Trigger Novel Ch. 1
An excerpt from a novel I'm working on. Enjoy! Warning: contains NSFW and sexual content.
It all started with a look. Those twinkling eyes, messy hair, slight scruff on his face. Kryptonite. Immediately I wished I was meeting him instead of the Pinnochio look-a-like match.com had decided to set me up with, but alas that wasn’t in the cards for me tonight. And I’m not the kind of girl to ditch a date for a better looking one. Accepting my fate, I went up to the bar and ordered a glass of white wine. I’m always unsure of dating etiquette – do you wait to order together, how much drink should be consumed before the other party arrives, is it cool to order food – but my nerves were rattled and I needed the drink. Hastily, I downed the wine, then found a quiet booth in the corner. And that was when Kryptonite caught my eye.
He didn’t smile, or even nod – he simply stared at me. I could feel his eyes penetrating me – inspecting me, taking me in. I quickly looked away, embarrassed. Did he have any clue the effect he was having on me? One look and I could feel my heart racing. I flagged down a waiter and ordered another glass of wine. Screw dating etiquette – my suitor was already ten minutes late as it was.
Being late was a big no-no for me. Perhaps it was my girl-scout training, but I took duties seriously and when I told someone I would do something, I would do it, on time or even early. At twenty-five, I had an 800 credit score, no debt, had never gotten pregnant or arrested, and anything that wasn’t quite squeaky-clean, I would bleach or peroxide until it was. Up until last year, when I quit my very stable desk job to pursue acting (I apologize for already being a cliché), everyone who ever met me would say, “your parents must be so proud.” And indeed they were… until last year.
My family is comprised of lawyers and doctors. We went to college, got decent grades, got a decent job, followed by a decent house in a decent neighborhood, with a decent spouse and a decent pension fund. Nothing about it was exciting or even great, but it was decent. And while that might seem appealing to some, I aspired for greatness— for passion and exhilaration, for joy and life and everything it has to offer. Instead, I had spent most of my life keeping my head down and trying to stay out of trouble. So that was when I finally decided I couldn’t take the complacency anymore, and made a change. It wasn’t like I had done anything drastic, I just decided I couldn’t handle spending countless hours in a cubicle doing a job I didn’t enjoy. My parents said they didn’t understand and their fear came from a place of worry and love. I knew where it really came from: a place of not wanting to tell their country club friends that their daughter was attempting to be an actress (a.k.a broke) while their friends’ kids were buying houses and settling down. They didn’t want to be reminded I was a disappointment, nor did I want to be made to feel like one, so our communication dwindled until there was no communication at all.
As soon as I polished off my second glass of wine, Kryptonite had started to make his way toward me. My stomach did a backflip as he slid into the booth. He was even better looking up close (or maybe that was the buzz from the Chardonnay), but he also just took my date’s place. What would he think when he showed up? If he showed up.
“You here alone?” His voice was deep and husky. Deeper than I expected. He sounded like he smoked a pack a day.
“I’m waiting for someone,” I replied.
“And how late is he?” I glanced at my cell phone.
“He isn’t coming.” I wondered how this guy could be so sure of himself. Some people show up that late. We are in Los Angeles. There is a thing called traffic. I picked up my phone to text him. Not that I wanted to see him at this point, but at least I could save face.
“Don’t even bother texting him. He’s not worth it. What’s your name?” I set down my phone and studied his face. Who was this guy?
“Laura. What’s yours?”
“If you’re good, I’ll tell you.” My stomach did another flip-flop. I should’ve walked away right then and there. Maybe he was trying to be cute, but the way he said it had an edge to it… a bit of danger in it. A danger that enthralled me and made me want to trust him blindly. A danger that made you want to flip off your parents as you drove off on the back of his Harley. THAT kind of danger. A danger that also made me feel scared, but alive. Not the good kind of danger, the great kind of danger. Maybe, just maybe, the danger and the greatness I was looking for. He smiled, then asked if he could buy me a drink.
One drink turned into several and before I knew it, I could hardly stand. I found out Kryptonite’s name was Dave (apparently two shots of tequila brought me to that intel). He was an entrepreneur with mommy issues who was only in L.A. for the weekend. I didn’t know what he was entreprenuer-ing, and I could only infer about the mommy issues given the amount of times he brought up both her and her new boyfriend. I was ready to call it a night, but quite frankly I knew I wasn’t okay to drive and I didn’t have enough money or patience for a cab.
Dave kept trying to touch my tits, and I suppose that was to be expected, but he certainly lost his luster as the tequila wore off and the nausea wore on. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and stumbled past the crowd of people still trying to find someone to take home. There was a long line to the bathroom, so I decided to go outside instead. Some fresh air sounded nice right about now.
As soon as I got outside, I longed for a cigarette. It had been a long time since my last one, but anytime I was tipsy the urge came back. It was that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach that aches for that extra edge to blur everything around you. I glanced around hoping to find someone who was willing to offer up a smoke with minimal small talk. My brain couldn’t handle conversation at this point. There was a guy standing next to me smoking a Camel Light. He seemed harmless enough and was preoccupied with his cell, so small talk didn’t seem like an issue.
“Can I bum a smoke?” He looked at me. He had sad puppy dog eyes and a receding hairline. It’d probably been awhile since someone talked to him. He offered up a stick without a word. Perfect.
“Do you have a light?” I pressed. He flicked his lighter and held it up to me. I could smell the whiskey wafting off his breath. It made me want to vomit, but I inhaled the smoke deeply, feeling myself sinking deeper into my buzz. A glorious, beautiful, lust filled anything-goes kind of buzz.
The guy turned back to his phone, and I took a few steps away from him. I wondered what Dave was up to. Was he wondering where I went? My match.com suitor never text me, either. Was I that forgettable?
Someone that could be replaced as soon as they were out of sight. The thought brought tears to my eyes, but I tried to convince myself it was just the booze talking. I’d finish my cigarette, then get some water and hopefully be okay enough to drive. This night quickly became something I wished I could forget.
I stubbed out my smoke on the street, then went back inside. Dave was at the bar talking to a new girl. She was blonde with big tits, probably freshly bought. That was the thing about L.A., there was always someone shinier and newer to take my place, or anyone’s place really. Embarrassed and realizing my insecurity about being replaced wasn’t just the booze, I decided to try the bathroom again. There was no line this time, so I went inside. Maybe I could just sit in there for a bit until my thoughts became less dizzy. It was already one, so the bar was starting to empty out anyway.
I pulled down my pants and willed myself to pee. Get some of the alcohol out. Just as I was about to pull my pants up, I heard someone enter the bathroom. I peered underneath the stall to find men’s shoes. Had I gone into the men’s restroom by mistake?
“Hello?” I called out.
“You in here?” replied the gruff voice.
“Dave?” It didn’t really sound like him, but with all the noise in the bar, the silence of the restroom could be obscuring his voice. I opened up the stall to find the guy from outside – the one who gave me a cigarette. My pants were still undone.
“Oh, sorry,” I mumbled as I walked past him. I wasn’t sure why I was saying sorry, it just seemed the most appropriate thing to say in this situation. I started to button my fly when he put his hand on my hand. He smiled. A creepy, sadistic smile. Goosebumps washed over me.
“You owe me for that cigarette.”
“I didn’t know it came with a price,” I pleaded. I searched around the restroom hoping for signs of anybody else inside. There was no one.
“What do you think is fair?” he continued.
“Please…” I wasn’t even scared. I was just too drunk and too tired to want to go through this right now. I knew the score - knew what he was asking, but, damn it, not tonight, now now, not with him, not like this. Besides, the bathroom didn’t have a lock and people were always sneaking off to pee at a bar. I could scream and someone would come inside. I had options.
“Just let me play with your pussy. I just want to see it.” The nausea came back, full force. If I threw up maybe he’d be disgusted enough to leave me alone. I tried, but nothing came. He inched closer to me, the smell of whiskey was even stronger than before. His touch made me tense up, but when he started to unzip my jeans,
I didn’t resist. I just wanted him to get this over with. He slid his hands inside my underwear. I prayed I wasn’t wet, so it wouldn’t encourage him to go further. His fingers felt like sandpaper against my skin. They were stubby and cold. I turned away.
He took his fingers out and viciously spat on them, then dove back inside. This time he was rougher. It hurt. I grimaced. He smiled.
“You’re not being very cooperative, are you?”
“Please, I just want to go home.” The tears started to form in my eyes. I was tired and getting fingered by some creepy dude in a shitty bar bathroom. The quicker I could leave and forget about this night, the better.
“Sshh, don’t cry.” He touched his hand to my cheek. I think he was trying to be comforting, but it just made me hate him. I slapped his hand away. His eyes clouded over and his face turned red. He grabbed my wrist. He was stronger than I was expecting. It hurt. I tried to fight him off, but his grip was too strong. He spun me around toward the stall and started to lower my pants. I screamed. And that was when I blacked out.