Wait For Me

“Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!!!”

From my bedroom window, I watch as the fireworks in my backyard go off in flashes of bright colors. My foster family hosts a huge party for almost every holiday you can think of. Half the town shows up because, of course, everyone loves the Simpson family. Why wouldn’t they? The Simpsons are master manipulators. They can make almost anyone fall in love with them.

But not me.

They were off to a great start. They made themselves look fabulous to the social workers. I mean, they live in a huge mansion. The house looks like the typical in-your-face, flashy white monstrosity you would usually see in Beverly Hills or some shit.

It’s kind of odd seeing a house like this in such a small town. That’s another reason everyone loves this family. The house is basically like the fucking town hall.

The Simpsons set me up in a beautiful bedroom and enrolled me in some rich-kid private school, which isn’t that bad because my foster sister, Lisa, goes to the same school, and I actually like her. She hasn’t given me any reason not to.

The other members of the Simpson family are a different story. I don’t know what happened or what made them switch to hating me so badly, but it basically happened overnight. It’s like once the praise for their actions stopped, they regretted fostering me and started to resent me instead. They allowed their masks to slip.

Lisa, though, makes things a little more bearable. She sneaks me ice cream and chips when her mom doesn’t let me eat sweets because I “can’t afford to gain any weight.” She also calls out her perverted older brother when he hits on me in front of his family and does her best to protect me when her dad tries to take his rage out on me.

I moved in with the Simpsons four years ago, when I was thirteen. My parents and my younger sister were killed in a home invasion, but I was at a sleepover when it happened.

Every day, I wish I had been home, in the top bunk of my and my sister’s room. Every day, I wish I had been shot right there beside her.

The men were never caught, but according to the police, it looked like it was some sort of gang initiation. I guess it was just bad luck. The bastards chose my house and destroyed my entire life.

As I watch the lively party going on outside, a tear trickles down my cheek. I’m tired of living this life. I want my old fucking life back, or no life at all.

I get sucked out of my thoughts when my door flies open. It’s Jason, my pig of a foster brother. Of course, he doesn’t even bother knocking. Jason hasn’t tried much more than grabbing my ass and making disgusting, derogatory remarks to me, but I know it won’t be much longer before he goes beyond that.

“You’re missing a good party, sis,” he whispers in a gross attempt at being cute.

“Yeah, looks fun. I’m just tired tonight, but happy New Year!” I give him my best fake smile and a dismissive wave, but he just stands in my doorway, staring at me like a perv.

“Go back to the party, Jason. I wanna go to bed,” I say with a hint of attitude in my voice.

He pushes himself off the door frame and stalks toward me. He gets so close I can smell the vodka on his breath. “I think the real party is in here.” He smirks at me, looking me up and down, reminding me that I’m only wearing an oversized T-shirt and underwear.

I take a few steps backward, feeling like I can’t breathe with him in the room. His overpowering cologne and sleazy grin make me nauseous. I sit on the bed and crawl under the blankets, feeling way too exposed under his piercing stare. “What do you want, Jason?”

“You know what I want, Kyra.” He sits on my bed as well and squeezes my thigh through the blanket.

“Never going to happen. Get out.” I push his hand away, which just pisses him off. He puts his hand back and squeezes harder, leaving a dark bruise on my white-as-snow skin. Suddenly, he rips my blanket off and cups me over my underwear.

“This will be mine; don’t you dare give anyone else that cherry. I’ll be taking it when you turn eighteen.” He squeezes me one more time, then stalks out of my room, slamming the door and leaving me frozen in utter disgust.

I’ve tried so hard to avoid Jason. I’ve told him to fuck off. I’ve even tried being nice, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t leave me alone. He’s made it obvious since the day I moved in that he wants me. He treats me like I’m his property, but that will never, ever be true.

I’m getting the fuck out of here in three months—as soon as I turn eighteen. I’ve been saving every last penny I’ve made working as a waitress in our small-town diner, and I have enough to get myself the fuck away from this family.

Lisa knows how I feel and has said she’ll help me. But how much can she do? The last thing I want is for her to get in trouble. Anyway, I’m sure her parents will spin it so I’m the bad guy in the whole scenario.

I can hear it now: “We did everything we could to help her, loved her as if she were our own, and this is the thanks we get.”

Whatever.

The four walls feel like they’re closing in, prompting me to get out of the house for a bit. The Simpsons live within walking distance of a bar that doesn’t even bother asking me for ID. It’s pretty obvious I’m depressed and hate my life, so they pity me and let me sit alone in the corner drinking. I even get free drinks sometimes.

I change out of my PJs and put on a pair of black jeans and a tight, long-sleeved red shirt that makes my boobs look amazing. I throw my plain-looking brown hair up into a messy bun and then hit the road. Well, I hit the road after I jumped out of my second-story window and shimmied down a tree close to the house.

I only sprained my ankle by jumping out the window once before, but it was so worth it. The evening is the only time I can get away from the Simpsons. They rarely let me leave the house unless it’s for work or school.

But they also don’t care enough about me to ever check on me throughout the night—which I’m not complaining about at all. I love the bit of freedom I get after 1 a.m.

I walk into the dimly lit bar, and right away, I’m shocked to see there are actually people here. And they’re not just old drunks from the town; there’s a whole fucking biker gang.

I turn around, but I’m not staring at a wall; I’m staring at the hottest but scariest fucking man I have ever seen in my life. I find myself completely enchanted by his beauty. Calling a man as rugged and scary-looking as him beautiful might be odd, but he is. He is so beautiful. His neck and hands are covered in tattoos, some faded, others bold. He’s wearing a leather jacket and jeans, but I can tell he has more tattoos I can’t see.

Then there are his eyes. They are a startling, vibrant blue, a color so intense it feels like they can pierce right through me.

“Leaving so soon, angel?” he asks me with a smirk that leaves me breathless—and apparently stupid because I can’t remember how to talk. I’m being sucked into this man’s eyes. It’s like I can see a whole damn galaxy. Or maybe it’s the deepest parts of the ocean I’m looking at…

Wait, fuck, am I drooling?

“S-sorry,” I manage to say. The man gives me an odd look, like he’s confused, maybe even slightly angry.

“You can’t be old enough to be in here,” he states as he looks me up and down. When Jason does this, I feel like I have vomit in the back of my throat, but when this stranger does it, I have a stomach full of butterflies.

What the fuck is wrong with me? This man is too old for me, and did I mention he’s fucking terrifying? I don’t know what it is about him that makes him so scary… Maybe it’s the tattoos or his enormous muscular body, but he’s got a kind-looking, almost babyish face too.

As I study him, I can see traces of exhaustion, which definitely makes him look slightly older. And he’s got the most perfectly shaved facial hair, and an even more perfectly chiseled jaw—a jaw I want to trace with my tongue.

I shake off my inappropriate thoughts as a surge of unexpected confidence washes over me.

“I come here all the time.” I roll my eyes, turn around, and strut back into the bar, ignoring all the stares from a few familiar faces of small-town drunks and a shit ton of bikers.

I take three steps, my heart pounding louder with each one. But before I can reach the counter, I feel him behind me again, his presence radiating heat and tension that sends shivers down my spine. He has followed me.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says, his voice low and grumbly, cutting through the murmur of conversations.

I force myself to turn around, tilting my chin up defiantly, but his dark, piercing gaze pins me in place. He leans down, his lips close enough to my ear that I can feel his breath. “You’re too young for this place, angel. Turn around and walk out before it’s too late.”

The heat in my cheeks flares into anger, and I shake off the butterflies threatening to betray me. “I’m not a kid,” I snap, louder than I intended. “And I’m not scared of you.”

His smirk deepens, but there’s no humor in it now. Only something darker. “Not scared yet,” he says softly, his voice like a warning, “but you should be. Because once you step into this world, you don’t get to leave.”