Allure

03| chanced on

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My ass swayed rhythmically as I walked it down the stairs, my father, Jarvain had returned from a business trip this morning, and his family had been overjoyed.

And tonight, mingling with the melodic voices of his daughter and wife was his deep baritone.

His voice was like his presence, it craved to be noticed. Noticed, and admired.

I guess it was hereditary, and as a result of malfunctioning of genes, I had attained it from him.

The voices seemed to be coming from the kitchen. Despite my rationale, I tiptoed my way to the kitchen. Somewhat curious to know how my life could have been, under ideal, unrealistic circumstances.

My half-sister sat on the kitchen counter, the object of adoration of two doting parents, as the two of them stared at her proudly, happily. Then they turned to look at each other, as though they were proud to have created this seeming masterpiece.

Maybe, that girl could have been me, that woman, my mother.

I felt the familiar feeling as it probed unrelentingly at me. The feeling that replaced overrated, commonly felt jealousy; that of sadness.

It wasn't often I felt like this, I steeled myself to the point where I barely recognised emotions of this sort.

But being human, it included feeling.

And that was when I decided I wouldn't let myself fall prey to all of this emotional drama.

I called upon my best stony expression as, as each step propelled me towards the Stones.

"I need the car," my haughtiness had made a comeback, even if I felt slightly bad for ruining their family moment.

My father stared me down, and the intensity of his stare travelled across space to my place at the threshold.

"Why do you need it?" Jarvain and my stepmother hadn't necessarily wanted me here, and to them I was but a meagre legal obligation. I often borrowed Avril's car when I needed a car, which wasn't really that often.

"Party," I stated.

His jaw squared in annoyance, and then in irritation, of the highest degree. But didn't refuse. Maybe he didn't want the pleasure of dealing with my bitchiness this fine evening.

I'll admit though, I wasn't really a stellar daughter. But my half-sister definitely was.

Hey, I got the keys, at least, if not the trophy for the best daughter.

*

The party scene was my scene.

The alcohol, the drugs, the sweaty bodies. The palpable environment. The horny atmosphere. And the highness and senseless and immediate sources of happiness, right, left and, centre.

The hot guys, looking for girls to dry hump on the makeshift dance floor and the hot guys, looking for girls to fuck. The girls only just looking for a good time.

Then the typical jocks and cheerleaders and other popular kids who placed themselves on a pedestal above everyone else. Then the guys and girls who entertained others and themselves with crazy dares.

Now, I just needed a find a guy who's looking for a girl to dry hump on the makeshift dancefloor, and my purpose will be served.

Often, at such parties, there are a wide array of guys to chose from, but when you removed the sleazy douches from the list, your choices reduce drastically. Then on removing the stupid, naïve guys looking for true love at a party, half your list is eliminated. Then when you narrow down your list to the kind of guy you looking for, there is again an immense reduction of viable options.