parents, only children, and one other thing in common:
Boredom.
They’d talked online about everything, but some of their cybertalk was dangerous. They were crossing a line and Faye’s self-preservation kicked in.
“We should meet,” she suggested to Cami.
“Where?”
“The club.”
That was another thing they had in common. Cami’s mother and Faye’s dad had memberships to the most exclusive golf club in San Diego County.
At the end of their oh-so-formal lunch overlooking the dock, Faye asked, “Have you ever cut yourself?”
She knew Cami had, it was one of the first things they’d talked about online. It was the reason Cami had been sent to therapy.
Cami’s pretty blue eyes glazed over. Excitement? She flushed. “I can’t. My mom checks my arms all the time.”
“Still?” Cami was eighteen and didn’t even live with her mother anymore.
She frowned, nodded. “Not as often, but I never know when. She’ll send me away. She said she’d commit me.”
“Can she do that now?”
“Yes. She wants my trust fund. It’s why I moved out, but I still have to go through the hoops until I’m twenty-one. God, I can’t wait.”
“Come on.” Faye got up and they walked to the bathroom.
The bathroom at the club was opulent. There were no stalls, but complete rooms that housed a toilet, sink, and shower. Two private sitting areas and even a lounge, which Faye suspected some of the refined women used after purging. Doors that closed. Walls that were, almost, soundproof. Sometimes two women came out of a private room. Flushed. Doing the forbidden.
Cami followed Faye, who closed the door tight behind them. Without a word, Faye pushed up the sleeves of her shirt.
Cami gasped, took a finger and ran it over the rows and rows of raised scars. “Wow,” she breathed heavily. Cami turned her left arm over, palm up, and Faye touched the old, faded scars, seven of them, on her forearm. They were shallow. Time would make them disappear to all who didn’t know they were there.
Faye reached into her purse and extracted her favorite knife. Very thin, very sharp. She handed it to Cami.
“I can’t,” she whispered, though she held the knife, staring at the blade as if in a trance. She licked her lips.
Faye turned around, pulled up her shirt, and showed Cami her back. There were no scars there; a clean slate.
“Do me.”
“You want me to cut you?”
“It will seal our friendship.”
Faye almost thought she’d read Cami wrong. But then Cami’s breath caressed her neck and she relaxed with anticipation, closed her eyes.
She inhaled sharply at the first sting of the cut, the familiar warmth, pain and heat blending to create a power she only felt at this moment, when blade sliced flesh and reminded her she could end it all if she chose. There was always the option, always the choice. She had the power. Just a matter of how deep, how long, how quiet she could be…
Cami was gentle, the cut was shallow, perfect, an inch long. Blood oozed over its edge, trailing slowly over her shoulder blade. A finger touched her back, along the slender line of blood. Faye closed her eyes. Lips touched the fresh wound, and she held her breath, squirming against her jeans, a rush of pleasure gliding through her body.
Cami’s lips kept pressure on the cut until it stopped bleeding. Faye had many sexual fantasies, but they were all about boys.
None of her fantasies felt as good as Cami’s lips on her back.
“Thank you,” Cami whispered in her ear. “Can we meet here again sometime?”
Faye could only nod.
“I’ll TM you.”
Then she kissed her on the neck and left.
“So we’re all in agreement?” Cami said. She looked at Faye, who nodded.
“Dammit, Faye, can’t you talk some sense into her?” Skip was angry, but that wasn’t unusual.
“You liked it, didn’t you?” Cami countered.
Skip had. Faye had watched his expression when she killed Judge Victor Montgomery. Wide-eyed. Amazed.
Boredom.
They’d talked online about everything, but some of their cybertalk was dangerous. They were crossing a line and Faye’s self-preservation kicked in.
“We should meet,” she suggested to Cami.
“Where?”
“The club.”
That was another thing they had in common. Cami’s mother and Faye’s dad had memberships to the most exclusive golf club in San Diego County.
At the end of their oh-so-formal lunch overlooking the dock, Faye asked, “Have you ever cut yourself?”
She knew Cami had, it was one of the first things they’d talked about online. It was the reason Cami had been sent to therapy.
Cami’s pretty blue eyes glazed over. Excitement? She flushed. “I can’t. My mom checks my arms all the time.”
“Still?” Cami was eighteen and didn’t even live with her mother anymore.
She frowned, nodded. “Not as often, but I never know when. She’ll send me away. She said she’d commit me.”
“Can she do that now?”
“Yes. She wants my trust fund. It’s why I moved out, but I still have to go through the hoops until I’m twenty-one. God, I can’t wait.”
“Come on.” Faye got up and they walked to the bathroom.
The bathroom at the club was opulent. There were no stalls, but complete rooms that housed a toilet, sink, and shower. Two private sitting areas and even a lounge, which Faye suspected some of the refined women used after purging. Doors that closed. Walls that were, almost, soundproof. Sometimes two women came out of a private room. Flushed. Doing the forbidden.
Cami followed Faye, who closed the door tight behind them. Without a word, Faye pushed up the sleeves of her shirt.
Cami gasped, took a finger and ran it over the rows and rows of raised scars. “Wow,” she breathed heavily. Cami turned her left arm over, palm up, and Faye touched the old, faded scars, seven of them, on her forearm. They were shallow. Time would make them disappear to all who didn’t know they were there.
Faye reached into her purse and extracted her favorite knife. Very thin, very sharp. She handed it to Cami.
“I can’t,” she whispered, though she held the knife, staring at the blade as if in a trance. She licked her lips.
Faye turned around, pulled up her shirt, and showed Cami her back. There were no scars there; a clean slate.
“Do me.”
“You want me to cut you?”
“It will seal our friendship.”
Faye almost thought she’d read Cami wrong. But then Cami’s breath caressed her neck and she relaxed with anticipation, closed her eyes.
She inhaled sharply at the first sting of the cut, the familiar warmth, pain and heat blending to create a power she only felt at this moment, when blade sliced flesh and reminded her she could end it all if she chose. There was always the option, always the choice. She had the power. Just a matter of how deep, how long, how quiet she could be…
Cami was gentle, the cut was shallow, perfect, an inch long. Blood oozed over its edge, trailing slowly over her shoulder blade. A finger touched her back, along the slender line of blood. Faye closed her eyes. Lips touched the fresh wound, and she held her breath, squirming against her jeans, a rush of pleasure gliding through her body.
Cami’s lips kept pressure on the cut until it stopped bleeding. Faye had many sexual fantasies, but they were all about boys.
None of her fantasies felt as good as Cami’s lips on her back.
“Thank you,” Cami whispered in her ear. “Can we meet here again sometime?”
Faye could only nod.
“I’ll TM you.”
Then she kissed her on the neck and left.
“So we’re all in agreement?” Cami said. She looked at Faye, who nodded.
“Dammit, Faye, can’t you talk some sense into her?” Skip was angry, but that wasn’t unusual.
“You liked it, didn’t you?” Cami countered.
Skip had. Faye had watched his expression when she killed Judge Victor Montgomery. Wide-eyed. Amazed.
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