I’m blocked by Camilla, thrusting a champagne glass in my face almost immediately; it’s like she knows
my intention and is telling me to back off without saying a word. The glass she gives me is of
something clear, and I notice the weird oily swirl running down the center as though something alien
has been freshly poured in.
I glance from the drink and back to Camilla, catching sight over her shoulder of the girl I’d been about
to rescue, being fucked in a corner, pounded against in the most vulgar way, while her face is that
same gaping emptiness, and I recoil, nausea rising up. From here, all you see are his back and
shoulders, no hint that he’s exposed at the front, his hand pushed hard at the wall, concealing her
mostly, while the other keeps her leg up at his hip so he can screw her standing up. Subtle thrusting
motions are all that give the game away.
My gut is screaming that this whole scene is wrong, even if this is the norm for places I used to
frequent. Public sex goes hand in hand with drunks and drugged up assholes. It isn’t the first time I’ve
seen clubbers go at it in the shadows, but in this place, a place Arrick frequents, he would never
condone any of this, and it’s sending off a million warning bells.
“I’ve had enough.” I try to hand it back to her. Certain there’s something in it, but she just shoves it back
at my face. The mistrust in my stomach makes me stiffly stop it and bring my eyes to her in an act of
defiance. Camilla frowns, smiles wider and leans in quickly, catching me off guard, hitting my mouth
with hers and delivering a seductive lip suck and attempt to kiss me properly. That at once sends me
into defensive mode and I practically spit out the taste of her cherry lipstick and champagne saliva. I
pull away, shoving her back harshly and spill the drink between us in the process.
“I’m not like that.” I stutter, completely thrown. I’ve never had a girl make a pass at me, and I have no
idea how to react. It sends a new wave of repulsion through, similar to what I get with men, yet
somehow worse. It feels like more of a betrayal somehow.
“You’re such a square … it’s just a harmless girl snog. Everyone does it.” She licks her red lips and
smiles at me, eyes homed in on me once more and edges in a lot more slowly as if somehow warning
me means she gets to have another go. This time I push her further and harder and step back.
“No! I said, NO!” I snap defensively, that inner child lashing out when cornered and my breath starts
hitching in panic. She giggles and runs a finger down my cheek with a pouted smile, cooling my rage
for a moment.
“You’re no fun, Pooky.” She adopts a cute baby voice like she’s talking to a fucking puppy and taps my
glass again. Not fazed by my outburst or hostile reaction at all. “Drink up and we’ll have a little dance
instead.” She tips my glass up at my base, pushing it into my lips so I taste the first sip, my eyes glued
on her warily, caught in a dreamlike state, yet my gut kicks in at a thousand miles an hour, and I know
for certain I shouldn’t drink this.
She’s distracted for a second by another man, this one looks mid-thirties, leaning into her ear and
saying something which has her turning away to get a better angle to listen, and I see my chance. I tip
the glass to the side and empty the contents over my shoulder, feeling the splash of liquid up the back
of my leg, and knowing I probably just soaked my dress and the person gyrating behind me. I pull it
back to my mouth quickly as she turns back to me with a smile. Camilla grins when she sees my now
empty glass and that mistrust increases in my gut, sure she has put something in my alcohol.
I suddenly picture the girl from the wall in my head, her trashed expression, and wonder if she
succumbed to the same thing already. I’ve heard of drugs being used on girls in clubs, to make them
more pliable, lower inhibitions and zombie them out so men could abuse them for their own pleasure. I
didn’t think it was actually true, but now I am not so sure.
“Good girl. See, it’s not so hard to unwind and relax a little. You’re in good hands, Sophieboo. Trust
Aunty Camilla to take care of you.” She removes it from me and slides me back into a little clearing,
making it obvious she wants to dance now I have dutifully had my drink. My heart is hammering, eyes
taking in the number of girls around us in various positions with these men. The goosebumps over my
skin alert me to the screaming voice in my head, telling me that I am completely out of my depth. I need
to get away from here and these people.
I catch sight of another girl in the corner. I vaguely recognize her as another runaway rich kid whose
parents think she has gone off the rails. I’m sure her parents know mine, and she’s leaning forward on
the lap of a man with gray hair, gray fucking hair! He’s like fifty, and he maneuvers under her. I can’t tell
if he’s messing with her, unbuckling pants or doing the deed, but I click that under here, where another
floor above acts as a roof to conceal this shit, in the dark private corner where Camilla has set up,
there’s a lot of sex going on. Sex between wealthy looking older men, and young tearaway girls, like I
was. Subtle to drunken dancers who are paying no attention, but I’m practically sober, alarm bells
ringing and homing in on what’s happening around me in sheer mortification. It’s all so fucking sordid.
Camilla starts gyrating in towards me sexily, pulling my hips into her own pelvis and running her hands
up and down me seductively, in time to the music. She seems to have no boundaries in which part of
my body she can happily stroke, her hands cup my breast more than once and I slide them away.
Knowing I should be moving, running, and getting back upstairs and away from this. My head’s telling
me to keep calm and be rational. I never drank the champagne. I’m not in immediate danger, and if I
keep my cool, I can dance, smile, and make my goodbyes after this song, without any real fallout. She
will just assume whatever was in my drink didn’t work.
It will cause less drama, means I am more likely to be able to walk away from this, and when I do, I am
marching to the nearest security and telling them what the fuck is going on here. My head is already
trying to figure out who in the police department I should even call about this shit, if any crime is even
going on here. None of the girls are saying no exactly, no one is fighting them off.
She’s trashed, acting like the worst kind of whore and obviously swings both ways, clear by the fact she
keeps trying to angle in to kiss me. She has no chance in hell of getting me to go girl on girl if that’s
what she’s thinking, and I bristle up inside. Holding back my panicking, violent, Sophie child, in a bid to
handle this like an adult.
New hands come at me from behind, Camilla suddenly leans into me, reaching around me and pulls
someone forward, so they cup my ass and male hands rest on my hips. The body heat engulfs me
instantly, prickling my skin and putting me on even more of a defensive. She starts swaying me to the
music and ignores my struggle to move out of this embrace, caught between an obvious male with a
fucking hard-on jammed into my ass and her gyrating in my groin like lesbian of the year in a porn flick.
That strangling suffocation of panic consumes me, eyes flicking up to the roof in a bid to psychically
attract Arry. Needing him more than ever.
“Just relax, don’t fight it and he will make you feel really, really good. Richard is hung like a donkey and
fucks like a bull.” She whispers into my face, running her mouth across mine again. I recoil and my
head bangs into a male chest behind me, aware I am being completely backed into submission with no
way out, somehow, she has impaled my body in his and has my wrist in hers, held tight, feet pinned to
the floor by the weight they have on me.
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