Accelerate: The ex billionaire's girl

KEEVA

"Yes"

"Of course"

"Mm-hmm."

"I'll do it."

These seemed to be the only responses I would give to my parents' underlying demands which just kept on coming every day. It's either they want me to check out a new engineering course I should probably minor in to improve my grades or enroll myself in another dumb club.

I would do anything I was told.

Like a trained dog, I was taught to obey.

I was the girl who was chased to pursue her

parents' dreams. The teacher's pet, the smart kid at the front of the class.Only Driven by the need to make them proud and their worthless validation. I had been gaslighted into thinking that what I wanted and what they wanted were the same. Trophies and Books that I dreaded reading lined my numerous shelves.The paragon of a golden child. That was how I had lived all my life. That was me. That is me.

But it was never enough.

But tonight changes that.

Tonight, I am Kiera.

.

****

"Ouch..."

I had underestimated the distance between my window and the ground. I had bitten my tongue to quell my whimpers. My landing was anything but soft. My ankle had grazed a sharp edge of the window. I draw out a tissue from my bag and dab at it. My parents would kill me if they ever found out where I had gone.

The night was young.

Every house on my block had lights on. Friday was

a day for movies and relaxation, a start off to the

occasional weekend that was short to me because it felt like any other day. All I could ever do was study

And study only.

It was senior year and everyone was too busy thinking of their prom dress or who to fuck for the last time or something exaggerated so nobody would notice the school's nobody under

a different shade of foundation, the thickest mascara I

could afford with my meager savings, the darkest lipstick

my mom owned, and my amateur makeup skills.

And of course, the revealing dress that I rented. I hailed a taxi and made my way to the address that buzzed

around the school yesterday, hoping it was the right one.

****

The house was exactly how all the gossip girls

described it.

A drunk couple bumped into me on my way in. I

stepped back to give them distance. According

to the romance books I secretly read people could throw up when heavily drunk.

The front door was wide open and the furniture was

distinguishable despite how dim it looked inside. So were all the couples that were

making out on them. Flashing colored lights bounced

off the silhouettes of teenagers and their respective

bodies. A chill breeze reminded me

of my exposed shoulders and why I hadn't walked in

yet.

Was I scared? Of people I had never talked to?

Nobody would know and if I did all I have to do is lie.

I walked in and no sooner I had done that than a

A drunk guy bumped into me.

"Watch it, pretty".

Someone called me pretty. That's a good start.

I looked for a drinks table but I couldn't find one. So now I was thirsty and lost and the only knowledge

I had of parties were from the fiction books that I

secretly read. I walked through the

dancing entourage and shoved back each time some unknown person bumped into me. With every shove, I quickly bow my head and offer a petite 'sorry' in an unrecognizable voice. I had no idea where I was headed but it had to be away from the crowd.

When I had finally gotten out, I struggled to find a door, any door that would lead to somewhere new, maybe give me the 'surge' or a 'boost' to

party. The music greatly disturbed me; I don't know what these people enjoy in the loud and obnoxious bass-boosted songs streaming from the overhead speakers.

A couple leaned against a door. The girl's legs

wrapped around a boy's waist and their lips were glued to each other, their eyelids shut yet shivering. Her boyfriend's veiny hands trickled down her back, his fingers dug into the arch of her spine. Their shirtless bodies collided with every surge, with every thrust their tongues went further and further.

Disgusting.

Next to them is a slightly ajar door, I use my foot to pry it open and step in. It was the kitchen and a very big kitchen at that. Big but filled up with people I was hoping not to see.

There are about 3 couples in the kitchen but luckily, not as many as there are in the living room. But that is only because there is a huge commotion on the island table as a bunch of hippies holler and scream as they chug alcohol and sniff cocaine.

Even more disgusting.

A couple leans on the fridge, they're shyer than the previous. the boy's enormous hands cupping the girl's face; almost like they're ashamed.

"Excuse me".

My voice sounds strained, to my disappointment. I thought I would enjoy this large social gathering with loud music. It is apparently (apart from all the fancy birthday parties that my parents force me to go to so I can meet their 'rich' friends), my first party.

I don't know why I expected them to move. It was either they were too deep in 'love' to hear me or they did hear me but just wanted to ignore me. The boy's hand flew under the girl's shirt, his fingers lingered near her navel, teasing her and then traveling up her tummy. She let out a low moan which showed that my plea had only catalyzed their making out. I ignored my thirst and went through the back door, annoyed. Whatever I was searching for, it wasn't there.

The backyard was worse than the kitchen.

Teenagers seem to have a knack for breaking objects, both sentimental and ordinary. Shards of broken glass line the grass. A torn family picture lay on the grass, soaked in what looked like wine. I picked it up and sniffed.

Ribena.

All the noise in the backyard emanated from the group of teenagers in a circle hyping someone in the middle. It's probably a girl twerking or some morbid game of truth or dare.

"Tess! Hey! Where've you been?"

I turned to whoever was behind me, expecting to see someone I didn't know. Or someone cute at least

But I did. Everyone did.

It's Brandon Madden. The rich heir to his father's multibillionaire company, the school's pride and joy, and probably the host of this party. Without his entourage around him, he looked like any ordinary boy. But his charming smile was all too familiar. Who didn't know him?

And he smelled like alcohol.

"What's wrong with your makeup?", he said and ruffled my hair. I draw back. Did he know me? Who was Tess? Was there something wrong with my makeup?

"I think you've got the wrong person", I said and turned to walk away. But he grabbed my wrist.

"I'm sorry. Please don't walk away, I can't stand being left alone".

His words seem to sink into me and unfold this tender part of myself I had never even known existed. It was like I had been wanting to hear that all night. Like it was the 'boost' I had been looking for. I stopped running.

I'm tired of running from everything that I feel isn't right. I'm only human. I'm only a teenager. I shouldn't be running away from the most popular boy in school. Especially when he's the one talking to me.

He pulls me closer and I look up at him, embracing whatever this burning feeling in my chest is.

"H-Hi", I stutter.

"Hi", he replies. He replies. He doesn't walk away or snicker. It's not a prank. It's not a dare.

"Is there something wrong with my makeup?".

"No, it's just...you look different. It's Tess, right?"

"Are you drunk?"

"Just high"

"I'm Kiera. You probably don't know me"

I think about what my fate will be on Monday as I walk down the hallways. Will he see me as Kiera or as Keeva? I'm hoping and at the same time dreading where this conversation will lead.

He raises his eyebrows and then opens his mouth but instead of something audible, he burps. Another disgusting thing because his burp smells like alcohol.Just a 100 times worse.

"Sooryy...By the way, everyone's been staring at your ass", he clicks his tongue and shoots at me with a finger gun.

Turn off. Major turn-off. The last thing I'd expect to hear from my school's hotshot is a snarky sexual comment about my body. Most of all, my ass.

"I'm sorry. Can I get you a drink or something?", he quickly adds. For some strange reason, I decided to ignore his previous comment and just go with the flow. But I need to test the waters.

"Don't you have somewhere to be with your girlfriend or something?.Most of the time, you're never alone".

It's too unusual, finding the most worshipped boy in the school all alone, wanting company so bad that he wouldn't mind talking to a stranger. How ironic.

"So you know me?"

"Heard of you"

He squeezes the bridge of his nose and squints.

"I...don't want to think about that or her. I just wanna chat with you, you give off this good energy. I dunno"

I was thirsty. I was bored. This was Brandon Madden wanting to talk to ME because he thinks I'm a good person. That's the best compliment I've heard all night. It definitely wouldn't hurt.

"Sure"

With that, he leads me back to the couple-infested kitchen. This time, there's no one leaning on the fridge. Just great.

He opens the fridge and takes out a few surprisingly intact bottles, two plastic cups, and half a lime. He goes to the island table where a bunch of hippies remain, sniffing drugs and whatnot. He doesn't even bat an eye or move a muscle. They cleared out quickly, giving him the space he needed.

I wish I had that kind of dominance.

It's euphoric, watching him sluggishly mix one thing after the other with precision. At first, he looked like he didn't know what he was doing but the more I looked, the more I saw he was more professional than I thought.

"Like what you see?"

I hadn't noticed how my staring had shifted from the plastic cups to his torso. It was admirable, defined like a statue, and his shirt only made it worse.

"Maybe I do"

My answer leaves me in shock. He raises his eyebrows.

"Brave and beautiful", he says and with that, he takes a sip from a plastic cup and hands me the other.

"Try it"

I'm almost scared to take it. I had always heard of guys who spiked drinks with sleeping drugs, gave them to girls, and rape them in their sleep. He could be a guy like that. But I've let fear consume me for too long.

Tonight, I live.

I take it and sip it. It's sweet with a fizzy spiciness, and the sharp taste of alcohol was prominent yet hidden with what tasted like a mixture of orange juice and Sprite.

I liked it.

"You like it?", he asked.

I nod like a 3-year-old. Brandon chuckles. I finished it in no time. This is it. The 'boost' I needed. I lay my head back and breathe in deeply, ignoring the scent of sweaty teenagers and expensive perfume. But I had let my guard down too soon. Another person bumps into me and spills my drink all over me. I feel it's coolness and the bubbles pinch my skin. The perpetrator staggers away.

"I'm so sorry", Brandon mumbles as he takes out a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs at my tummy, where most of the drink had gone to. I stay speechless and I watch him clean me. He must've forgotten himself because he kept using the handkerchief to clean my chest and the space between my breasts and my neck and before I knew it we were face to face.

Brandon leaned in so close, I could feel the tension in his breath. The curiosity in his eyes is contagious. We're thinking the same thing.

"Can I kiss y-"

I think about my mom's face when she opens my blanket and doesn't see me in it. The limited time I am partying on. I've always been one to follow my logic instead of my emotions but I switched gears the moment I stepped into this party: and I don't plan on switching back till I'm kicked out. If I'm kicked out.

I react before he finishes. I push my face forward and arch my neck just enough so our lips touch. It was meant to be an ordinary, quick kiss, the kind of kiss a wife gives her husband before he leaves for work. But Brandon's response is filled with force and yearning. He thrusts his tongue in and I'm unsure, unbalanced, my knees bend in. But Brandon's hands grab my waist. My hands are all over, confused; searching for a weak spot so I can surprise him the way he did to me. I place my palms on the arch of his back then work my way to his back pockets, all the while he's pulling me closer till our chests have no space in between.

I remove my hands from his back pockets and dip my fingers under the bottom seam of his shirt. I don't know who I am but now, I'm dizzy with alcohol and hunger, a hunger for touch.

His eyes are wide with surprise. They're filled with all the answers I want to hear right now.