So this is yet ANOTHER WIP, in first person present (who said FPP was addicting? Who? Who? Curse you, whoever you are–you were so RIGHT! I’m going to have to pick one and stick with it soon because I’m afraid the voices are starting to sound too similar.
It’s fairly rough, so bear with me. This story is about a girl who used to have everything together, a girl who was totally under her parents’ control. And then one day she exploded. This isn’t from the beginning, but somewhere in first third.
“Where’s Jake?” I stumble into the table and hit my hip, almost drop my beer. No pain. No pain, no gain. I giggle, even though I have no idea why that’s funny. The laughter freezes in my throat a second later, though. My hip might not hurt, but inside, I’m dying for a fix. Just a little something to boost me back up. No big deal. Anything will do, anything at all. I’m not picky these days.
Sarah laughs and tries to bounce a quarter into a cup. “You’re so obvious. Jake had to bail for awhile. Jones is here, though—in the bedroom. He can hook you up for a price.”
A price? Shit. I drain the beer in my cup, but it’s doing nothing for me, not anymore. I might as well be drinking Evian. “I’m broke. Will he take an IOU?”
Sarah’s laughter explodes like a bullhorn this time, forceful and way too loud. I wince as the sound splinters in my ears. “You’re shitting me, right?” she says.
Am I? I don’t think so. Maybe I’m missing something here, but I’m too restless to figure it out. I jiggle the cup on the table, jiggle my leg. I can’t stop moving.
Sarah sighs. “Just go back there. I’m sure you can work something out.”
Joy blooms in my chest. Work it out, that’s it. I’ll work it out. As I turn to leave, Delissa collars my wrist with her hand, throws an angry look at Sarah. “Hey, that’s not cool—the girl is wasted. Look, Kaylin, I think you should just wait here for Jake. He’ll be back soon.”
Yeah, but that’s the thing—I’m not wasted. Not wasted enough. I jerk free and stumble away in search of Jones.
Past the group of guys smoking in the family room. Past the couple making out in the hall. The closer I get to the bedroom, the faster my heart beats. Anticipation curls my fingers, writhes likes frantic worms in my gut. I’m almost there. It takes three or four grabs for the doorknob before I finally manage to turn it.
And I’m in.