Page 9 of Wallflower

“Because he said if he gave it all to me now, there would be no reason for me to go back for more.”

Chelsea lets out this sultry moan, and I’m thoroughly uncomfortable. “Jesus, he said that?” I nod. “That’s so hot. Does he have a friend?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

“Maybe you’re not the only one who wants a mysterious man with a dirty mouth,” she says, seemingly enjoying the shiver that runs through her.

“What about Connor?”

“What about him?”

“Umm…”

“He’s an egocentric, shrimp-dick womanizer, who’s been cheating on me for at least three months with some girl from his psych class. He thinks I don’t know. Truthfully, I don’t care, and I didn’t when I found out. I’m going back to school after the break. Once I’m out of town, I’ll end it with him. He probably doesn’t even know what dorm I’m in. It’s not like he ever came to visit me, I was always leaving school to see him. Fucker can rot for all I care.”

“No shit,” I reply, the silence lingering. The warm colours of the setting sun amplify my sister’s goddess-like beauty. Butas I watch her, looking beneath her sun-kissed skin, I see the exhaustion weighing her down. If she’s not happy with Connor, who our parents think she’s going to marry, I can’t imagine the burden she carries. She won’t have an outlet, a way to blow off steam or have fun. I resolve to make this trip as good for her as I can, so I break the silence. “He might be friends with the bartender.”

“The tattooed one?” The lilt of her voice increases, she’s very intrigued now. Chels has always loved the bad-boys, and how they worm their way under step-monster’s skin.

“Yeah, they were talking when I went to get our drinks, then again when you came and interrupted.”

“He’ll do.”

“He’ll do?”

“Yeah, I’ll lay it on real thick and maybe neither of us will have to sleep in here for the rest of the trip. The last thing I need is to hear our parents fucking across the room.”

“They wouldn’t!” I repulse.

Chelsea levels me with a glare, and I somewhat fake a gag. I’ll gladly be on my knees for the rest of the trip if Sam keeps me from the horror of having to experiencethattrauma.

Standing, I shudder on the spot. She cackles an evil laugh and I toss her the pack of smokes. “I’m going to shower now—maybe forever, thanks to the shit I now need to scrub from my mind.”

It’s close to ten p.m. before Chelsea and I are primped and ready to head to the evening mixer. Her hair is down in loose blonde curls, framing her face, while a dress the colour of blood sticks to her like a second skin. She’s all long legs and perky tits, wearing nothing more than mascara and lip gloss. The bartender isn’t going to be able to resist her, and I know that’s Chelsea’s plan.

My scarlet locks have been straightened within an inch of their life, and the short, black babydoll dress shows off the dragon tattoo on my back with its low cut. My cat eye is sharp, and my lips match the colour of my sister’s outfit.

Pulling simple black flats from my bag, I move to slip them on. Chelsea scoffs. “You’re seriously wearing those?”

“It’s all I brought other than sneakers and flip-flops.”

“Here, you can borrow some of mine.” She pulls a pair of stilettos from her bag, and even though they’re black, I won’t wear them.

“I can barely walk normally on the ship as it is, now you want to throw alcoholandheels into the mix? I’ll fall and break my neck!”

“Oh, live a little, Rosie.”

Letting out a long groan, I ask, “Do you have anything else?” I’ve never understood how there can only be a half size difference between our feet given the height difference, but I’ve never complained since I was able to use her closet like a shoe store.

“Here, try these.” She passes me black strappy sandals with a chunky heel.

I slip my foot in, unable to deny they are more comfortable and sturdy. The straps are excessively long, tying them up my calves is most likely going to cut-off circulation. But when I regard myself in the full-length mirror, I dismiss the worry. My legs look longer and more toned, and they go with my dress perfectly, matching the straps criss-crossing across the chest.

Stepping up next to me, and dwarfing me with her height, Chelsea threads her arm through mine. “You’re really set on showing off your tattoo?”

“Yeah. What’s the point in having it if I constantly hide it?”

“All right, maybe they’ll be too drunk to notice.”