7. I’m Eighteen

7

I'M EIGHTEEN

DAISY

Lester Gilbert isn't the only one who can stage things.

I tore the stitches of my bag with a seam ripper before class so he would see my drawings. All to stage a sweet little moment between us.

Too fucking easy.

It's the third day of school, and yesterday was spent with different teachers. English Lit, Math, and Photography. I have three days a week with other teachers, and the rest I get to spend with Professor Gilbert. We had our first painting class on Monday, and today is dedicated to sculpture.

I couldn't be more excited.

"Morning, Daisy," Jace greets me in the hallway. "How are you liking school so far?"

"Oh, I fucking love it. How about you?"

"Same." He walks a little closer beside me, almost touching my shoulder with his. "What are you doing after class? Want to hang out with me and the guys?"

I meet his eyes. "What guys?"

"Just my buddies, Mickey and Steve. They're in their first year, too, studying Film. We're just gonna cruise around town, smoke a few blunts."

"Right on. Sounds like a blast." I nod at him in agreement before we get inside the classroom, where he starts a conversation with a few other classmates. I only greet them in passing as I find a table, not in the mood to be social. How could I be, when Professor Gilbert is standing in this room, sucking up every single shred of my attention?

My heart starts pounding harder the second my eyes meet his, and I can't help my lips from curling up. "Good morning, Professor."

He gives me a kind smile back as he leans against his desk. "We're doing your favorite thing today. Time to show off more of your skills."

Biting my lip, I try to suppress my excitement. "Can't wait to blow your mind."

I pick the table closest to his desk and get settled there. There is a big lump of clay centered on my table, along with multiple sculpting tools. Glancing around the room, I take a seat on the stool. When every student is settled, Lester starts the class.

My hands are nearly itching to get them wet and dirty, ready to shape and mold my favorite medium. This assignment is a little stricter than the painting session from Monday, where we could use our own imagination. This time we need to recreate the sculpture in front of us. We each have a different one on our individual tables, but they all look pretty similar. Just a male face that reminds me of one of those old-school Greek molds.

He finishes his instructions and we all get started. He goes through some papers at his desk, maybe grading things from the students in the higher grades. After a while, he takes a lap around the room and passes each one of us, speaking to us individually to give pointers and tips.

I can't help the excitement from flooding through my stomach. He has such a strong grip on me, such power, and he doesn't even know it.

When he finally reaches me last, I'm nearly bouncing with anticipation. I feel his presence behind my back before he softly clears his throat. "Miss Burton."

"Oh." I drop my hands from the sculpture in progress and feign surprise. "Hi, Professor."

"Didn't mean to startle you. I'm just here to peek at your progress." Taking a step closer, he plants his elbows on the high table beside me.

"Be my guest." I signal my hands at my work before dropping them to the table.

"Stunning," he says as he observes it. "I can tell that this is child's play for you. You're a lot quicker than the others."

I place my cheek on my shoulder to look at him, shrugging. "This is what I usually start with before I add all the gory details."

"I promise you'll get to make use of your dark mind soon." He chuckles, focusing on the clay again. "I notice that you quickly jump to the usage of tools. Can I show you how you can do a lot more with just your hands? Really feel the material on your own skin, connect with your medium."

I lift an amused eyebrow. "Of course. I'm here to learn from you, after all."

My eyes are met with straight, white teeth as he lowers his head to my level, leaning forward. When he touches my hands with his, I'm nearly melting into a puddle. He brings them closer to the wet clay before taking them to the top of the head. His thumb is placed over mine and he applies pressure as he uses my hand as his tool.

"I always think it's important to take the time to mold with your hands. Honor your materials." Digging my thumbs into the moistness, he creates waves and curls in the supposed hair. My breathing quickens, and I try my best to stay completely still on my stool. He's so close that I can feel the heat his body radiates, feel his warm flesh against mine. The smell of his intoxicating cologne swirls through my nose in a taunt.

I've fantasized about this moment for what seems like an eternity, but to truly be this close to him is maddening.

His voice is a low, husky hum. "How does that feel?"

Holy Jesus on a fucking stick. I think my ovaries just shot out of my eyes.

"Good. It feels good." My eyes trace the way he moves my hands over the clay, and I notice the veins in his wrists that go all the way to his fingers. My breaths turn shallow and it nearly aches to keep myself composed.

"Keep it up, Daisy. You're doing great." He slowly lets go of me, leaving to wash his hands in one of the large sinks in the back of the room.

When the day comes to its end and I'm satisfied with the result of my assignment, I clean myself up and grab my stuff. I do it slowly, dragging it out until everyone's left the classroom.

Professor Gilbert is gathering his own things, getting ready to close up and leave. He tilts his head up when he feels my presence still in the room. "Daisy? Do you need anything from me?"

"No." I shake my head, walking toward him with a smile. My new leather bag hangs over my shoulder and I open it to take out a book. "I just wanted to give you something."

He lifts an eyebrow. "A present?"

"Well, sorta. You told me you liked my mother's books." I move my hand over the freshly printed hardcover of her new release, before reaching out my hand and giving it to him. "It comes out in two weeks. I thought you might like to be one of the firsts to read it."

He hesitates at first, his fingers lingering for a few seconds before he takes it. "This is really kind and thoughtful of you, Daisy. Thank you." Taking a seat on the leather chair behind him, he turns the book around to read the synopsis.

I plant my hands on the desk, leaning forward. "I don't get scared easily. But this one had even me gripping the sheets. There's a scene in there that made me consider dropping my mom off at Crimson Manor."

He chuckles, the sound a low rumble. "Can't wait to read it and see for myself."

We're pulled out of the moment when someone clears a throat behind us. I immediately turn, only to find Jace standing there. "Daisy?" he asks, moving his hands inside the pockets of his blue jeans in a casual matter. "Are you almost ready?"

I give Lester an apologetic smile. "I gotta go. See you later, Professor."

He nods kindly. "Enjoy your evening, Daisy. You too, Jace."

I curse Jace inside my head for ruining my moment with Lester, but quickly push my irritation away. We walk side by side through the long hallways, then through the university garden.

"You seem to be liking Professor Gilbert a lot," he observes. "This is the third time I've seen you stay after class."

I frown, crossing my arms. "Are you spying on me, Jace?"

He laughs uncomfortably, his face turning slightly red. "No. I just―" he stutters. "I just think you're cool. And I'd like for us to be friends."

"You think I'm cool, huh?" I give him a playful push with my shoulder. "You don't even know me."

"I would like to." The hopeful spark in his blue eyes already tells me enough.

All I want is Lester, but that might take a while. That doesn't mean I'm going to be abstinent and not get myself some dick while I wait until he's ready.

I'm just a girl. I have needs.

When we reach the parking lot, we're greeted by two guys leaning against a green Ford Cortina.

"Hey, man." Jace fist-bumps the one with beach blond hair that reaches the top of his oversized Pink Floyd shirt, and he does the same with his other friend, who has a shaved head and a slight scruff.

Jace steps to the side and pushes me forward by planting his hand in the hollow of my back. "This is Daisy. She's in my class."

The one with the blond hair whistles when he looks me over, his blue eyes twinkling with intrigue. He sticks out his hand for me to shake. "I'm Mickey. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too," I answer when I shake it.

Moving my eyes to the other guy, he shakes his head in disapproval. "None of that polite shit. We're not ancient yet." Instead of doing the same as his friend, he embraces my neck and pulls me against his chest, making me let out a surprised giggle. "I'm Steve."

"Well, hello there." When he pulls back, I just smile. "So, what's the plan?"

Mickey gets in on the driver's side. "We're just gonna cruise for a bit, then park the car somewhere to have a couple of beers."

"And smoke some pot," Jace adds as he opens the backdoor for me. I get inside, the leather interior creaking beneath my weight.

Steve dives into the passenger seat while Jace goes to sit beside me, with little to no distance between us. There's enough room in the car, so that's definitely a conscious choice.

The seat vibrates when Mickey starts the engine, and I look out the window, watching the lively parking lot crowded with students that are all ready to go home.

"So, do you have a boyfriend, Daisy?" Steve asks, looking back at me from his seat.

I huff amusedly, shaking my head. "No, I don't."

"Perfect." He winks at me, a naughty smirk spreading that makes dimples appear on his cheeks.

Mickey whines as his eyes remain on the road, his hands on the steering wheel. "Damn it. I thought maybe I had a chance."

I raise an amused eyebrow right as Jace scoots closer to me, sliding a possessive arm around my neck. "Who says you don't?"

"Whoa," Mickey calls out. "Now we're talking. A little competition never hurt anyone."

"Ain't that the truth." Steve starts playing with the buttons of the speaker until he finds a good radio station. "Ah, fuck yeah," he grunts when The Joker by the Steve Miller Band comes on. Turning the volume up to what seems like the highest it can go, he takes the song as his cue to light a joint and pass it to us as we all start singing along.

Jace takes the bud and hands it to me. "Ladies first."

I take a drag, inhaling deeply as I let the smoke do its job. Leaning forward, I get out of Jace's hold and wrap my arm around the headrest of the driver's seat, intentionally putting my ass on display for him to look at. I put the bud in Mickey's mouth, letting him take a long inhale before I do the same for Steve.

The song ends and the radio continues playing a nice arrangement of rock songs. Ted Nugent, Boston, Aerosmith…

When we finish the joint, Mickey parks the car somewhere around the edge of a forest. I'm not all that familiar yet with the city of Aurelia, so I have no clue where we are.

We all get out, and Steve returns from the trunk with multiple beers in his arms. "Come on, Daisy. Let's enjoy the fresh air. The moon is awesome tonight." He hands me a beer before I follow him to the front of the car. The same volume of the radio remains, now playing Burn by Deep Purple. The guys come to stand closer to me, and I chuckle when I take a large sip of beer.

I let out a surprised gasp when Jace picks me up like I weigh nothing as he puts me down on the hood. My shoe squeaks on the shiny material as I push myself further up, and Jace casually leans against the hood on his elbows. Mickey nods his head along to the music, making an air-guitar with his bottle still in his hand, some beer spilling over.

"So, Daisy…" Steve roams his eyes from my head to my toes. "How come you don't have a boyfriend yet?"

"Because I love to have fun. I'm not going to let some guy tie me down and keep me from doing what I like to do."

"And what is it that you like to do?" he counters, a hungry expression on his tan face.

I tip my head back, downing the entire bottle of beer in just a few seconds, before softly tossing it onto the ground. Tilting my head to meet his gaze, I say in a sultry voice, "Fuck. I like to fuck."

"Holy shit." Mickey's eyes widen, immediately stopping with his air-guitar.

"How about right now? Is that something you're in the mood for now?" Steve asks, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

I shrug, the gesture full of confidence. Jace clears his throat, putting his arm around my shoulder again. "Daisy. You sure?"

I might be disappointing him. Maybe he thinks that just because he brought me here he has some kind of claim on me. I lean back and nod at him, then switch to both Steve and Mickey's gazes. All three of them look at me like hungry bears, ready to devour their prey. Excellent.

I'm not ashamed to say that, before I know it, I'm flat on my back on the hood of the car while my skirt gets pulled off and tossed onto the ground, my panties quickly following. "God-dang, Daisy. Look at you…" Steve says praisingly. "You're fucking hot."

There's a soft breeze in the air, and it tickles against my bare skin. Jace is still beside me on the hood, now roaming his hands over my tits after he lifts up my shirt. When his lips move to mine, I yank my head to the other side before he can make contact, instead moaning when I feel soft fingers rub over my pussy.

I won't let any of them kiss me. No one can. My lips are meant for Lester.

The loud music drowns out when I close my eyes and I let the pleasure overtake me. I'm slightly buzzed from the beer, totally high off my ass from the weed, and together they make for a heavenly combination. Their voices mix together as they groan their enjoyment, along with more words of praise when they touch me.

"Fuck…" I moan when two fingers slip inside of me at once, and I open my eyes to see all three of them admiring my cunt.

"She's so wet. Jesus Christ, man. Feel ." Steve takes his fingers out to let Mickey take over, and he pushes inside up to his knuckles in the exact same manner. Another low growl hangs in the air and I moan harder when he starts moving. Jace leans forward and takes one of my nipples into his mouth, sucking hard.

"Condoms. We need condoms," Steve says, disappearing to the car for a just a few seconds, before returning with a whole pack of them.

"Harder," I demand, looking up at Mickey.

Guys my age usually don't really know what they're doing, so they need a little bit of help. He's an eager learner, though, because he starts going harder and deeper, revolving in a nice rhythm.

"Me first," Jace says to the guys. "I invited her."

"Aww," I coo. "Don't worry. You'll all have a turn. I can even take you at the same time."

"Nah, man." Steve shakes his head in disbelief. "This ain't real. There's no way."

I burst out laughing, giving him a thumbs up. "I'm real, baby."

Damn, that weed was strong .

It doesn't take long before I come, and shortly after, I feel a pair of hands lift me up like I'm a doll, putting me down on the edge of the car in a sitting position. I wrap my legs around Jace's waist, noting he already has his pants undone and his average-sized dick sheathed by a condom.

When he slips inside of me, he groans his pleasure in my ear. "Fucking hell, Daisy. You feel amazing." His lips move to my neck, giving me wet kisses and licks with his tongue. When he goes for my face again, I once more move my head out of the way, causing him to halt his movements. "What―" he grunts. "I can fuck you, but I can't kiss you?"

"That's right," I tell him casually, bucking my hips to keep him going.

He doesn't, though. "Why not?"

I groan. "Because I don't kiss anyone." Mickey and Steve watch us, both with their hands down their pants, jerking themselves off. When Jace tries to kiss me again , I push him off me. "Damn it. Boundaries, Jace."

I sink to my knees instead, getting to work on sucking off Mickey and Steve. They have me flat on my back in the dirt after a while, and I let them fuck me hard. I reach my hand up for Jace, and after a moment's hesitation, he sinks down to the ground and joins in on the fun, his irritated frown erased.

By the time they're all finished, I stay on my back for a few minutes, just looking at the stars and the beautiful moon. I'm unbothered by the sound of condoms slipping off and zippers closing, and by the filth and sand on my bare skin.

Tears dwell in my eyes once I'm safely underneath the orange floral covers of my bed later in the evening. There's always the aftermath of an evening like this. The moment where I feel dirty and disgusted with myself. Shame, anger. The whole fucking shebang.

I look at the posters I hung up on my walls and ceiling to make this place feel more like home. Faces of Robert Plant, Bowie, and Jimi Hendrix stare down at me, along with bright colored pictures of all the bands I like. Torn out papers from fashion magazines cover the tiny bits of remaining white walls, because I simply can't stand the vision of monotony. I need it covered up at all times.

Reaching underneath my mattress, I take out my book. I lean on my elbows as I open it, tracing my fingers over my sketches, and the pictures and articles of Lester. The handsome photographs of him at art shows, but also the articles about him when he's in disguise―when he is not Lester Gilbert, but the Sculptor of Death. I draw hearts around his face with my pink pen over and over until there's a hole in the paper.

I ache for him. I'm aching for a time that I'll only have him and never have to put myself though these meaningless hookups like today.

I hope that when he finally sees me, I will finally be free.