24. Lady Grinning Soul

24

LADY GRINNING SOUL

DAISY

I walk through the garden of my parents' house on the way to the front door. Gorgeous, colorful flowers bloom in the bushes covering a large patch of grass, with splashes of pink, red, and yellow.

I'm going to a party tonight, and I need some things from my bedroom closet for my costume. I keep a lot of clothes at my dorm, but it's not big enough to store everything I own.

Unlocking the front door with my key, I casually set foot inside, confused that there are no dogs running over to greet me. And right when I turn the corner and catch view of the dining room, I know why.

A loud screech leaves me as I discover the scene before me.

Bare flesh. Skin slapping against skin. Moans and curses and the whole fucking shebang.

My parents.

Fucking on the dinner table.

Tangled up in such an odd position that I don't even know how to call it.

My eyes widen right when Dad slaps my mother on the ass, the sound of it loud and painful. "Oh my God! Mom! Dad!"

My mother matches my scream and my father lets out a string of swearwords in shock. He nearly falls off the table as he gets off my mom, then runs away as he clutches his…

Ah, fuck me in both ears. I can't even say it.

I wish I looked away before I got sight of my dad's bare ass.

He makes his way out of the room in horror while Mom yanks a tablecloth from the table to cover herself up. She jumps off before she quickly tiptoes my way. Her copper hair is a complete mess, her mascara runs down her face, and her lipstick is smudged all the way to her cheeks.

"We didn't know you were coming over, honey. Come on, I'll make you something to eat." She tries to reach for me, but I would rather saw off my own leg than be here right now.

"And eat it on the table where you just had sex with Dad? Noooo , thank you. What even was that position? Ugh!" I run upstairs, not caring to take off my shoes, slamming my bedroom door behind me as soon as I'm inside.

I stand with my back against the door for a few beats as I squeeze my eyes tight, trying to get rid of the horrifying depiction of my parents having intercourse.

I'm going to barf.

"Dubhie, don't be so dramatic," I hear Mom mumble in the hallway outside. "It's not like she doesn't know what sex is."

All I hear in response is an annoyed groan from Dad. "I'm going to the grocery store. Be back later."

Mom lets out a laugh, mocking him as she knocks on my door. "Sweetie, we're sorry you had to see that. Can you let me in, please?"

I match my father's groan, but open the door anyway. Mom squeezes my shoulder as she gets in, giving me an apologetic look before closing the door behind her, hopping onto the bed. She's covered up with a pink robe, and she fixed her hair and makeup.

"You didn't tell us you were coming over. I would've prepared a nice dinner, but your father and I were going to go to that new Italian restaurant in the city."

"I'm not staying. I just needed to grab some clothes. I'm going to a party tonight and costumes are required."

"Oooh!" she chants, clapping her hands together. "Playing dress-up. Fun! What are you dressing up as?"

"David Bowie."

"That man with the makeup?" She looks around the room, finding the large Bowie poster on my wall, pointing at it. I nod at her and she smiles. "It's crazy how times have changed. Back in my day, you would get your butt kicked if you looked like that. But it's good! People are so colorful and free now."

I chuckle, plopping onto my bed beside her. "Yeah."

"So what are you going to wear? Want me to do your hair?" she asks excitedly.

"I think I still have that white suit that I never wear anymore, with the flared pants and blazer with the deep V-neck. I was thinking of painting the fabric to match Bowie's. He has some flowers and birds on it. Would be great if you could work on my hair when I do it."

She leans forward and gives me a kiss on the cheek. "Of course, sweetie. Do you have a picture of what your hair is supposed to look like?"

I nod my head at another Bowie poster in my room and her eyes widen.

I can't hold back my laugh. "Don't worry. You don't have to dye my hair orange. Maybe we could just do a fun updo, to make my hair look shorter. I think my makeup is the most important anyway. The orange eyeshadow and lips, with the golden moon on my forehead."

Mom giggles. "Oh my. That's… something."

"And I'll wear my tall platforms. I'm going to nail the look. I'll look bitchin'."

"Let's get started, then. I'll grab the hot rollers from my vanity table." She gets up and leaves the room.

I grab the stuff I need from my large closet, then spread out some painting supplies on my desk, taking a seat on the chair behind it.

When Mom returns, she puts a record onto my turntable. To my surprise, it's one from my own collection― Aladdin Sane by David Bowie.

"Mom…" I tip my head up, nodding in appreciation.

"Thought it would help us get in the mood." She grins proudly. "Also, are you surprised? I'm the coolest mom ever."

"Yeah, you are, Mom." I huff a laugh, then resume focusing on the white jacket. Grabbing a small brush, I dip it into the fabric paint and start my work.

Mom gets up behind me, brushing my hair. "There's something about those tight pants he wears, huh?" I look in the mirror and find her staring at one of the posters again. "I'll have to get your daddy to wear something like that one day. He'll complain, but we both know he never says no to me."

I'm nearly cackling when I imagine my dad in flared pants like Bowie, his face all grumpy and unamused as he crosses his arms in defeat. If I ever have a bad day, that's what I'm going to think about to make myself cheer up. Good stuff.

"That reminds me of The Doors concert you took me to when we were on holiday in Miami." I chuckle. "He went on about Jim Morrison's leather pants the whole way back to the hotel."

"He never wants to go with the times. He still wears the same old slacks as he did twenty years ago." She takes a long strand of my hair between her fingers, rolling a roller into my hair as she bites her lip to suppress her smile. "I like it, though. He still looks as handsome as the day I met him, the bastard."

"Your love has never faded, even after all those years," I state as I paint the outline of one of the flowers.

"No." She sighs contently. "That's impossible. If anything, I still get butterflies at least once a day when he's near. Sometimes it's when he makes one of his stupid jokes, or just when he smiles at me. Or when I look at him with you. He's always been the best daddy. That's rare, you know? My father never cared for me the way yours does. There aren't many men in the world with a heart like my Dubhie. Each day I spent with him has been a dream."

"Do you think I'll ever find a love like that?"

Part of me already knows the answer to that. I did find a love like that. I love Lester as hard as my parents love each other. Now it's only a matter of him loving me back with the same intensity.

She secures another hot roller in my hair with a pin. "Of course you will, honey. And you best believe your father will make sure of it. He won't just let anyone take his little girl. He's a good people-reader―he'll know if someone has good intentions or not." She rolls another one in. "And I will support him in the matter. I trust his judgement."

I groan. "I don't think he'll find anyone good enough for me. If that's the rule you'll enforce, I'll be alone forever."

She chuckles. "When you were little, you once said that you wanted to marry your daddy."

"Ugh. I know." I roll my eyes. "Dad needs to bring that up every holiday."

"You can't blame him for that. He just loves you so much."

She finishes the rollers in my hair and lets them cool off while I finish the jacket. It takes a few hours to dry, but the party doesn't start early anyway. Plus, I always like to be fashionably late.

I end up having dinner with my parents despite the awkward encounter of this afternoon. We sit on the couch because we all silently agreed that the dinner table wasn't appropriate. Dad has had enough whisky to have forgotten about it and tells some horrible jokes and stories about the foolish things Uncle Stef got up to last week when one of his girlfriends freaked out on him. He always knows how to pick the crazy ones, which is something we all find hilarious.

Once we finish dinner, Mom and I go back upstairs, and Dad heads out to the city for work. I get dressed in my costume, putting on my orange makeup while Mom styles my hair in a nice updo.

"Don't drink and drive, honey. Call if we need to pick you up, okay?"

I nod. "I'll catch a ride with one of my friends from school."

"Okay, then. Have fun and be responsible." She gives me a kiss on the cheek, then grabs the front of my jacket, covering my breasts with a disapproving look. "And cover up a little. Your tits are out."

I stifle a laugh, then head out to the party.

I lean against a wall in the corner of the living room as I chug another beer, taking a moment for myself. I've managed to shake Jace off for now, but he's been bugging me all night. I've already told him that I don't feel the same way, yet he won't take no for an answer. It's pathetic.

Anyway, the party is groovy, and the house is filled with drunk people that are dancing and conversing, all dressed up in their costumes. I'm not the only person dressed as Bowie tonight, but I'm proud to say that my costume is definitely the best.

It's a music-themed party, so I've seen most of the girls dressed like Stevie Nicks, Janis Joplin, and Cher. Some costumes are more creative than others, but everyone is dressed up either way. I guess that's mostly because we're all in art school. People don't miss an opportunity to be creative.

A few guys dressed like bandmembers of KISS make fools of themselves as they play their imaginary air-guitars, and I spot someone dressed as Ozzy Osbourne dancing in the middle.

It makes me chuckle. I love this type of energy in people. Uncaring about what others think of you, just having a good time. I wish people could always be like this. The world would be a better place if everyone was this unbothered and happy.

I stay for a while longer, enjoying the mix of my alcohol-buzz and all the pot I've smoked. I dance, meet some new people from school, and talk to the ones I already know. My social battery runs out after a while and I say goodbye to my friends, who are not in the mood to leave yet.

We're in Aurelia, the same town where the university is, and I've since found a few nice places to go to for some alone time. There's a spot on an incline overlooking the city on about a fifteen-minute walk from here, so that's where I go.

Thanks to being slightly drunk, I don't feel the ache of my feet in the uncomfortable platform shoes I'm wearing. They're awesome, but they hurt like a bitch.

On the way over, the familiar feeling of hairs standing up in my neck hits me and I don't even try to suppress my grin.

Lester is behind me.

I wonder if he's been watching the house, waiting for me to get out so he could follow me home. I know he heard about the party, because he was there in the classroom when I was invited by one of my classmates last week. The guy put his arm around me and I can still remember the look on Lester's face. He wasn't down for it in the slightest.

I can't help chuckling at the memory.

Keeping the pace, I don't stop walking until I reach my destination. I grab the bar of the bridge when I'm all the way up, then let my body glide underneath it until I reach the incline. Lighting a joint, I lean my head against the graffiti-painted brick wall behind me, letting my legs dangle over the piece of concrete.

"I'm starting to think that you're a little obsessed with me, Professor. Everywhere I look, there you are." Taking a drag, I inhale the smoke deeply before blowing it out into the dark midnight air. "I'm not a big fan of stalkers, except when they look as hot as you do. So keep on keeping on. It gets me all wet."

I don't get a reply as he steps through the bars of the bridge, joining me on the incline.

Handing him the joint without sparing him a glance, he takes it and brings it to his lips, taking a large drag. "I can't seem to stay away from you anymore," he admits painfully, blowing out the smoke. "Part of me needed to see you. The other part just wanted to make sure you got home safe."

I tilt my head, looking at the side of his face. "That's sweet of you."

He shrugs it off, then asks disapprovingly, "What the hell are you doing here anyway? Sitting outside by yourself in the middle of the night."

"I've been coming here a lot since school started. It's peaceful and quiet. No one ever goes here." He hands the joint back to me, and I take another drag. "I come here to daydream or draw in my sketchbook." I nod my head forward. "Just look at the view. I could sit here and stare at it for hours."

Stretching out into the distance is the entire city, bright lights and tall buildings with lots of trees surrounding it. It seems endless in the dark, and it's stunning.

"Beautiful." I feel his eyes burn into the side of my face, and I don't know if he's agreeing with the view or talking about me.

It's quiet for a while, and we just sit there overlooking the city before I breathe out, "We are inevitable, Professor."

I don't expect him to answer, but he does. "You're only eighteen years old, Daisy."

I sigh, having heard that sentence too many times by now. He's still trying to convince himself―or me―that this can't happen.

I decide to ignore it.

When I finish the bud, I put it out on the concrete beside me, swinging my legs back and forth on the incline. "I was going to ask you to look at some of my new work. I made something last week and I think it's good. But I feel like it could be better. Think you could you give me any pointers on it?" I ask. "Just… professionally. I promise I won't tempt you."

A humorless smile spreads over his face, his eyes dark. "You tempt me with every breath you take in my proximity, Daisy."

I suck my bottom lip into my mouth to suppress the way they want to curl up with smugness, then scootch closer to him until our shoulders brush. A shiver shoots through me because it gets pretty cold at night and I'm not wearing a lot of clothes. He immediately takes his jacket off upon noticing, covering my shoulders with it and tucking me in for warmth.

Putting my head on his shoulder, I smile at him. He just stares into my eyes all serious, as if he's trying to find something in them. "I don't understand it," he says, and I love the way his breath tickles on my face. He smells like whisky and smoke.

"Understand what?"

"I don't understand you. I don't understand what this hold that you have on me is. I don't understand why I can't stay away from you." He's quiet for a few beats, then he suddenly chuckles. "I don't understand how you're so beautiful, even when you're dressed like a man with all this ridiculous makeup on."

I join him in his laughter. "I told you―I can make a garbage bag look like a prom dress. And I actually think this costume is very fucking sexy."

He reaches out his hand to touch my face, cupping my chin and moving his thumb over my lips. "What have you done to me?"

"I could ask you the same." I swallow, the tension between us nearly crackling like an electricity line. We stay like that for a moment, never tearing our eyes away from each other. We don't kiss, we don't do anything except let ourselves feel this overpowering energy between us.

I eventually pull out of the invisible hold he has on me, putting my head down on his shoulder again as we stare at the city before us. I reach for the pack of cigarettes in my pocket and pull one out, putting it inside my mouth before lighting it with my zippo.

Sitting up straight before him, I say, "Open your mouth."

He does, the moonlight reflecting inside his dark eyes, letting them glimmer with anticipation. Taking a large drag, I inhale the smoke before I press my lips to his. I exhale into his mouth as soon as our lips connect, and I feel like my heart is going to burst when the reality of it all overwhelms me.

My lips are on Lester Gilbert's. And he lets me.

He feels this thing between us.

I told him that we are inevitable, and I meant it.

Slowly pulling away, I give him the chance to blow out the smoke. It evaporates into the clean night air before we do it again and again. Until nothing but the filter remains and I put it out on the concrete beside me.

He reaches for the back of my neck and pulls me close, our lips nearly brushing. "I want to know everything about you, little nymph. Your dreams. The things that keep you up at night. Your darkness and your secrets. Everything. "

I stick out my tongue and lick a path over his lower lip. "I'll start with a secret," I whisper, pausing to let the anticipation build. "I never kiss. Anyone ."

"I noticed that when I watched you. With those―" He swallows, as if the jealousy is nearly unbearable. "With those boys. Why?"

I rub my nose against his. "Kissing is intimate in a way that sex isn't. Sex is casual. At least, depending on the person you're having it with. Kissing―being close to one another in that way is different. I've never wanted to be that intimate with someone."

Sucking in a breath, he states his next sentence as a fact. "But you kissed me in the car that day of the storm."

He joins me with his nose, and we rub them against each other. "An Eskimo kiss," I mumble. "Kunik, that's what it's called. I once read the Inuit find the term offensive."

I've lost my confidence. I'm suddenly very nervous.

"Stay on the subject, Miss Burton," he orders with his teacher-voice, a taunt of amusement in it. I think he likes that he makes me nervous for once, instead of the other way around.

"I think…" I sigh, halting my movements against his nose. "That I was saving my lips for you."

I don't think anything. It's a fact. I was never much of a kisser anyway, but the second my obsession with Lester Gilbert started, my lips were off limits.

I have been saving them for him for almost three years.

And I think that streak is about to end.

Our lips are so close, and our heavy breathing is impossible to keep inside. For a few more torturous seconds, neither of us moves. Until he lets out a growl, the sound of it laced with defeat. "Fuck it."

He slams his lips against mine as he threads his fingers through my hair, yanking on the strands to pull me close. I gasp against his mouth at the intensity of it. The roughness of his hands, the feel of his moustache and the stubble around it, the way he seems to be starving…

He's devouring me.

Little sparks of fireworks detonate behind my closed eyes, and I have never felt more overwhelmed than I do in this moment. My stomach pulls tight, and I'm certain that this is what Mom always said it would feel like with the right person. The way she always feels when Dad kisses her.

Butterflies.

I've waited for this for so long. And now the moment is here, and it's better than I ever could have imagined. It's nowhere even close to the fantasies I've had about him.

Humming against me, he slips his tongue between my lips to part them. He finds his way into my mouth and I let it overtake me.

The intensity, the lust.

The love.

He doesn't feel the same way as I do. Not yet. But we're on our way to getting there.

"God, Daisy…" he growls, breathing heavily against my mouth as he pulls me even closer. "Your lips are like heaven."

I climb on top of him, pushing him back against the graffiti-clad brick wall. Straddling him, I lock my arms around the back of his neck and kiss him again.

I thought I had sobered up from the alcohol, but I feel drunk again. I suppose that's what feelings this intense do to you―they make you feel drunk.

I grind my pussy against his erection, and I'm on my way to open his jeans when he stops me, grabbing my wrist. "No. Not here. Not like this."

I let out a whine, because I need him. But I know he's right. It shouldn't happen here. We both deserve something better, something where we have the space to move.

I also keep forgetting that this is not something that Lester does. Ever.

It's his Red Room or nothing.

I've waited this long. I can wait a tiny bit longer.

Biting his lip, another hungry growl leaves his throat. "This weekend. My house."

"I don't know if I'll survive that long," I whimper desperately. "But I'll do my best for you, Mr. Gilbert."

"This is wrong. This will bring madness. Destruction. I can feel it." Our tongues fight for dominance as he tries to get the words out. "I'm too old for you. I know this, but I just cannot stop."

I huff, parting from his lips to look him dead in the eyes, my left eyebrow arched. "You think you're the only old guy I wanna fuck? Get a grip, Professor. I used to bang my therapist."

His entire body stiffens and I regret the words immediately. Damn my big mouth. I don't know why I can never just think before I speak.

"You what ?" He grabs my shoulders and creates more space between us, his nails digging into my jacket. "Daisy. Tell me right now. Your therapist touched you?"

I roll my eyes. "Take a chill pill. It's not a big deal. I wanted it. Practically manipulated him into it. Dr. Beaumo―" I stop instantly, because something warns me that Lester shouldn't know his name. "Whatever."

"How old were you?" he demands, and right when he does, I see it. I see the predator that hides in the shadows. I see the killer with rage in his eyes, bloodlust on his lips.

I see the Sculptor of Death.

It terrifies me, but I must admit that it also turns me the fuck on.

Shit . I shouldn't have said that to him. This can't be good.

He grips my shoulders tighter, forcing an answer out of me. With a deep sigh, I admit, "Fifteen. But I'm an old soul. Even then."

He releases his grasp on me, but I don't miss the way his hands ball into fists beside his hips. Even in the dark, I can see the way his skin whitens from squeezing so hard. "I'm taking you back to your dorm," he forces out. "Can't have you falling asleep in my class tomorrow."

And with that, the night is over.

But the date is set, and this is happening .

Three days.

I'm counting the minutes.