Giving Away by Lola King

CHAPTER 1

‘Welcome to the room of people

Who have rooms of people that they loved one day’

Heathens – Twenty One Pilots

Rose

The pounding in my head is what wakes me up. Where am I again? What happened? I take a few seconds to trace back my night before I even think of opening my eyes.

-Getting ready for the ball

-Sam’s text

-Paying a visit to his distributors on the North Shore of the Falls

-Missing the ball for some sort of house party

-Chris’ incessant phone calls

-Heading back to Sam’s flat in Silver Falls

-Jake’s calls and–

“For fuck’s sake, stop listing shit so early in the morning,” I mumble to myself, finally opening my heavy eyelids.

There’s an arm resting around my waist, and I know from the light weight of it that it’s the girl that was in the car with Sam and I last night. I’m on my side, facing her way and when I can finally see clearly, I realize her head is nestled against my collarbone, her long blond hair tickling my chest. Emma. She was at the party in NSF. There’s a heavier arm coming from behind me, one that definitely doesn’t belong to a girl. The stranger’s arm is right between my breasts, his hand tangled in Emma’s hair.

Last night was a fucking mess. The number of lines I did with Carlo and Roy Diaz flash in my mind and I instinctively bring two fingers to my nose, grazing my nostrils before checking the tips. No blood.

“We’ll take that as a win,” I gratingly whisper to make myself feel slightly better.

I push away from the girl and move both arms away from me, getting up, not making the slightest effort to not wake them up. In fact, I’m doing the exact opposite. They both stir awake as I step out of the bed to find my clothes. I grab my sweater from the floor, then my pants to retrieve my phone, not bothering to put them on. I turn back to the two on the bed, now only wearing my grey sweater and panties.

“Morning, gorgeous,” the guy says to me, stretching on the bed, smiling like the cat who got the cream when he sees both me and then Emma slowly waking up next to him. “And morning, gorgeous,” he tells her.

“Ugh,” I roll my eyes. This is fucking shit. I should have never let him join us. Straight guys desperate to finally have a threesome with gay girls are the worst.

What is his name? I don’t know, meaning I didn’t ask him. Otherwise, I would know. I don’t forget, ever. A curse more than anything else.

“Time to wrap this up,” I grumble at him. Emma is already getting dressed. Smart girl doesn’t need me to tell her to leave, she already knows. The fucker on the bed is clearly a little slower to understand.

I try to check my phone, but it’s dead. Shit. Jake is going to kill me. I can’t believe I didn’t make it back home to blow out our candles together. I really fucking hate myself right now. Chris is also going to kill me for disappearing on him and not giving a single sign that I’m alive.

I’ll handle them later.

First, I need to get home.

I grab my pack of cigarettes in my jeans just to find it empty. I look around the room and see a pack of Newports on the bedside table. They’re disgusting but it’s better than no nicotine at all.

-Menthol cigarettes

-Introduced in 1957

-Owned by–

‘Shut the fuck up. Seriously, shut the fuck up,’ I think to myself.

I grab one and turn back to my special guests.

“See you soon, Emma,” I tell her as I grab my glasses on the floor. At what point did I even take out my contacts? I give a look to the guy, who finally is getting the hint.

I walk to the bedroom door and as soon as I open it, I see the door across the hallway open as well. My traitorous heart skips a beat, like every time it senses Sam around, but I keep my face blank. He’s standing tall, opening the door to his own one-night stand.

I lean against the door frame of the bedroom I’m in, try my phone again as if it would now turn on by some miracle and when it doesn’t, I cross my arms. Sam imitates me, crossing his muscular, tattooed arms across his chest and looking at me with that seriousness of his. He’s wearing black jeans and nothing else. Tattoos covering defined muscles, my tongue subconsciously wets my lips when my eyes fall on his pierced nipples. Having never slept with Sam, that’s the worst fuckery life has ever thrown at me. A constant tease, always short of attainable.

Sam’s eyes leave my face to watch as anonymous guy slides past me to leave. His gaze is dark. I want to say it’s jealousy, but it really fucking isn’t, sadly. That’s just how his gaze is; his eyes are so black they constantly look like they’re sucking at your soul.

I see a man squeezing past Sam to leave his bedroom. Looks like he had his own share of fun last night. I don’t miss the dotted bruise around the stranger’s neck. The British dickhead is quiet during the day and lets out steam at night. Preferably on men who welcome his brand of violence.

“Call me,” the tall, skinny stranger whispers to Sam. I watch him walk down the hallway on his way out.

Lucky cunt, I think before mentally slapping myself for drooling over Sam.

Our gazes meet again, across the hallway from each other, leaning on our respective door frames.

Emma walks out of the room, squeezing my waist and going on her toes to drop a kiss on my cheek but doesn’t say anything.

Sam looks at her, back at me and rolls his eyes. I want to laugh at his hypocrisy when a girl has to squeeze past him to leave his bedroom. Oh, this is just gold. I was wondering how far we could push each other.

Quite far apparently.

Once Emma and that last girl have left, he looks at me from head to toe and back up before addressing me. “Should I expect anyone else to come out of my guest bedroom?”

“I’m done if you are,” I reply with a smile. I put the Newport between my lips and look down at it as I bring the lighter to the tip. I don’t have to look up to know he’s crossed the hallway, his scent is already sending butterflies into panic mode in my stomach.

He grabs the cigarette from me, slowly.

“Not inside,” he orders in his low voice.

I roll my eyes before looking up at him. Fuck he’s tall. He’s so fucking tall compared to me and I’m five foot ten so I know what I’m talking about.

He tucks the cigarette in his back pocket and offers me what I know he considers a smile: a slight pull at the corner of his lips.

“Happy Birthday, Rose.”

I look into the black pools that are his eyes, allowing myself to get lost for a few seconds.

“I need to charge my phone,” I reply.

“You need to get home. Go get ready, I’m driving you back.” He turns around and walks back into his room, shutting the door on me.

We’re probably about ten minutes from my house when his phone pings, and his mood changes drastically. I mean, he’s always a serious dick, but not as much with me. Granted he’s usually in a mood when he has to drive me back – probably all that guilt for taking me away from a fairly normal life – but today he is especially moody, his eyes constantly checking his phone, careful that I don’t see the screen.

After a second ping he brakes suddenly, muttering a ‘shit’. He texts something back. Another ping, a mumbled ‘fuck’ and he turns the car around.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

He doesn’t reply, focusing on not getting us crushed in-between two cars.

“Care to explain why you’re being extra dickish today?” I insist.

“Care to explain why you have threesomes in my apartment?” he snaps back.

“You have threesomes in your apartment, no one complains about it.” I turn slightly to show him the mocking smile that has settled on my lips.

“It’s my place, I’m an adult, I can do whatever the fuck I want. I’m not some seventeen-year-old desperately trying to catch anyone’s attention.”

I bark out a laugh at his weak attempt to hurt me. “Someone’s sex must have been disappointing last night. Maybe try being a bottom?” I put my left hand on the small of his back and slide it to his back pocket. “A good dicking would help with all that frustration. It definitely helped me last night.”

“Rose,” he threatens in a low voice. He’s about to grab my hand but I retreat, holding the cigarette he had put at the back of his black jeans.

He doesn’t add anything, instead getting deeper in his broodiness. I roll my eyes and open the window on my side before lighting up the cigarette.

“Throw that fag away.” He grabs the cigarette and throws it out of the window.

“Sam! What the fuck is wrong with you today?” He’s starting to get on my nerves. He smokes like the fucking chimney of a nuclear plant and blackmails me into doing petty jobs for him, and now he wants to get on my back for threesomes and a cigarette?

He checks his phone again and runs a tattooed hand in his black hair. I decide to ignore him and plug my phone into the car. He eyes it suspiciously before focusing back on the road.

“Stop being weird,” I order.

It only takes us a minute or so to park on a street I’ve never been to before.

“We need to stop here. It’ll only be a minute.”

“Really?” I know he sees the anger in my eyes when I turn to him. “Didn’t I do enough fucking stops yesterday?”

“Yeah, well, it’s urgent.”

He goes silent again and I know there’s something he’s not telling me, but I let it slide.

I check the street; rows of rundown, small cottages and I have to do a double take.

“Are we in Stoneview?” I look outside his window and then the back window. Something isn’t right. I saw the sign that says ‘Welcome to Stoneview’ but I’ve never been to this part of town. It’s not North Shore of the Falls poor, but it’s definitely not Stoneview rich. Our town is a sheer contrast to NSF, where trailer parks and rundown bungalows are the best one will find. This is…in the middle?

Sam ignores my question as he gets out of the car.

Shit. Something really is wrong. He’s got his public personality on and I’ve got that terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. The same that used to live in me rent free before we moved to Stoneview.

I swallow the lump in my throat and put my brave face on. I just have to.

One stop and home, I keep repeating to myself as I grab my phone and open the car door, jumping out of his jeep. I finally manage to turn my phone on, but the piece of shit isn’t showing anything on the screen yet, taking ages to catch up with notifications, so I slip it in my back pocket.

Sam has stopped just in front of four steps that lead to one of the cottages. I catch up with him and it takes him a beat before he looks at me.

“Do you trust me?” he asks. Images of the number of times he’s asked me that flash in my mind.

When I was a child, it was always yes. ‘Yes, I trust you’. Yes, I’ll follow blindly like the fucking stupid, naïve kid I am. Since he’s barged back into our lives like a loose cannon, that answer changed. He wouldn’t know that though, because he hasn’t asked. He’s been here for a couple of months and hasn’t had the need to ask me. So why now?

“What are you doing, Sam? You better not be fucking me over.”

“Do you, Rose? Do you trust me?”

“What are you hiding?” My voice is low, vibrating at the bottom of my throat, giving it that huskiness everyone loves so much.

He gives up on getting an answer and takes the steps to the front porch. He waits until I’m right behind him to ring the bell.

I know I fucked up when, once he has rang, he takes a step back to stand behind me. He’s making sure I don’t turn around and leave, he’s making sure I’m stuck between him and whatever is behind that door. I know something is wrong when the phone in my back pocket won’t stop vibrating. Notifications after notifications make it go off non-stop.

I don’t have time to grab it, the door is already open.