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It’s totally hot and conflicting all at the same time.

  Chapter 12

  Once a party girl, always a party girl…

  The next night is Jasmine’s birthday, so we go clubbing.

  We meet Crystal from work, Jasmine’s cousin Michelle, and two other school friends of hers. We’re all eager for a few drinks and fun night out to celebrate.

  I’m still a party girl, but in saying that, I have totally settled from what I was like two years ago. I mean three pills in one night was average back then. Bit wild and crazy.

  Even twelve months ago, I would pop two—never doing things by halves.

  Now that I’m getting older—and possibly more mature since I’m holding down a steady job—I honestly find the thought of still being out of it or coming down scary.

  My job is similar to being a doctor or a nurse. I have animals to look after; there can be high risks involved—blood pressure can drop and so can oxygen levels. I need to be coherent, and the effects from a Saturday night can still be around on Monday.

  So, these days I have a fortnightly rule.

  Party drugs on weekends only, only one night. Unlimited drinks, but I like to think I’m no longer that messy chick I was in my early twenties. I have more decency. Most nights.

  I also have a full detox during the week, although mind you, the Thursday night I met Dan I totally broke that rule. Rules were meant to be broken, except my no strings one …

  One thing I love about clubbing … well actually, there’s more than one thing I love.

  But my favourite part is dressing up. Tonight’s outfit is a short black skirt, black knee-high boots, and a coral-coloured singlet top with maximum cleavage.

  My hair is up in a messy bun, and my make-up is dark and sultry. I like to dress up for myself. To make myself feel sexy and beautiful. It’s not about the men or trying to compete with other women; it’s for my confidence.

  Well, sure, my style is a little seductive, but I guess that’s what makes me me …

  I’m not your pencil skirt or suit-wearing type. I love skinny jeans and miniskirts, but I sure do love a good gym day in leggings or tights. I’m a mixed bag.

  It’s all about feeling feminine in a skirt or dress, and well, damn, I have nice legs, so why the hell shouldn’t I show them off?

  I skilfully apply a red lipstick that matches my dark outfit and top.

  Who wants to look the same every time they go out? Not me.

  I get bored with the same hairstyle, make-up colours, and lipstick, so I mix it up all the time. Heels, boots, flats, all of the above, jewellery and body art—nothing is too much. Well, sure, less is more, but just sometimes more can be perfect.

  I’m totally not looking to pick up tonight. I’m well sexed up; between Dan and the Rock, I’m a happy woman. God, I’m a little greedy, actually having both those hot guys.

  It’s not like they’re both mine, though; neither one is, and I like it that way.

  I am pretty certain the Rock would have other girls over on a regular basis. I remember one slut in particular, Suzie or Stacey or something.

  I remember him saying she kept stalking him. Don’t they realise how pathetic it makes them look? Do they have no shame?

  Jasmine, Roxy, Tia, and I are having a ball. The others are ordering more drinks at the bar as we dance. The music is sensational; it echoes loudly as the bass vibrates through the speakers. Over the next hour, we devour numerous drinks and continue to move our bodies to the awesome tunes. The best part is that my abs are hurting from the laughter. We end up giggling hysterically when Jasmine imitates jazz hands from our favourite movie, Bring it On. Others on the dance floor must think we are a little nuts.

  “Four Malibu and pineapple juices, please,” I order at the bar with Tia by my side. The bartender fills the order, and as I turn to head back to the others, I sense him before I see him. God, I wonder if his ears were burning with my earlier thoughts.

  His shirt is as tight as buggery, showing off every toned inch of his biceps and ripped torso; he is so robust and rugged I can’t help but stare. His is grinning widely; he is as cocky as hell and seriously shows it. I know why all the chicks in here are looking his way.

  Sexually, we’re like magnets to each other. Without him actually touching me, I feel clammy in his presence; it’s the wicked thoughts of previous encounters. What those hands are capable of, oh, and that tongue …

  “What the fuck, Ryan?” I hear a high-pitched female voice scream, snapping me out of my naughty thoughts. What, he can’t even talk to another girl without getting in trouble?

  Oh God, here we go.

  I look at Tia, and she rolls her eyes, knowing all too well what is unfolding in front of us.

  I let out a deep breath and roll my eyes in frustration at the Rock as he frowns, looking a little pissed at whoever is calling out to him in that tone.

  It’s blonde Barbie. She seriously looks like a walking plastic surgery ad—all bimbo, no brains.

  Oh, joy she is coming towards us.

  She must be the stalker he has talked about, Suzie or Stacey or something slutty.

  “Back off, Stacey, we aren’t exclusive,” he tells her quite loudly, and her face drops.

  Ha-ha, that’s strike one, whore …

  I giggle to myself and just stand there watching the show. I don’t feel jealous—why should I? No strings.

  “See ya, Jem,” he announces, winking at me as he walks past us over to the bar.

  She turns to look at me and shoots daggers. If looks could kill …

  I just laugh and turn my attention back to my girls. Men!

  “You know how to pick them, Jem,” Tia declares, and I shake my head, laughing.

  “That is the exact reason I stay single; it’s less complicated,” I shout over the music.

  I spend the next hours dancing my butt off; it’s euphoric and gives me such a rush. Nothing better as I sway my hips and enjoy being young and free.

  “Damn, girlfriend, home at three, was a ffffantastic night.” I slur my words as Roxy and I stumble into the apartment.

  “You are soooo funny, Jemma-wemma,” Roxy replies, and we snicker and then eventually roar with laughter.

  Eventually, we both pass out in my bed, a regular occurrence.

  When the sun’s unwelcome rays wake me, I have a raging headache. It takes some Nurofen, water, and a quick shower to feel a little more human.

  I wake Roxy to do the same then we put on our PJs and sleep the day away.

  Early dinner of a nice greasy burger from the chicken shop around the corner and hot chips, and we are right as rain.

  “That burger was sensational,” I declare, skolling a bottle of water. The dehydration of a hangover is ridiculous.

  “Yep, it was perfect,” Roxy agrees as we collapse on the lounge for more sloth-like relaxing.

  ***

  Dan texts me three days after our dinner. I try to refrain from smiling when I see his name, but honestly, it was a nice surprise.

  I enjoy his humorous banter, amongst other things.

  Dan:

  I can't seem to get the other night off my mind.

  Me:

  That's because the food was so good.

  Dan:

  After the food, dessert was better.

  Me:

  Oh yeah, that part was nice.

  Dan:

  It was sensational. But honestly, just having you in my company for the night was all I needed.

  I'm thinking we have dinner again or movies?

  Wow, he is definitely a charmer. I can’t manage a serious reply, though.

  Me:

  Let's just skip to dessert.

  Dan:

  Come to the movies with me and I’ll buy you dessert after.

  Me:

  Sounds kinky.

  Dan:

  Only you could turn that into something sexual.

  Me:

  Haven’t you figured me out yet?

  Dan:
<
br />   You, Jemma, are the hardest one yet to figure out. Care to give me any clues to your Bermuda triangle?

  Me:

  No clues. No strings, either. Just fun.

  Dan:

  I can do fun; can’t we have a few strings? Start small and add more as we go? Can you meet me halfway?

  I really don’t want to get into it, but I’m intrigued.

  Me:

  What do you mean by a few strings?

  Dan:

  Well, for one, I’m only seeing you. Is that the same with you?

  Crap.

  Here we go …

  I don’t know what to write; do I lie or tell him the truth?

  This is none of his business, actually.

  Dan:

  Okay, so by you going quiet, I’m guessing you are seeing someone else?

  Me:

  I’m not seeing anyone, not even you.

  Like I keep saying, no strings.

  Means no relationship, no questions, only fun.

  Dan:

  Okay.

  Me:

  Maybe movies aren’t such a good idea.

  Dan:

  Don’t you want a little more than just sex sometimes, Jemma?

  I know it all seems to freak you out.

  Am I not good enough? Maybe the other guy is a better suit?

  Me:

  You are definitely good enough.

  More than enough … I guess it’s me.

  Right now, I’m not capable of more. I don’t know any different, and honestly, I’m happy this way.

  Dan:

  Okay.

  Me:

  I’m picking you up this time for the movies. No arguing, it’s the twenty-first century. I have a car, and I can drive.

  Dan:

  Yes, ma’am.

  Me:

  Finally, you are learning that agreeing with me is your best option.

  Dan:

  For now, Jemma.

  For now …

  Chapter 13

  Scars

  We all have scars. Some are visible on the outside—on your skin from a cut or wound, an accident, or stitches. A disfigurement or blemish.

  Other scars are only on the inside.

  From being hurt, possibly bullied, belittled, used, or abused.

  Some people are better at hiding their scars than others. Like me, for example. My tough exterior is a wall to keep the soft interior guarded and safe.

  You wouldn't even know half the people who hold their scars close to their hearts; they conceal away the truth and hide their pain.

  I have emotional scarring from a past relationship. Even all these years later, it was the only relationship I’ve ever had. It fucking hurt me deeply, so I’ve put up a barrier to stop my heart from getting hurt again.

  The thing with scars is that they are a forever reminder of something that happened.

  You can let your scars rule you ... or you can do your best to learn from your mistakes and use your scars as a lesson. You control your own destiny; your scars don't have to define you.

  Easier said than done.

  ***

  Wednesday night with a glass of wine—breaking the detox rule—I find myself going through old photos.

  I have one left of me and the ex-boyfriend; the others I burnt the day he cheated. We were such a good-looking couple. Damn.

  Seeing his face brings back the pain and anguish. God knows why I kept this one. I place it facedown and keep digging for others.

  High school photos are hilarious since so much has changed. I laugh at the outdated clothes styles, and oh God, the hair was terrible.

  But then like an unwelcome flood, the photos bring back so many memories—heartbreak, agony, feeling unworthy, and unwanted.

  Like any other teenage girl, I hated high school.

  I felt out of place. Where did I fit in? I wasn’t gorgeous, skinny, smart, or athletic.

  I was average.

  The smart groups hung together, the cool kids smoked out the back, and the sporty kids played sports.

  I never really had a clique or group that I was part of. I loved music, as I still do, so I would sit with my headphones in and become lost in the power of music.

  Not belonging can be hurtful.

  You sometimes don’t realise you are being bullied, but when you are isolated and excluded, picked last for teams, laughed at for giving the wrong answer, teased for liking a boy, embarrassed by tripping over in the quadrangle … it’s all a form of bullying.

  Then the peer pressure to smoke, kiss a boy, wag classes, steal clothes that you can’t afford to fit in with the richer kids, cheat on tests.

  It’s endless.

  It’s so confusing, and it all hurts.

  When your school counsellor hits on you, it confuses you a hell of a lot more. Seems all guys want is in a girl’s pants.

  Awkward.

  When you find out that the guy you love with all your heart, your first everything, cheats on you, it’s earth shattering.

  But you pick up the pieces.

  The next guy I crushed on kissed me and then deserted me and moved on to another girl in my year. More hurt, more feelings of inadequacy.

  Well, at least he dumped her pretty quick too; made me feel a little better.

  That was the start of my and Roxy's beautiful friendship. She was the other girl.

  When we both realised it was his loss, not ours, and that we actually had a lot in common, we became inseparable.

  We got into all kinds of mischief together. But I swear, from the moment she started at our school, my life changed. She helped me realise none of it will matter later in life.

  High school is six years, adulthood is around sixty.

  When the school counsellor gets fired for hitting on his students ... well, karma does go full circle sometimes.

  Once you get into a rhythm, it becomes easier, but honestly, six years is a long time to see the same faces; it weeds out the weak, who leave. Friendships change numerous times.

  Except my and Roxy’s, ours stayed strong.

  Teenagers are totally misunderstood. We are still treated like children but expected to act like adults. I was over the moon to finally graduate and leave.

  I’ll never forget how Roxy and I had each other’s backs and always supported each other.

  We both wrote the boys’ names and numbers on the toilet walls who hurt us, cheated on us, or treated us like crap. Call for a good time …

  I heard that he had twenty calls in one night, and his parents took his phone away; that made us smile. You can have all the girls you like, manwhore …

  We both were grounded for two weeks after the principal called our parents when we were busted smoking on school grounds. Neither of us took up the habit; it was just cool so we tried it.

  Being a teenage girl is so much harder than being a teenage boy.

  Girls are bitches. They start rumours, criticise, and judge. We have to deal with insane hormones, periods, and cramps. Moods and pimples, wearing make-up, doing our hair.

  Boys are mean to you because they like you, but who is ever going to like someone who is mean to you?

  I guess it’s the alpha male. We all like a little Christian Grey telling us what to do but not too extreme.

  They make lists about who is the prettiest, ugliest, and best kisser.

  When you get older, you just want to go back in time and slap yourself.

  None of it matters; just do your time and get on with the start of adulthood.

  It’s so frustrating.

  I guess it’s all about growing up, maturing, and learning from your mistakes …

  I love that I can look back and see how far I have come. I am Jemma Donovan, twenty-five years old with an awesome apartment, great car, career that I love, and I can honestly say that I love my life.

  I’ve moved forward and excelled from that confused high school girl to a mature woman with my whole life ahead of me.

  Chapter 14


  Walk of Shame...

  We've all done it, right?

  That “just fucked” look. Make-up smudged, hair a mess—well, only if you got under him. On top is best for keeping the hair styled.

  Counting on my fingers and toes the amount of one-nighters I've had.

  So, the walk of shame is a regular occurrence. Sneaking out of a shared house is always a little embarrassing. I just take it on the chin and walk out with confidence.

  God, I think back to some of the one-night stands …

  The “is it in yet” guy

  So small you can't feel it and literally wonder if his cock is inside you.

  “Taught me a few things” guy

  New positions, angles, and that thrust ... Daayaam he knew how to use it, and it felt sensational. I kept his number and hooked up a few times until he moved interstate.

  The “talk dirty to me” guy

  Telling a girl to yell obscenities at you during sex is not hot and dirty. It's creepy and confronting. Calling you daddy is not ever acceptable.

  Sometimes, I feel that I should write a “what not to do” handbook. Some guys have no fucking shame; they obviously grew up without a sister or mother figure and say the most inappropriate and fucked up things. Have some R.E.S.P.E.C.T.

  Telling me after sex “it's time to leave, honey” will get you sack whacked.

  I know it was a one-night stand; trust me, I had every intention of bailing, you rude, arrogant asshole.

  What's the go with pushing down our heads when we are giving you a blow job? Pet peeve of mine. You do this, I will bite, and it won’t be pleasurable. We don’t want to choke and gag on your cock. Deep throating is a bonus for you, not a something you are entitled to.

  Telling me to “suck it” will most likely end without me doing it. I’m not a dog that has to obey you. I do it because I enjoy being in charge; it’s a good feeling, pleasuring someone, but not if you think you have a God-given right to it.

  Replying to another girl’s text or phone call. Disrespectful and rude. Guys, seriously.

  Lying on Tinder or an online dating site. Like hello, if you say you are gorgeous and six-foot and you turn up fat, short, and covered in acne, I’m not sticking around for the main course.

  It’s more than a white lie; it’s deceitful and not cool. I could continue for hours and hours.