Addicted| ongoing

When Hera Foster's rebellious cousin Patricia turned her parents' cafe into a wild, raging strip club, she knew that it would be the end of her.

Landon Drake was the human version of a storm cloud. Dangerous, ruthless, he was a criminal. Hera, desperate, turned to him for help.

But everything comes with a price.

Hera is thrown into a world of popularity and hate, but can she handle it? Especially when the past comes back to haunt her and her parents are hot on her heels.

Copyright © 2017 Rosalyn H.
I HAVE ALSO PUBLISHED THIS ON WATTPAD

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Word count (1810)

You know that feeling when you want to rip someone's throat out and watch them suffer a slow, painful death? That's what I felt when I returned from my week-long trip to Bora Bora to find that my stupid cousin Patricia turned my parent's innocent little cafe into a wild, raging strip club.

The once cozy store with orchids adorning the small, wooden tables was transformed into a deep purple room with a platform and a pole in the center. Neon light flashed from overhead and the antique couches that my parent's had bought from France were replaced with plush seats around small, circular tables. A small booth in the corner sold alcohol and god knows what and the room was crammed with wasted teenagers bouncing to the beat of a Nicki Minaj remix.

I was so dead.

Before my parents and I headed our separate ways in the airport so I could return in time for school, they looked me dead in the eyes and said,

"We'll be back in three weeks. You'd better not fuck anything up. Don't cause problems, and absolutely no Patricia." 

My parents weren't exactly on the best terms with Tricia, and haven't been for the past couple of weeks ever since she called them, "brainwashing hoes." I guess that they think that she'll bring out the non-existent rebellious side of me.

I haven't even stepped outside for ten minutes and I had already broken all of the rules.

It's not like I was a bad kid, hell, I was probably the most trustworthy person on earth. My situation was like a less extreme version of Rapunzel with controlling parents, except my Rapunzel was a brunette with monstrous hair, straight As, and zero tolerance. At least we both had, like, zero friends.

Patricia was like the Flynn Ryder in my sad, boring life, but this princess is too busy for her man and the drama that comes with it. This princess needs to get to university.

I almost barfed at the stench of alcohol and hot, sweaty bodies. As a group of half-naked girls tittered past me, my eyes narrowed at the sight of a familiar blonde head. Tricia was "dancing," flailing her arms and belting out the lyrics to "The Night is Still Young."Her short, skin tight dress was covered in blue sequins and she reminded me of a fish out of water, gasping for air. I had the sudden urge to strangle her.

Pushing through a mob of half-naked bodies and strippers, I stormed my way over to the dance floor, which glowed an electric blue.

Patricia never had a stable job due to being too "provocative." Where did she even get that money anyways?

Heads turned towards me as several of my classmates stared at me. Who could blame them? I had dark, angry bags under my eyes due to the long flight, my clothes were wrinkled and stunk like the airplane food, and my hair was so frizzy and tangled you could get lost in it, hell, Dora could've explored it.

"THA NIGHT IS STILL YOUNG! THA NIGHT IS STILL YOUNG! THA NIGHT IS- HEY!" I yanked Patricia to the side. 

'What. Were. You. Thinking?!" I screeched, "I left for a week, a week, and this" I jabbed my finger in the direction of a girl in a skimpy dress humping a pole, "happened! Oh my god. What am I going to tell my parents?" I whispered.

I was named, "Most Likely to be a Nun" for a reason. My parents were like bulls, tolerable when left alone, but if you put one toe outside of the line, they'll hang you by your baby hairs. That's why to this day, as an independent seventeen year old woman, I still have a babysitter. She loves our wifi more than me, and the most ridiculous part is that she's practically my age. Sad, I know.

"Lalala, I can't hear youu!" Tricia giggled, clearly drunk. I gasped.

"Patricia Eleanor Mason, have you been drinking? I bet everyone in this room is underage, including you! Where did you even buy it, anyways? From the black market? We can both go to jail for giving alcohol to minors! This will be on our permanent records!" I screamed even louder. 

Before she had the chance to speak, everyone rushed onto the dance floor, practically suffocating me, grinding and grabbing. Patricia was no where in sight, my questions were unanswered, and it just added a gallon of oxygen into my fire of anger. Could this night get any worse?

It did.

I stood, my jaw wide with shock, as our school's cranky old janitor Mr. Storm drank a body shot off of a giggling girl from my English class. 

The room erupted into loud cheering and some of the football players started pounding the tables with their fists, so hard that it started to cause my mother's antique silverware across the room to shake. Furious, my party-mom mode turned on.

"Stop! Young lady, put the glass down. Put. It. Down.

Jerome! Jerome! Get the fuck down from there!

Don't fucking break that Kevin, or I'll have your head!"

I stomped in frustration, pulled on my hair, and just thew a temper tantrum. Glass shattered, my fist slammed into the wall, and I screamed at the top of my lungs. Why today? Why me? Hopefully, this was just a nightmare. A really stupid, strange nightmare. I wished that this was just a prank, and that everyone would just yell, "it's fake! You just got pranked!" and that everyone was actors that Patricia hired to get a good laugh.

I didn't notice that the room fell eerily silent. Everyone's eyes were on me, some held curiosity, some disgust, but most were just blank and emotionless. I've never been more embarrassed. 

"Loosen up!" I heard a voice yell from the crowd.

"Yeah, stop being such a goody-two-shoes bitch for once! Some people actually want to have fun!"

Several others started to make rude remarks and my throat started to tighten. Suddenly, I was bombarded by words and angry faces. They started to circle around me, mocking me and I felt like I was being suffocated by their presence. Suddenely, a shot was passed to me.

"Drink it! Drink it!" everyone started to chanted. Sweat beaded on my forehead.

"I-I don't drink," I stuttered as the chanting grew louder and louder.

You don't want to be a hardass like your parents, Patricia's words rung in my head.

I don't.

I closed my eyes, a small tear slipping down my face. Why wouldn't they just leave me alone? A sea of hands started pushing me towards the shot, nails jabbing into my flesh.

"I guess one drink won't hurt," I smiled weakly, trying to control the tears that were threatening to spill, "but if I get arrested, it's your fault."

My shaking hands plugged my nose as I threw the contents into my mouth as quickly as possible. It burned and trickled down my throat, causing me to cough.

Cheers erupted around me as someone raised my fist into the air. Was this supposed to feel good? The attention of practically every teenager in town? The feeling of going against my parents' wishes? Because I felt dirty. I felt like I was betraying myself.

Since when did you ever drink, Hera? I could hear Jenny, my babysitter's voice scold in my head as the crowd spread all over the room again. Jenny! Pulling out my phone, I froze.

Someone had stolen thousands, tens of thousands, of dollars from my bank account. I felt my stomach drop.


The list continued. The heavy beat of the song, the screaming, the alcohol, and the lights made me feel nauseous.

"Great partyyy," a random guy from my school slurred, grabbing onto my shoulder. I stood there in shock, not even bothering to slap his hand away.

I'm broke.

Before anyone could see me cry for the second time, I ran out of the building into the rain, letting out a strangled sob.

That money was supposed to pay for my university tuition and rent.

I worked day and night for that money, I worked so damn hard for years, for Tricia to blow it all in one night. I didn't even have enough money to repair the shop. My parents were going to kill me.

Tears streamed down my face as my loud sobbing got muted by the heavy downpour. After ten minutes, rubbing my puffy eyes, I saw a guy, Landon Drake to be precise, leaning against the wall, the heavy downpour sliding off of the slope above him. He stared at me with his dark grey eyes, a puff of smoke swirling from his mouth, his dark hair messily tossed, draping over his face and his strong cheekbones illuminated by the pale glow of the moonlight. Was he watching me this entire time? If I looked bad before, I looked terrible right now. I looked like a drowned rat. I blushed.

"I heard that you're screwed, Foster," he dragged his cigarette. I stared at it, the memories rushing back to me.

"Why are you smoking? Did you know that smoking is bad for you? It can cause lung cancer. It can cause diseases. Dr-" I rambled.

"I know," he deadpanned, taking another drag and puffing out the smoke directly in my face, smirking.

"You bastard, there's such thing as secondhand smoking! I just lost both of my virginity in one night" my voice cracked. Landon raised his brow, but I cut him off. "I don't want to talk about it."

After a moment of sniffling, the raining pounding on the pavement, he decided to speak.

"I know what happened. Patricia was planning this for a very long time. I know you need money, a lot of it." he spoke.

"I'm not losing my third virginity, if that's what you're thinking about." I gave him a suspicious look. Landon Drake has never talked to me before, or even glanced at me. He was too busy being the king of the school, ruling over basically everyone, including the staff. I, however, was very far down the social ladder, just right below Jimmy Conway. Like, c'mon, that's offensive. Landon Drake would rather die than associate himself with nerds like me.

He chuckled, his muscled chest vibrating. "Meet me in the janitor's closet tomorrow at lunch." And just like that, he disappeared into the night.

-

Hey guys!  I am very open to constructive criticism because I am a young, growing author and this is my first story and rough draft. I would love to know what you think!

-Rose

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