❝P-please,❞ He whimpered, holding my hand over his erection. It was perfectly hard and ready for me, straining against his boxers in the most delicious way.
"What is it that you want me to do, baby?"
"Touch me," He moaned and drew his head back whe...
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"Clover, I hope you understand why we had to do this," Bridgette grabbed my face in her hands, her velvet gloves bringing warmth to my cold cheeks. Beneath my tan skin, there's no doubt in my mind that I was blazing red, but don't mistake the color from the snipping of the winter's air.
It was from pure anger. The ire of betrayal and abandonment that I felt when my mother, who I never spent more than an hour a week with, coaxed me from our home with a suitcase saying we were taking a girl's trip but instead dropped me off in cold ass Colorado.
I should have known something was up when she didn't bring along the many sisters I have. How is it a girl's trip with only one of six girls? But I was the fool who fell for it. Though she was never attentive or showed an ounce of care, I'd be lying if I said I didn't still feen for her attention. She was my mother, and I wanted to be noticed by her just once.
"Your grades should be more important to you so you can get a good job like me and James when you get older, and since you claim your siblings are the reason you're failing, you will be staying here. Not to mention the sinful acts you've been indulging in..." She paused, scoffing in disgust. "I can't even bring myself to speak of those. I hope your stay here can fix you like it fixed me. I went here when I was your age—"
"And look at you now," I said cheerfully with a sarcastic smile. "You've got such a good job you can't even be in your children's lives and leave everything to your oldest—until of course her grades start embarrassing you and you trick her into going to some religious freak fest, making her abandon your kids as well."
Bridgette sighed in surrender, looking down at the metallic pumps on her feet. Even standing on a pallet of snow, she had to look her best. Sometimes I felt like she cradled her designer clothing more than her children, and it hurt. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a handbag when I grew up. Everyone at school laughed at it. My teachers thought it was cute and my classmates thought it was weird, but it wasn't some shallow dream of mine.
It was something I wanted to be because I knew that then, maybe, even if it was just for a few minutes, she'd look at me with love in her eyes.
It felt as if she'd read my mind when she brushed my hair away from my forehead when the wind blew, "I do care about you, Clover," I can't feel it. "I don't know why you act this way." Because I want to feel it.
Bridgette opened her handbag and pulled out her wallet, unzipping it. I watched as she grasped a black card and held it my way, doing what she did best. Handing me money because apparently, money could raise a child better than their parents could, "As I told you in the car, Mrs. Miller is a close friend of mine. If your grades are up to par, they allow you to leave on weekends," She said when I took it from her hand. "When I log into your account and see that you've been allowed out, I will wire you a bit of money. Until then, everything on here is for emergencies only."
Could this card buy a hug? Does that count as an emergency?
She sighed when I didn't say anything else and situated her bag on her shoulder. Giving me one last goodbye, she waltzed back to the car, leaving me stranded in a winter wonderland of yearn. Yearn for her to run out of the car and into my arms, telling me she'd miss me even if she were lying. To wipe my tears and kiss my cheeks while calling me her baby and saying she wanted me to get better because she loved me, not her social status.
