!”

“Hold still, little girl, or they are going in that tight, greedy hole of yours.”

She was unreservedly beside herself. Tears flooded her terrified eyes. He leaned in to cup her cheek, “So where’s that fucking smart mouth of yours now, hmmm?”

He unzipped his pants and released his hard cock. He laid it on her breasts alongside his trapped pets. “Mmmm, fucking beautiful,” he groaned.

He gripped the back of her hair firmly and forced his length down her throat. She sounded perfect choking on him and begging between thrusts. His pets rolled back and forth between her tits as he pounded against the table. “Yes, that's it, cunt, beg around my cock.”

He withdrew from her and reached for the glass tube. In a low growl, he whispered in her ear as he shoved the glass tube into her mouth. “Let’s see how tight your other fuckhole is, suck.”

He relished the sounds of her teeth clink, clink, clinking between weeping and gagging sounds. Black streams now trailed down her cheekbones through her hairline. “Oooh, eeeaase, oh.”

He spit on his hand and pushed two long fingers into her ass. She bucked against her restraints as the will began to leave her eyes. When she'd lubed the glass tube to his liking, he began teasing her ass with the bulbous threat. He leaned in and licked the sweat from her cheek and pushed his little pets’ cage deep into her tightness. Her screams only fueled his pumping as he fucked her with the tube. The makeshift dildo slipped in and out, in and out. With two fingers, he pushed into her pussy and hooked them up and rubbed. Her body betrayed her with more slickness with each come here motion.

He positioned himself between her legs. Drinking in the mess before him, he pulled his pets from their dark assault and set them aside. Her breathing was ragged. “Not just yet, little slut.”

He teased her clit and blood-swelled lips with the head of his leaking cock. He grinned and slapped her sloppy pussy, savoring the sweet smell of fear mingling with their sex. She began to thrash and weep as he plunged inside. Pump, pump, pumping the inevitability of his lesson inside her. He reached for his pets.

Pop.

The cork removed and she went rigid as he continued to thrust. Her hole gripping tighter, he said, “My pets would like to play, too, little girl.”

He emptied her vilest fears onto her pale belly. She screamed and flailed as he held her down by her hips. Dozens of eight-legged freaks tickle-fucked her skin and spread across her abdomen. He grunted as she cried and convulsed on his thick cock. He watched as his pets trailed over her nipples, while others sought the warmth of her smooth, shiny mound.

He sped with commanding force toward his own end. She begged, “P-p-please, I-I'm sorry, I won’t…” With her plea, he thrust one final time and shot his load deep inside her. His hot streams filling her hole as he fell apart and his sweat trickled on her face. He stood and watched as his panicked, tiny demons now crawled about them both. Slipping out of his soft, dripping prize, he watched as she lay there, filled with his apparent lesson. His pets enjoyed the warmth of her ruined cunt.

Her silence and tears pleased him greatly. One by one, he gathered his frantic monsters from her and carefully returned them to the box. Her face nestled in her arm, she continued to sob and shake. He ran his rough hand the length of her body, resting at her breast. Trailing kisses up her arm, he leaned in and whispered ominously, “I wonder what lesson you’ll need tomorrow, my mouthy little girl."

Actually, don't. I bite. But there are other buttons I like, and since I'm slightly OCD about certain things, I need them to match. I couldn't find a Prose button for my website, so I was forced to make one. Look what you did, Prose; you forced me to do something. Ugh.

I got my buttons now, though.

:)

"Dance with me." The man extends his hand.

With a blush, the girl looks away from the breathtaking view of the city, and she lets him sweep her off her feet. They dance in the darkness of the mountains to a song that goes unheard. She can't place him, but she's seen him before. She's certain of it.

"Something's troubling you," he murmurs.

She nods, peering up at him. "Who are you?"

He smirks faintly. A knowing twist of his lips. He knows something she doesn't. Is that it? He knows what's troubling her. As of late, she keeps seeing destruction everywhere. Disease, death. It's in what people eat, the air they breathe, the political matters on which they vote, the water they drink, and in every indulgence.

"We're destroying ourselves," she says quietly. "We're dying."

He twirls her once, then brings her close to his body. "Are you destroying yourself?"

The girl averts her eyes, biting her lip. Is she? She's doing her best to quit her vices, but maybe the progress is too slow. Life makes her happy, and she wants to do everything in her power to enjoy the little time she has on this planet. A trickle of anxiousness seeps in, and she vows to work harder. Life is too short.

"I'm trying not to," is her honest answer.

"That's a good girl." The man sways them gently. "But you should know, my dear." He presses a kiss to her temple. "Death...will always dance with life."

"We dreamed way too much."

"There's nothing wrong with dreaming."

They always spoke different languages.

"I didn't say there was." She looked away, exhausted, done.

His hands covered my eyes. "No peeking." The grin in his voice made me smile, and I bit my lip. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah." I swallowed my nervous butterflies. The wind was Irish, strong and unpredictable. I'd waited for this. I'd read about this. I'd seen…more photos than I could count.

Then I got to experience it with my own eyes as his hands fell away, and it was breathtaking and scary and exhilarating and, and, and I couldn’t find my words. We're so small. The expansive cliffs shot up from the ocean, the sight sucking the air from my lungs. Grassy hills so green that my senses needed time to adjust. My body did the talking. Tears welled up, and my grin was so wide.

Cliffs of Moher.

Far, far below, the waves were crashing soundlessly against the cliff walls. The wind whooshed back and forth, sending my hair flying in every direction. It was love at first sight. Struck mute and unable to contain my emotions, I let out a happy squeal behind my hands, and I stiffened from sheer excitement.

He was watching me with a knowing smile. "Come here." He hugged me to him, a warm and tight squeeze. "You see now?"

I nodded, remembering his words.

"Living life like this…you live the words you read. Travel to learn, learn so you can understand, experience so you can share the story and do it justice. Don't spend your entire life working on one chapter."

Pushing past gaggles of Valley girls, musicians, and their entourages, I found the lawn mostly empty of rich partygoers. The terrace was full, as were the pool and the hot tub. Everyone was having an awesome time. So was I.

A smile graced my lips, and I held out my arms and tilted my face up. I danced and danced and danced, and then spun around until laughter broke free, until the bright colors were back.

This is how life is supposed to be.

The massive garden was bathed in joy, and I lost my balance while trying to strip off my denim overall shorts. One strap got free before I landed in the soft grass.

My fingers played on invisible piano keys in front of me, the night sky as the only background. Black and blue against purple and orange. The lights of LA painted a spectacle in the smog.

Keep the nightmares away from me, Mr. Smog.

I giggled at myself.

"Hey. Tiny dancer."

I turned my head, a piece of grass tickling my ear, and I smiled. "That’s a good song."

Hands down the pockets of his black, faded jeans, he stared at me with amusement in his eyes, looking like some rock star. I admired the ink covering his arms. He had some on his neck too, where it met dark, short, unkempt hair. Hottie.

I stopped playing piano in the heavens. "Hi."

He did this little twist with his lips, like he wanted to smirk but decided against it. "Hey."

"Have you heard the legend of why there aren't any stars in LA?" I asked.

He sat down next to me and lit a cigarette. "Nope. Let's hear it."

I closed my eyes and grinned. "The legend goes, for every star that’s born in the movie and music industry, a star in the sky dies. At some point, there were too many stars in Hollywood, so now the sky is mourning. There are no real stars left."

He chuckled, a low and warm sound. "You made that shit up."

"As if!" I beamed back at him, and the patio lights hit me right there. It turned him into a silhouette. "Okay, I did. Was it believable?"

"Not for someone who's sober."

"Why are you sober?"

"I just got here. My buddies were talking about you, so I figured I'd do you a solid and advise you to stay away."

"That’s nice of you. Are they assholes?"

He laughed under his breath and shrugged. "Mikey has a thing for semiconscious girls."

Hmm. Asshole, then.

The man looked familiar, though I could be mixing him up with someone else. I left parties to find the next one these days. Too many faces. It was better that way. No one to remember.

"Are you famous?" I wondered.

He lifted a shoulder. "I play guitar in Destruction."

In other words, he was huge. The party was a sendoff for Path of Destruction, a good-luck and a slap on the ass for a good tour. If I wasn't mistaken, they'd just had their first concert before this party.

I nodded and turned toward the sky again. "Good for you, fortunate son."

Get the reference.

"I'm not going off to war."

Thank you.

"Neither was the fortunate son." I smiled. The rock star gave me a bit of hope this lovely evening. Good music was getting lost in the sea of post-grunge and bubblegum pop.

"Touché." He was amused again. "Fan of Creedence?"

"Fan of anything that isn't played here, basically." The colors were fading, indicating my buzz was about to say goodbye. That made me sad. It meant I had to face reality, and I couldn’t do that. "One might think a party for rock stars would play better music."

I needed my escapes. A constant string of them.

I threw the rock star a glance and bit my lip. He probably had all the access…

"Can I come with you?" I asked casually. "On tour, I mean. When are you leaving, again?"

I had nothing to my name except a backpack I kept at a friend's place. I could leave in an hour.

The surprised look on his face was priceless. This could be fun. For me—maybe not for him, and if he wasn’t tempted, I'd have to crank it up a notch. Because the more I thought about it, the more I itched for this to happen. Who knew, perhaps getting away from LA would fix me.

Men like it when you don't want it.

"I mean, I wouldn’t sleep with you," I tossed out flippantly.

Lying through my teeth.

That crashed and burned. He didn’t see a challenge. "Don't worry, I don’t fuck twelve-year-olds."

"Ouch." Except, it didn’t hurt at all. "I'm eighteen, numbnuts." I sat up in the grass, my hair spilling down my front. "What about you, Gramps?"

"What's this, Twenty Questions?" he drawled. "I'm twenty-nine, and do you know what's expected of chicks who—scratch that. Do you even know what to do with a cock?"

"I suck it like a lollipop." I showed my palms, a lazy grin on my face. "Sorry, no virtue to protect."

He merely laughed, and I bit my lip and scrunched my nose.

So…? Was he gonna let me tag along? A girl had to know.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Adeline."

He nodded and stood up. "The bus will be at the Beverly Wilshire. In the unlikelihood that you don't change your mind, be there at seven AM and ask for Lincoln. Your name will be on the list."

He started walking away while I did a little shimmy in the grass. Fuck yes, I was going on tour. More importantly, I was leaving the West Coast! That made me giggle, but I stopped when I had another question.

"Who's Lincoln?" I called after him.

He flicked his cigarette into the pool. "The guy whose cock you'll suck like a lollipop."