Celeste

Celeste derived form old Latin translating to heavenly yet the girl who wears the name is anything but, in fact she seems to be have been spit out from the depths of hell.
Alec and Celeste have an agreement but this agreement is proving to be harder for Alec to maintain than he would've thought.
He's falling for her and that's a breach to their contract in her words he's just a smart, safe and easy fuck nothing more.
He thought he would've liked this contract after all it's what he wanted with Sheila but Sheila loved him too damn much. However Celeste isn't Sheila or like any of those other girls. Celeste is different, she's a challenge because unlike the other girls it was quite easy getting into her pants, it's just harder for him to slither his way into her armoured heart.



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1. Barbie Doll

Alec

I like bringing her alcohol call me selfish because it’s probably going to damage her liver and stuff but there are these rare moments when she’s just shit faced that the insecure girl in her comes out, raw and bare for me to see.

She doesn’t remember her when she wakes up but I do and that girl is the reason I’m willing to continue doing this with her, even when she makes me feel like I mean nothing to her.

This girl comes out when she’s asleep and she assures me that I’m more than just an easy fuck, that she needs me, not anyone else just me; the fucked up way I am.

She isn’t like Sheila who wants the player with a heart façade. She doesn’t need me to be one of those bad boys in all those popular movie who’s been fucking his way through life then meets this one special someone who makes him change his ways because he loves her  that much. She just needs me, no filters, no nice gift wrapping.

This insecure girl within her needs me to assure her that she’s beautiful that she means something to the world and ending her life would devastate a lot of people most importantly; me.

She needs me to keep her from swallowing those pills she keeps hidden under her mattress, or slitting her wrists with the variety of razors in her shared bathroom.

She said she’d take the pills first so that slitting he wrists doesn’t hurt then fill up the tub the way she’s seen in movies and just lay there in her best tight short red dress, her lips painted blood rad, nails blood red, afro all cut off, big golden hoops attached to her ears, killer stilettos strapped to her feet.

She’ll go out big and loud, her final attempt at getting an audience.

She’d be in the newspapers for at least two weeks, her parents forever labelled as the people with the daughter who killed herself and the other daughter who didn’t make it out of hospital, her brother known as the one with two dead sisters. She’d be leaving a stain on everyone even me, the guy who fucked a girl who killed herself.

She said no one’s going to say the guy who was fucked by the girl who killed herself, even though that’s the story. She fucks me, I don’t fuck her.

Tonight will be the same I think as I sneak into her bedroom through the window she leaves unlocked for me every Monday, Wednesday and Friday night.

“I brought vodka,” I announce and she finally acknowledges my presence looking up from her laptop screen to give me her coffee stained smile. I love that smile.

Walking over to her bed she reaches her hand out to grab the bottle but I pull it away and he bottom lip instinctively juts out.

“You’re forgetting something.”

She rolls her eyes but pulls me by the shirt anyway and places her lips on mine kissing me hard and I let myself drown in it convincing myself that this is real. I’m not just a smart, safe and easy fuck.

She pulls away with an even bigger smile on her face. “You always let your guard down,” she shows me the vodka bottle that’s now in her possession.

“Lemme go get whipped cream, remember just slip under the bed before anyone who isn’t me comes in.”

She stands from the bed and unlocks the door and disappears a second after.

I lay on her uncomfortable bed studying the plain white ceiling. I wonder what kind of madness that vodka bottle will bring out of her tonight.

Should I tell her what she says to me when she gets really drunk or should I just keep it to myself?

“Forget something?” I turn once her door opens but it’s only her roommate, who seems to not like me very much.

“Oh hi,” she smiles softly at me then moves over to her bed to grab a number of insignificant things.

I look away once she knows I’ve acknowledged and chosen to ignore her and return to my task of thinking while examining the boring white ceiling.

The door opens and closes shortly after but the pause in between opening and closing tells me there’s something she wants to say to me she just doesn’t have the guts to say it.

Staring at the ceiling soon ceases to fascinate me and I turn to the laptop that she placed on her bedside table. I pull it over to me and instantly recognise the character with the bloody smile as Niklaus. This girl has an obsession for him that she doesn’t mind expressing. Why isn’t she like that about her other feelings?

Eventually she enters and locks that door once more. I can tell she was laughing, there’s still residue of tears in her eyes and she always has this look after laughing, the kind she also has after a good high or fuck.

“Jane wants to start charging us more for the nights I need the room for myself.”

“She’s just jealous,” I mutter referring to her roommate then move closer to the wall so she can lay next to me on the single bed the school provides them with. She opts for sitting on the chair on her study table instead.

She swings a little before she stands to grab shorts from the floor and the bottle of vodka from the bed. She goes back to the chair. She opens it and takes a big swig with her eyes closed.

Her face scrunches up then she opens her mouth as if trying to get rid of the bitter taste. She shakes the whipped cream bottle then sprays the cream into her mouth and swallows.

“Damn,” she shakes her head looking at the vodka. It’s much more expensive than what I bought her last time.

“You’re awfully chatty, come on tell Mama Lestie what’s on your mind before all that thinking becomes too much for your brain.”

I wasn’t dumb in fact I got As in math, physics, bio, chem, while she was getting Ds and Es. Of course if we’re being honest she was the more book smart one she just put in no effort at all meaning she just naturally knew forty to fifty percent of the work.

“It’s nothing big,” I assure her.

“You’d usually be going on about your day, your feelings, something your little brother accomplished or how you hate your parents.”

It felt good that she noticed that I was different today but at the same time I couldn’t help but feel like she was only doing it because I brought her the liquor.

“I just can’t do this anymore,” I sit up. Her big eyes widen slightly before she regains composure and I feel like she’s scolding herself for reacting the way she did/

“Can’t do what?” she questions taking a sip of the bottle smaller than the previous three. I walk over to her and take the bottle away from her hand. Big eyes look up at me and I swear I can see the girl pleading with me not to take it away, not until she’s set free but I want the both of them to be here for this one.

“I don’t know what we are.”

“We have an agreement, what do you mean?”

“I’ve had fuck buddies before Celeste, this isn’t how that relationship works, you can feel this I know you can.”

“We’ve talked about this.”

Oh how the tables I’ve turned. I used to be her, holding all the cards with someone else trying to figure out whether they were my everything like they thought I was there’s.

However they didn’t know me enough to claim me as their everything.

Maybe that’s the problem, she knows me too much to want me like that.

She takes me free hand and her eyes dart to the vodka bottle; the only card she’s not holding.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” I choke it out cause the words feel hard to let out as truth. It’s easier when I’m lying because then I have nothing to lose. I almost think she didn’t understand with how it came out but the way her face falls and her thick eyebrows knot together tell me she’s heard and she understands.

Eyes go to the vodka again.

“Is that supposed to change anything?” she asks incredulously, no mercy to her voice, cold brown eyes looking at me right in the eye.

She inhales, then exhales pulling her hand that’s on mine away.

“Go home Alec,” she closes her eyes not before giving the vodka another glance. She doesn’t open them almost as if she’s waiting for me to be gone when she does. I just admire the way she looks like this, even with the crease on her forehead she looks so damn beautiful.

In our silence I can hear the way my heart is beating violently almost as if it’s trying to tear a hole through my chest and just land in her lap as proof that she’s the rightful owner.

Her jaw clenches, eyes still closed. She must feel me looming over her.

Does she really want me to leave or is it just an attempt to push me away because she thinks I’ll hurt her.

She inhales then exhales louder this time it almost sounds like a sigh. Her eyes blink once, twice before she shakes her head.

She takes note of the fact that she’s caged between me and the chair so she leans into it further.

Eyes go to the bottle of vodka.

“Go home,” her tone is firmer this time, eyes don’t close glaring at me.

“No,” I shake my head. “We’ve been doing so well these past few weeks. You’ve been talking to me about things and not only when you’re drunk.”

She looks away.

“You’re not falling in love with me Alec,” she stresses the word me as a defeated sight comes out of her.

“You already tell me what to do now you’re telling me how I feel?” I stand straight not completely understanding where she’s going with this.

“I’m sick and tired of you shit Celeste. You’re the one who asked me what’s wrong but now you’re just dismissing me.”

Why should I keep on listening to her when she just disregards my feelings?

She stands from her chair and places her hands on her hips almost as if she’s going to scold her child.

“Sit down,” she points a finger at me and I concede despite not wanting to.

“I’m too sober for this,” she outstretches her hand and I give her the bottle of vodka. She takes a longer swig than the first swallowing with more effort.

Then the whipped cream is quickly sprayed into her mouth.

I’m mad at her I can’t be thinking about white fluids in her mouth.

“You used to be a manwhore, leaving broken hearts and vaginas in your wake. Manwhores have short attention spans. Eventually you had what all this small town had to offer then I came along, more of a challenge than a church girl because with me the challenge wasn’t to get into my pants it was to worm your way under my skin.

I’m different and that intrigues your small town boy mind thus resulting in you believing that you’re falling in love with me. I’ll give it a few more weeks until you realise I’m just ordinary and I’ll be right.”

“It’s not like that.”

“It’s like when you have this field of toys, at some point when each one of those toys came, you gave them you’re undivided attention, then you realised it’s all just the same Barbie she just wears different clothes and come sin different colours.

Then this new Barbie came along, she was new she was different and when you pull a string she could even talk. You forgot about your toy field and this Barbie became the goddess at your alter but eventually you’ll realise she’s just a Barbie and there’s always going to be a newer one out there who can even walk on her own as the factory is always trying to make better Barbies and that Goddess is going to become just one of those toys in your field.”

Her analogy was whacky but it makes sense in her own Celeste type of way.

I viewed women as toys and she was just one that I’d never seen before thus my quick infatuation with her but that wasn’t true.

“I feel you need this too.”

Or this wasn’t her making a judgement about more. It was more making a judgement about herself how by end of the day she was just a factory made Barbie doll and the only thing  that made her special to the ones I’d seen was that she could talk.

I accept the bottle taking a considerable sip. “We shouldn’t finish this.”

“It’s Saturday tomorrow breakfast is at eleven, no one’s going to bother me. You don’t even have to leave early.”

Just a few minutes ago she was ordering me to leave now she was suggesting that I drink and stay in with her.

“Only if you admit that your analogy is bullshit and my feelings for you are real.”
I don’t want to sleep alone tonight or with some girls name I can’t remember or Sheila, I just want her.

“Sheila,” she mutters out of the blue and I know this is crazy but I feel like she can actually read my fucking thoughts. I tilt my head at her about to ask the question. “Your phone, Sheila,” she explains pointing at the phone on the bed that must’ve fallen out. She takes the bottle away from me and moves towards the bed.

I follow and grab my phone.

“She can wait,” I saw switching off the phone.

“What if it’s something important?” she questions and takes a sip of the vodka.

“I have a talking Barbie doll to play with,” I move on top of her. She skilfully flips us over the lowers her lips to my ear. “Never call me that again,” her voice is sharp but inviting all at the same time. Almost as if she’s daring me to call her that again.

“Barbie doll,” I say only for her ears to hear.

“You wanna play, let’s play.”

She takes my shirt of then moves down to take my pants off leaving me in boxers.

She grabs the whipped cream then the vodka. She takes a swig of the vodka then shakes the bottle of cream.

She makes a trail of the whipped cream from my thigh to my boxers until where they meet skin again.

She starts licking the trail from the bottom moving up….lingering….then sucking on my skin right on top of the boxer rousing me to the point of combustion.

She doesn’t stop, in fact she shakes the bottle of whipped cream again still sucking creating another trail while her big eyes look at me.

The cold cream meets with my left nipple, then right. She moves on from that spot licking further upwards.

She takes her time sucking on my left nipple, using her teet to extend then th right as I bite into my pillow to I make no scandalous sounds.

I didn’t know my nipples were this sensitive, I’m a guy.

It’s back to my groin more whipped cream applied.

She’d never take me into her mouth bare so she takes me over the fabric that’s being stretched so much I feel it will tear.

My hands move to the boxers trying to get her to just put me out of my misery and just free me crom the confines of the material and just do it. I want to feel her hot mouth around me with no barrier between us.

She pulls her head up, whipped cream sprayed on my chin some of it gets on my lower lip. She licks it all off.

She sits up, more vodka ingested.

Hips rock into mine creating a maddening friction.

“Just fuck me already.”

“Ask nicer,” she lowers the upper parts of her body bringing her lips to my chest. “Please just fuck me.”

“Better,” she smiles and pulls off my boxers, then her short and lowers herself onto me eyes keeping themselves trained on mine as she rocks herself until the start to roll backwards.

She doesn’t need the pillow to muffle her sounds like I do.

We’re both close.

Me then her

She moves off and reaches across me to grab the vodka, taking a long swig. “You’re washing my sheets,” she always says this when I fill her up so much that it dribbles down her thighs but she’s never actually given me sheets to wash/

She’s already half way through the bottle and I grab it from her drinking as well. I can feel myself getting hazy yet she seems far from it more awake and I know she wants more sex.

She’ll want more until she’s so drained of energy that she can’t walk anymore, it’s the only time she’ll let me do the fucking but I don’t get to see her face when I’m doing the fucking, she’s on hands and knees and I have to enter her from behind in the hole of my choosing. I swear I think I shattered her uterus.

I can’t do that to her; not anymore.

Besides the walls are thin here, that’s why she loves Tuesdays and Thursdays and weekends when she can sneak into my place and I can tear through her the way she wants.

She snatches back. I choose to stay lied down and staring at the ceiling. I can’t look at her.

No more whipped cream is being used, she’s just drinking.

I take a chance and look; only a quarter left of the bottle.

I drank some, she didn’t drink all that. Next time I’ll dilute it. I’ll tell her I ran out of money or something.

“I hate Hannah Baker.”

The girl is here pushing her way to the surface. In a few minutes after all the sad talk I’ll matter again.

“She’s dead and let’s not forget fictional yet she gets more attention than me and the war in Palestine.”

She’s turned to look at me, she lies down as well leaving the vodka on the bedside table.

Her middle finger stars tracing my face then my lips. “I hate you.”

This is new.

“Why?”

“You said you’re falling in love with her, us; me.”

“So you hate what I said?”

“No, I hate you, you and your stupid dark raven hair and stupid sexable body, and your stupid panty wetting smile. I just hate you.”

I was no Chris Hemsworth and I was about ten years from a body like his but for high school I guess I was just the right frame, no six pack yet but I was in good shape.

“There’s a thin line between love and hate.”

“So you might think you love me but you actually hate me and I think I hate you when I actually love you?”

“No.”

“Good cause I would’ve thought you were crazy.”

This is going to be a long ass night.


A/N

I'm excited for this story. It's going to be quite cliche for the most part but I'm still super excited. It was a inspired by a friend of mine which is where the name is inspired from and some of the character traits of Celeste as well. 

Somehow it fit into this other book series I'm writing and I think it fit in perfectly as a prequel to that series. I'm going to write this then a book called Muslim Support Group then finally I'll write Wicked Games again, a better version of it as I realised I was sort of forcing the story the first time around. 

I kind of lost touch with the characters and I'm working on that. I want Wicked Games to reach it's maximum potential and not be hindered by me in any way so I'll probably start writing it again in December when I have more time to focus and really focus on the story.

In the mean time there's this.

The cover art isn't mine and I just thought it would be fitting for the name.

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