001 - Crying Little Bird
CLOVER
The slutty owl costume is a tight fit, mainly because it belongs to my best friend, Pragya. It's Halloween night, and officially three weeks since graduation.
I'm an honours graduate with a degree in psychology, and here I am squeezing my ass into scaled short shorts and fake feathered wings on my back when I'd rather be curled up against my fiancé, Jared, sketching or reading smut.
Unfortunately, this was his idea: a costume party for his birthday, and I couldn't say no to him. Lately, he and I seem to be worlds apart. Ever since he proposed, he's been distant, barely there, and even on the days he's home I still feel lonely. After dating him for four years, I've grown really attached to his presence and affection in my life.
The fact that he kissed me this morning gives me hope. He told me to wear something sexy, and Pragya's owl costume is the sexiest thing I could come up with on such short notice.
"Damn, you look delicious!" My best friend whistles at my reflection and I grin, cheeks heating.
I turn to the side, admiring my curvy waist and how the outfit pushes my tits so high they catch the light and shine on their own.
"Really?"
"Fuck yeah." Pragya nods, that appreciative look in her eyes the genuine kind I know well. "This looks better on you, which pisses me off, but hey…at least you'll finally get laid tonight!"
"Fingers crossed." I giggle and apply the rest of my gloss. "I'll see you tomorrow! And do not call me…I'll be busy!" I wiggle my eyebrows at her and grab the matching golden-brown clutch she's lent me for the night, along with the little boxed present I've prepared for him.
"Oh, I know."
It takes the Uber driver twenty-nine minutes, and an unhealthy amount of time staring at my tits in the rearview mirror, before we pull up at Jared's house. The car creaks to a slow stop, and the driver lingers even after I've paid him.
I can't bring myself to care, not when excitement rushes through my bones like it's alive. Jared is an anchor in my life. After my brother and parents, he's the person I love most.
The past few months since the proposal, I've been in so much pain. I've hated myself for giving him a reason to want this much distance between us. The fact that he reached out means he still loves me, and I'm willing to make it work.
I stumble slightly up to his front porch. The sounds of the already bustling party carry through the door, and I inhale deeply before I take hold of the knob and twist.
The air in his house is hot and reeks of cheap and expensive perfumes, and sweat. The music is loud and rowdy, and I can feel each bass drop in my bones and feet.
The party is in his basement, the one we worked on together two years ago, big enough to hold at least twenty people. His house is just as I remember it. After the proposal, he never let me visit and never truly explained why.
That annoyed Pragya, and she claims he's cheating, but come on, Jared would never do that to me.
The door to the basement is warm to the touch, and the chatter beyond it grows louder. I open it and walk down the stairs until I finally see the crowd. Familiar faces from school, and then unfamiliar ones.
All of them normally dressed.
My feet freeze at the bottom of the stairs, and my fingers tighten around the metal banister as if I'm holding on for balance. I probably am.
The chatter dies as eyes slowly turn to me. They're all dressed casually, a few a little eccentric, but none in a costume. I watch as some hide smiles behind their fingers while a group huddled together under clouds of smoke openly points at me.
My cheeks burn with a shame I've never felt before, twisting in my belly and making my nose sting.
"Clover! You made it!" Jared's voice rings out from the back of the crowd, and he saunters towards me, clearly drunk and, judging by his pupils, probably high as well. His handsome face is lit up with a smile that makes his green eyes twinkle, but that smile doesn't put me at ease.
"Jared…" I reach for him instinctively. I'm going to demand an explanation the second we leave this basement. I can't stand the scrutiny. My skin tingles and burns from it. "What's going on?"
He steps away before I can hold on to him, stumbling back to get a better look at me.
Then he laughs.
That seems to be the permission the others need, and they join in.
"Oh my God!" Jared wheezes. "I can't believe you fucking came here dressed like a whore…I didn't think you'd actually do it!"
His words slice through me, cruel, and the hurt that steals my breath feels almost comical.
"What?"
Did he…do this intentionally?
He turns back to his pack of laughing wolves and laughs some more. "I shouldn't have made that bet with you," he says to his best friend, whose face is red with strain.
A bet?
"But since you're here…" Jared's words trail off, and my eyes follow his finger as he points at the dancing pole in the far corner of the room. The one he convinced me to buy. "You said you'd take lessons for me, didn't you, baby…" He closes the distance between us, his clammy fingers wrapping around my arm. "Come on then, give us a good show!"
I feel sick to my stomach watching the man I've loved since I was eighteen say those words. His fingers dig into my skin, but the burn is nothing compared to the damage his words leave behind.
"Why?" A hot tear slides down my cheek. "Why are you doing this?"
He takes one look at the tear and snorts. "I'm tired of your bullshit, that's why." He spits the words so harshly that I flinch. "I mean, you promised to get me a job at your brother's company…I even put a fucking ring on your finger for that role, and what does the hiring officer do? He tells me I'm not fucking qualified!"
He shoves me, hard enough that my back slams into the wall, and a burst of pain nearly doubles me over.
"You think it's been fun following your prudish, spoiled princess ass around for years?" He scoffs. "It was all for the job, and since I didn't get it, you might as well give me this parting gift." He chuckles and reaches for me again, and this time I pull away.
"Come on," his friends drawl from behind him. "Don't be shy, you're already dressed the part, aren't ya?"
"Yeah, show us those t*its, Clover!” another says.
"Get on the pole!” a girl I know cheers.
"Ride it!” A few of them chant.
My nails dig painfully into my palms, fury and hurt coating my tongue like they've never known anything else.
"So…all this time it was because of my brother's company? Not because you love me?" I hate how small my voice sounds compared to the rage clawing at my insides.
"Come on! You're damaged goods, Clover…who would fucking want you? You were literally run through like a train four years ago…everyone knows that." He runs his fingers through his hair. "Don't ruin my party. If you aren't going to shake ass or dance on that pole, then get out. We're done."
We're done. I've dreaded those words for years, dreaded the day he'd say he didn't want me because of my abuse. Hearing them from him now, I feel nothing.
"You're a fucking asshole, Jared." I say through gritted teeth. "No sensible company is going to hire you because you're dumb as rocks!"
Then I storm out of the house, trembling, and walk into heavy rain…like my luck isn't already bad enough.
This is fine. This way I can pretend I'm crying because of the rain, pretend I expected this, and move on by morning.
But my hands shake and sobs rip from my throat as I fish out my phone and dial the first number my heart can think of. My brother, Ace.
It rings, and rings, and just when I think he isn't going to answer, I hear a click.
"Ace…" I sob. "I need you to come get me."
Pathetic, I know. But I don't care.
"Woah…slow down." A distinctly familiar voice rumbles down the line. "Clover?"
Panic joins my sobs. "Why do you have my brother's phone?"
"Because the idiot went off with a woman and left his phone on his coffee table, thinking his best friend wouldn't snoop through his shit."
My heart slows as the timbre of this stranger's voice washes over me.
Wait. I know that voice. Why do I know that voice?
It sounds like–
“Cade?" I cry, my throat clogged with too many emotions.
"Let's focus now." Cade's voice drops lower. "Who the fuck made you cry, Little Bird?"
