Filthy Punk

NEVE

I was going to be blasted by the time this dinner party ended.

The Harrods were longtime family friends of ours, but attending their annual end-of-year dinner party was more out of obligation than friendship. Rob Harrods, the patriarch, was an insufferable asshole who abused his wife and kids, but my mom wanted to keep up appearances.

“Darling.” Mom’s voice was a clipped whisper in my ear. “Don’t drop ice cream on that dress.”

We sat together at the resplendent dining table, the soft murmur of dessert conversation a balm against my mom’s fussing. I peeked down at my cream woolen dress and frowned. It was spotless. I pointedly stared back at her while taking another scoop of chocolate ice cream from my crystal glass.

Her nose scrunched up, and with a huff, she turned back to the main conversation at the table. Rob and his wife Helen were holding court, speaking back and forth about recent developments in the city.

A new Danshurst movie studio, a new highway, and more access to people meant more access to money. Mom pitched in, trying to say something relevant or smart, but I could judge from the sideward glances and unsettled pauses between her speaking and their responses that she was losing favor.

I would’ve escaped into my ice cream glass if I could. God, it was divine, rich and velvety on my tongue.

“I’ve been trying to find you all night.” A girlish voice spoke, one I hadn’t heard in a long time. Without care, I clinked my spoon back into the glass and enveloped Ashley Harrods in a hug.

I’d seen her seated with her brother Brody at the other end of the table, eating dinner as far away from their parents as possible. With the volume of guests, it’d been impossible for me to approach her sooner.

But now I could get out of my mother’s iron grasp.

“Where did you all disappear to?” I asked.

She led me out of the dining room. “The game room. That’s the new ‘kids’ table now.” Ashley grinned.

I expected her to take us to an adjacent room. Instead, we passed through an open set of doors under the stairs. Shutting the doors behind us, it was much quieter, almost muffled. A staircase, much smaller than the grandiose one above, descended before us. At the bottom, the basement opened up into a wide multipurpose space.

Most of it was still under renovation. The left side wall was half painted, and old linen partially covered the floor to protect it from the paint. A bar to the right was stocked with alcohol in glass cupboards. But in the center of the room, people sat at a long, clothed table.

Brody was walking from the bar, clutching some bottles of beer, which he passed around the table. When his eyes flicked to us, his smile was infectious.

“You’ve shot up like a tree.” I laughed as he gave me a quick squeeze of a hug. I hadn’t seen him since we graduated from high school.

“And you’re just a short ass, Miss Prim,” he said, gesturing for me to take a seat. “I’m guessing you don’t drink beer?”

“I’ve got it covered, dude,” Ashley interjected, pouring some glasses of rosé at the gilt bar.

In the time it took for Ashley to pass me a glass, a weight bumped into the table, and there was a clatter of bottles before a spray of beer hit me. I froze, reminded of how white my dress was. Shit.

There was a gasp. “Oh, sorry!”

Standing on the opposite side of the table was my ex-best friend Cynthia, and the oldest of the Harrods siblings, Dominic. Where Ashley and Brody were fair-haired and had an air of polite respectability, Dom was cut from a different cloth altogether.

He was dark and radiated arrogance. He’d always been the black sheep of the family and, as far as I knew, had been estranged for the last six years now. But why the hell was he here then? With Cynthia as a plus one?

Exchanging a glance with him, I licked my lips, tasting beer. Dom seemed vaguely amused, a piercing showing in his dimpled cheek. No apology on his part then.

I snatched a napkin from the middle of the table, addressing Cynthia with a tight smile. “It’s fine.”

Thankfully, it wasn’t an egregious stain, just a minor splatter. Still, I knew my mom would go apeshit later. I’d have to steal a jacket from Ashley to cover it up and douse myself in perfume to mask the stench.

Once I’d patted myself off and settled, Brody had been driven to the other end of the table, where a heated game of cards took place. Two other friends were hounding Ashley at the bar. That left me seated—alone—across from the most difficult people in the room.

Just when I thought my night was getting better.

I took a slow sip of rosé to steel my nerves. Cynthia shucked off her denim jacket, revealing a low-cut top that highlighted an intricate skull tattoo at the center of her chest. She and Dom matched in eccentricity. Dom’s entire neck was a blackened collar of ink, lash-like strokes edging around his jaw and extending to his ears.

To avoid social suicide, I took the initiative since they wouldn’t.

“So, when did you two meet?” I tried not to sneer. Dominic looked anything but pleased at my friendly attempt. For years, I’d been nice to him, but he wouldn’t reciprocate or engage.

It was shitty. He knew how uncomfortable he made the room feel, almost as if he reveled in it. Then he left me to face the silence of being blatantly ignored. Fucking dick.

Cynthia, on the other hand, was beaming, ready to gush about herself. “Oh god, we met sometime last year. I was working at a club downtown when his crew played for the night.” Apparently, Dominic could shred an electric guitar. Cynthia explained how she’d approached him backstage, said some quippy line about his musical taste not being shit, and just like that, he’d smiled at Cynthia, and they’d ended up drinking till closing. Fucked right on the bar.

I had no idea how to respond. “Wow. That’s amazing.” Of course, she’d say that. When we were friends in high school, she always gave me shit for listening to pop music. Like Nirvana and The Eagles were the reigning kings all other genres had to bow down to.

I could appreciate them, but she made them so insufferable with her elitism. Our middle ground was The Cranberries.

I listened to Cynthia drone on and on about their life. Rock concerts and night races. All the while, Dominic didn’t open his mouth. Glasses were piling up on the table. I think I was on my third rosé when talk shifted to their sex life.

“You know my favorite part of his body? His collarbones, the way they stand out so well in his chest and broad shoulders. I’d never appreciated collar bones until him!”

God, this was fucking unbearable. I started laughing. Thank god I was tipsy. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to sit through it for the night. “What about you, Dominic?”

There was a pointed silence before he spoke. “My favorite part?” He leaned back in his chair as if to get farther away from me. “Can’t you guess?”

There was a nudge between my legs. I blanked, momentarily stunned until I realized what he was doing. Dominic had pried my legs apart under the table. The smug look on his face told me he had every intention of being demeaning.

Cynthia cooed at me, misinterpreting my dumbfounded expression. “I forget, you don’t really have any male friends, do you?” Dominic’s boot was cutting into the soft flesh of my calf, inching higher. That was going to leave a mark. Cynthia was lovingly slinking her fingers through his dark hair, making a show of how close they were. “What a tight leash your mom has you on! You don’t talk to boys enough.”

At the press of his boot to my underwear, I squirmed at the coolness. I took a steadying breath, staring down at the glass in my hands to conceal any involuntary reactions. This was what the prick wanted, to subjugate me in shamefulness. Of course.

“Her cunt is my favorite thing.” Dominic’s voice was even, almost carefree, despite the spiteful glint in his eyes as he observed my downcast face. “Does that word make you uncomfortable?” He asked, his voice a patronizing whisper.

Cynthia giggled. She enjoyed having something over me—they both did. What a match made in heaven they were.

“That’s not it…” Ever since high school, Cynthia was boy-obsessed. She liked to think she was better than me because she had more experience. I had nothing to prove, yet I was so fucking upset by how she treated me.

And Dominic, why was he so mean? In all the years I’d known him, I’d done nothing to spite him. I looked him dead in the eye, feigning to gain back my focus.

I kicked his foot away, forced his feet apart, and shoved my loafer against his crotch. “Boys ain’t shit.”

There was a ceremonious coo from the rest of the table, but it might as well have fallen on deaf ears because the expression on Dominic’s face was one of shock. He never expected me to lash out at him. Serves you right, asshole.

Cynthia shrugged and threw her hands in the air. “Geez. All right, Neve.”

Of course, she’d turn it back on me. They all would. To them, it was an overreaction. None of the others were stuck with the most insufferable people at the table, though. I was. The anger was like a burning fire in my chest, all-consuming. I downed the rest of my rosé, collecting myself.

“Sorry, I just—I’m tired.” I smiled shyly. “The drink makes me say stupid things.” Like exactly what I wanted to say.

I was too in my own head to notice when Dominic discreetly moved his hand under the table. I gave him one last scuff with my shoe, only for him to grip my bare ankle and rip off my loafer. He wasn’t gentle about it either.

I shot him a glare but quickly realized showing my irritation would mean he’d won—that they’d both won. That wasn’t an option, so I resigned myself to walk from the table with only one shoe.

I pulled Ashley aside to ask if I could borrow a jacket to cover my splattered dress, and she nodded before reminding me where I could find her room. Then, before anyone could notice I was missing a shoe, I darted out of the game room. Fortunately, they all seemed too drunk to care.

But Dominic dared to smile at me as I left. Not when I’d tried to be personable and make conversation, not all the other times I’d been nice to him in childhood. No, he had to smile at my expense. My mother had warned me against people like him, a good-for-nothing punk who’d divided his family and tarnished their namesake.

Barefooted, I trudged up the staircase with my shoe clutched at my side. When I went to turn down the second-floor hallway, two people, engaged in conversation, stood, poised to walk my way.

Helen and my mother. Shit.

There was no way Mother could see me like this!

Instead of freezing on the spot, I made a beeline for the bathroom and locked the door.

The relief of being alone in a cold, quiet bathroom made my heart swell. I could be myself. But as I stood at the door, I realized Helen and my mom had stopped at the staircase. Their voices murmured excitedly, and I threw my head back in silent frustration. Ashley’s room was just down the hall!

I leaned over the sink to gaze at myself in the mirror. I’d thought the beer spray hadn’t been that bad, but under this light, the stains on the cream sweater dress stood in stark contrast. Stains were washable, but my mother was going to kill me regardless. She’d see it as a stain on her reputation, and those aren’t so easily washed away.

I turned the faucet on, dipping my finger in the water, and soaked each stain. Dominic’s face kept coming to the front of my mind, taunting me with his words. Does that make you uncomfortable?

He thought me an uptight, prudish, and inexperienced girl easy to rile up. But I wasn’t. Worst of all, I couldn’t escape the emotions he’d risen out of me. The outrage I’d stamped down on had now accumulated into something much darker and unexpected. I hated Dominic, and yet…

I pulled my dress up over my hips. The insides of my thighs were covered in scrape marks that stood out like red welts leading to my blue underwear, discolored with the dust from the bottom of Dominic’s shoe.

And from how wet he’d made me.

Oh, Dominic, you had such the wrong impression of me.

A dull ache spread throughout my core as I thought about the cocky glint in his eye, the black ink on his skin. I rubbed a finger against the wet material. It was tempting. After all, no one would look for me in the bathroom.

Pushing my underwear to the side, I cupped my pussy, only giving light pressure, reminding me of the weight of his boot pushing into me. Fuck. I needed to save this pent-up energy for Zombi. I could hold out for him and send him something lewd.

Or I could just do it now.

Fuck Dominic for making me this horny and angry!

The dirt stain wasn’t exactly flattering for a photo, despite the shiver it sent through me. I peeled my underwear off. I’d not given going commando much thought, but seeing the fabric of my knitted dress hiked over the rise of my ass in the mirror, had giddiness bubbling inside me.

There was something about being fully exposed under clothing that felt absolutely sinful.

Squatting on the tiles, I angled the phone to capture myself from the mouth down, my knees drawn up to my chest, thighs pressed together. I smiled as the timer went off and quickly searched for Zombi’s messages on my Twitter.

You smile like you’ve done something naughty.

I couldn’t contain my grin. I have, Zombi.