11 | 𝑃𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝐿𝑎𝑑𝑦

I was on the verge of passing out and if not on the verge, I sure felt like it. Yet, I never moved, I didn't even flinch. I was frozen in a stance of bafflement as the man stood proudly in the entryway.

"Dinner!" my mom yelled a bit more frustratingly from the kitchen. "Riyah!" She began ordering, her thrumming steps were heard in the distance, but muted the second that she stepped foot into the living room. Her breath hitched, the tension raised in the air and I couldn't tell how long it's been of me standing there. "Reed," she curtly greeted, swallowing thickly.

"Jessica," he breathed out, "Azariah," he added in his exhale, looking between the two of us with such astonishment. "I missed my two girls--"

"We're not your girls," I said sternly. "You lost that privilege when you left."

"Please, Aza," he started with such desperation underlying his words. "I know, I've made a few mistakes--"

This time it wasn't me who spoke, but my mom. She came storming up from behind me, a rage blowing fire around her like a veil blowing in the wind. "A few!?" she repeated. She stood beside, standing tall. "You ruined this family."

"I want to come home," he begged, "I'm ready, I've changed--"

"And I've changed too," rebuked my mother, curling her nails into her fist. "And you're ready for what? To act like a man? To act like a husband? A father? You left!" she charged, her voice straining with every bit of power it took in her system. "Do you realize what you have done?"

"I'm trying to change!" he cried out, "Give me a chance, Jess! I want to watch our daughter grow up--"

"She is growing up just fine without a father figure," retorted my mom, her words strong and sending. A course of memories flooded through me at those words.

"We haven't seen you in ages," she ranted. "Let me guess, the little blonde-headed bunny couldn't put up with your bullshit anymore?" she relayed and I knew she had this practiced for as long as he's been gone. "You don't live here anymore--"

"This house--"

"Is not your home." My mom licked her lips, swallowing back a knot of tears buried in her throat. "Leave, now. You have no business coming unannounced."

"Fine!" He started to raise his voice, beckoning a hand to the siding of the house from his spot on the porch. "But I want to be there."

"Be where, Reed?" she exasperated wearily.

"Be there for our daughter's graduation," he concluded, causing my own gasp to pull from the air, holding onto the oxygen greedily. My eyes stayed level with his chest since he was taller than me by a lot, but I couldn't face his eyes. I was too stubborn to show him my tears.

"Well," started Jessica pointedly, "that's a decision my daughter has to make." She sternly  declared, "get the hell off this property and you can text me, or did you block my number after you left four years ago?" she charged.

He sighed thickly, turning to me with a stare that burned every nerve. He didn't say anything or respond, but slowly began to pivot around, jog down the porch steps and started to an old and deteriorating car out by the curb.

The world was too happy for a moment like this, a moment that happened so fast.

My mom closed the door shortly, but when the hinge clicked into place it resounded through the house and then I watched as her back slammed against the front door. Tears welled in her squeezed shut eyes, the weight of every burden dragging her unhurriedly down to the ground and she fell to the floorboards, her knees to her chest, head in her arm. She cried all the rain droplets in every rainstorm that's happened since he'd left.

I followed her side, seating myself beside her, knees to my chest, our bodies adjacent and staring into the living room. There was nothing but her choked up, vibrating hiccups between wails.

Losing someone is hard, but losing your expectations of someone is harder.

♡♡♡

Maybe I was in the wrong for not intervening with my mom, or maybe I was in the wrong for going to school the very next day and ignoring everybody, even Sullivan who asked how I was doing with finding movie ideas for our project, I brushed it off, and continued on my way. I knew that everything would sort itself out eventually, but that was no reason why I couldn't have my own pity party.

Kayla noticed my quiet minutes of staring into space, but didn't bother trying to brighten my mood. She knew that when I got in a few downcast episodes, they lasted no longer than a day or two, then I was back to my usual giddy and Sullivan-obsessed self.

When Saturday came, I was almost having to drag myself to wake up, to get changed, and be ready for when Victor picked me up. I told Kayla and Jay about inviting Victor, though Victor still hadn't given me a finalized answer,

Kayla was screaming practically all of the lunch period and I bet she was still screaming by time her next damn class came around.

I wore skinny black jeans that hugged my legs nicely, I appeared taller when I wore them, and the additive of my brown leather boots added two more inches at least. I paired that with an ivory cream colored strapless halter top. I also sported my worn light wash denim jacket, tying my russet blonde highlighted hair into an elastic, a classic high pony.

I had a rustic red and brown crossbody bag that laid along my chest, clutched in my hand as I jogged down the front lawn towards Victor's jeep. I pulled open the door, falling into the passenger side, and hearing the reverberating music blasting through his speakers at full volume. Assaulting my ears eagerly.

"What are we listening to?" I rebuked, slamming the doors close. He shot me a petrified expression forging his foot onto the gas and rolling furthest away at lighting speed.

"It's Billy Joel, Love!" he yelled over the music, then shouting to the lyrics.

He was so incredibly happy, it made me smile instinctually. His mood swings were gonna be the death of me one day.

"We didn't start the fire! It was always burning! Since the world's been turning!"

He drummed his fingers repeatedly over the wheel to the drum. "Sing along!" he urged when the chorus was approaching again.

I shook my head repetitively, but when the base started picking up, vibrating the car. He smacked my shoulder gently, egging me on with the wind slamming on our faces in his top down jeep.

When Billy Joel began singing the chorus, I joined Victor as we screamed at the top of our lungs, the lyrics, "We didn't start the fire! It was always burning! Since the world's been turning! We didn't start the fire! But when we are gone will it still burn on and on and on and on!"

The song began to dim and he finally stretched whilst approaching a red light on the highway, lowering the volume on the next song. "Fan of Billy Joel?" I questioned, "I've never really listened to him. More into Bon Jovi."

"Good choice," he appraised, shaking his head proudly. "Most of the girls I know usually never have heard of good music or watched good movies. I am starting to gain respect for you," he noted, pointing a finger at me. I felt a bit of a blush flare along my cheeks and a churning feeling in my gut.

"Missed you at school today," I teased. "You've been gone for two days in a row."

"It isn't your business--"

"Never asked what you were doing," I retorted truthfully. "Just saying you were missed, especially by Penelope, who has been doing the project by herself--wait! Before I forget, are you going tonight?" I inquired, the shine in my eyes darkening.

He veered down a creepy and darkening alleyway separating off the main road. "Let's see how today goes," he joshed, but I knew he wasn't kidding, especially when he parked along the curb within the darkest parts of town. The brick siding on either side of us creepily washed in shadows of non-existent objects.

When we both hopped out on either side of his dark silver jeep, I walked around the hood to see him waiting for me by the bumper. He beckoned a hand to stay near as we walked along the sidewalk. The graying clouds were creeping over the sky and I only hoped it wouldn't rain, as was everyone who could've been attending the fundraiser later that night.

He neared a glass door with textured, black metal trim. It was very rundown and the neon red open sign that strung behind the glass was flickering. He curled his hand around the handlebar, stepping out of the way as it opened.

Billy Joel was drifting through the speakers, but what startled me was that Victor appeared behind me, exclaiming throughout the store, "you must've known I was coming!"

A rounder man in his fifties shuffled out of the back room. His hair was blond and gray, a thick mullet down to his elbows with a red and black cheetah print headband tied around his forehead. He wore shredded jeans, an AC/DC black t-shirt and with metal bracelets gathering by his wrists.

"Vic!" He threw his hands up before slamming his palm to the register.

I barely had time to notice the eighties band posters decorating the walls, splashing the interior in heavy metal rock n roll bands.

"Philly, tell me why I didn't see you the last time I was here?" Victor arched a brow trepidatiously along his forehead. "Cambria and I were very disappointed."

"Shit!" he cursed, shaking his head and flashing the reflective lip ring. "If you would've told me your sister would be here, I'd fly out in a flash. I was with my best friend, but I did stay an extra day--"

"The fifth?" Victor inquired and the man nodded slowly. Victor jokingly shook his head, and uttered, "Bullshit, better fucking show up," he laughed, causing the man, supposedly Philly, to rifle through his own chuckles.

He beckoned his head to me. "Are you gonna introduce me to your pretty lady yet or leave that to do myself?" His edgy tone caused Victor to throw up his palms in surrender before slinging an arm over my shoulder and yanking me closer into his side. My heart went a million miles an hour, eyes wider than usual as I felt a warmth cradle me in my denim jacket.

Victor held out his free and opposing hand to me. "Philly, meet Azariah, but she goes by Riyah," he explained and I felt a twinge of something, glad he didn't offer up the nickname he called me.

Philly held out a big hand towards me, his dry and sandpaper like grip clutched my outstretched one. He gave my arm a firm shake and pulled his limb away. "Well, Riyah, you go on and I hope you guys find what you like," he beamed, throwing a hand up to the record and music store.

I've never been in one before, but it was a vintage aesthetic dream. The vinyls in their sleeves, placed at random in wooden crates, stacked in rows along ivory metal shelving units. The walls were plastered in colored tapestries, the eighties feeling was flawless.

Victor's arm was still atop my shoulders as we finished our exchange with Philly before another customer came in that he assessed by the register. Victor tugged me into an aisle beneath his arm, the top of my forehead reaching his chin. When a sleeve caught his attention. He flew his arm off me, darting to what he saw as he slipped it out of the stack. "I don't have this one yet, you like the Beatles?"

I hesitated, joining his side, feeling my body up against his own. He wore his typical leather jacket and black ripped jeans. "Not really, but why are we here? I love it, don't get me wrong--"

"To help you--" He cut himself off, and held up an index finger to me. "Philly, this is worth a lot of money, you sure--" As he continued the conversation, he was drifting closer and closer to the register.

I dragged a finger over the wooden crates, picking up a sleeve and staring at the cover of Elvis Presley. When he returned he had a wide smile on his face, looking through more of the crates. "See anything you like?" he pressed.

"I don't have a record player." I laughed, my eyes searching through the dusty wooden boxes inquisitively.

He shot me a look that told me it was a stupid answer. "You'll be over at my house again. Which reminds me--"

"Holy shit," I intervened, my eyes observing over a price tag resting at the corner of a vinyl sleeve. "This costs a bit--"

"So?" he inquired dumbly, turning back to the crates, ignoring it. "You're seeing him tonight which means you have to be prepared," he hurriedly explained. "Remember the six personalities?"

"No--"

"Well, you already have done the damsel in distress... wrong," he uttered with a few chuckles, "That was supposed to be more of, drives you home after you get drunk sort of thing. Like what I did."

"That was his house, how could he drive me home?" I questioned, sharpening my eyes on him.

"An example of that would be keeping an eye on you, making sure you're okay. But besides that, the second one on the list is bad girls--"

"I am not being a bad girl at the fundraiser," I cut short. "Whatever that is--"

"You just have to be confident about seducing him," he explained shortly.

"Seducing? You do realize that I'm about as seductive as a cabbage, right?" I questioned him, catching his attention.

He pivoted on his heel, revealing his arched brow and slight humor modified expression. "Alright," he snapped, beckoning a hand to his band t-shirt. "Try it."

"Try what?" I retorted.

Was he talking about the shirt?

He slowed his words, annunciating the syllables, "try flirting with me."

"W-what-I--uh-" I stammered on every letter of the alphabet with my jaw down to the floor before I whined, "no."

"Seriously?" He supported his arm with a wooden crate and leaned. "Come on, it's only gonna turn me on a little, just try it. Better on me the first time than Corbett," he remarked and he may have had a point.

I stared at him, trying to decipher where to start. That's when I realized he had a fresh piercing on his lip, I wondered if he wore it before. He had the studs in his ears, but I realized the piercing was new. "You have a lip ring," I said.

He sarcastically commented, "Damn, you got a vulgar mouth. I got a boner just thinking about it, you know how to get a guy on."

I shook my head, this was pointless, but I defended myself, "I wasn't--"

"Try again," he urged.

I sighed heavily, looking him up and down, but no words that could possibly be taken seductively appeared in my head. His muscles were toned beneath the fabric of his shirt, but I doubt I could make a flirtatious comment from that.

He suddenly voiced, "can you say something already? You just keep awkwardly staring at me."

"Sorry," I breathed, driving a hand through the strands of my hair belonging to the ponytail. I searched his face, finding his eyes and asking, "Who's your ex? What was she like?"

He rolled his eyes. "I don't know if Corbett's dated a girl before but let's avoid exes."

"No, I'm asking you," I stated, my hand curling around the edge of a crate.

Bon Jovi, "Livin' On A Prayer" came on through the speakers, causing me to smile. He chuckled at my antics, scratching his stomach and causing his shirt to ride up.

"You can't go wrong with Bon Jovi, right?" he casually implored, beginning to turn around and walk down the aisle of records.

My voice was fragile as I said, "don't distract me!" I hurriedly trekked after. "Why did you get a lip piercing? Do you like dating girls who have piercings? How many people have you dated or do you just sleep with them?" I was actually asking him the questions, more-of having a mental breakdown in the middle of the record store.

He spun towards me, eyes training on my petite figure. "You better have a point to this."

"I'm asking you for help with flirting and dating but I don't even know if you're trying to get Sullivan to fall for me or for him to have sex with me," I defined, crossing my arms over my chest.

I watched as his teeth caught a hold of his bottom lip, dragging it back slowly in thought.

Ha. Didn't think I could outsmart ya now, did ya? I feel accomplished.

"Okay," he gave in, grabbing onto my wrist. I gasped in reply to his intense clutch, dragging me towards the back of the record store against the red painted walls beside the 'EXIT.' Though, I surprisingly wasn't scared when he released my grip and deadpanned, "don't be scared."

"What?"

He slammed his body flush up against my own, it was swift and startled me, my back leveled with the wall as I accepted having no way of escaping. Every part of me tingled from the contact, warming with heat and I knew my face camouflaged with the red wall, but it was luckily more shadowed in the back of the store.

He whispered sharply, but genuinely concerned, I could tell by the worry in his eyes. "You okay?" he asked, driving his finger up the grooves of my denim jacket arm.

I couldn't speak, swallowing the dryness in my throat, churning the knot that swirled in my mouth.

"All you have to say, is 'back away, Vic,' and I'll back off, okay? I just want to test you on something," he assuredly explained.

I nodded quickly and uttered in a breath, "just don't kiss me."

"I wasn't," he defended, chuckling to himself.

His other hand that wasn't running down my arm sleeve worked its way from the back of my bicep to my neck, folding around my nape beneath the ponytail in a chokehold. Making it so my face was looking directly up at him. "What do you like about Sullivan?"

Can we not talk about Sullivan right now?

Holy shit! No, that's not what I meant. Don't listen to that! Did I just tell myself not to listen to my own thoughts? Oh, well.

"He's funny, kind, sweet, he's compassionate about what he does and a good student---"

"Okay, cut the bullshit," he ordered, his grip tightening around my neck, feeling the heat leave the pads of his fingers onto my skins' surface. My stomach was curling inside and other places in my body were a bit too into this lesson. Whatever he was doing, it was working things that did not need to be worked!

Something's telling me he likes this record store for many reasons, and vinyls aren't just one.

He continued on coldly, "no kindergarten words, no Shakespeare. Be direct, and tell him something that he doesn't get told by his grandma on his birthday," he spat.

I chuckled, but steadied my breathing the best I could under his heated gaze. "You got..." My eyes fell to his shoes then back up to his black strands gelled a little upwards. "Nice hair."

"Okay," he cut off, nodding sternly. "Do you always do that?"

"What?"

"Look away when you talk? I hope you're not shy around me, no need to be," he murmured, gently trailing a finger around my collarbone as his other hand cupped the back of my neck harder. My breath hitched and aligned in a soundless speed with my heart.

He suggested, "if you guess my favorite color, I'll give you a prize. Flirting is cringy, funny, and adorable, and it's all about how you present yourself." I listened to his husky voice give examples. He continued, "I like you in this shirt, the color looks beautiful on you."

"My favorite color is green," I admitted, gazing down to the green components.

"My favorite color is red," he replied, he stared at me longer than murmured, "your smile is adorable, you should smile more often."

I rolled my eyes and contradicted his thoughts. "Everything worked up until then. Sullivan smiles all the time--"

"I was talking about you in the last one," he retorted, slipping his hands off of me.

I felt cold when he parted, every bit of warmth being taken with him. The sensation of his hands still lingered around my neck creating a lily pad of goosebumps.

"What was the point of holding me down?" I inquired, enlarging my eyes in expectancy.

He shrugged, thought for a second, and finally answered with, "I don't have a reason, but it turned me the fuck on."

x