That Girl by @((Y^!@ Allyvia (thriller novels to read .txt) 📕

"Saylor... Saylor, I love you, but you're going to get bit in the ass if you poke this bear," he promised, looking up at me from beneath dark lashes and heavy brows. I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms in front of my chest.

"Thank you for the crappy analogy Frankie, but, really, I can take care of myself. I'm a tough bitch, remember," I laughed, before giving his hand a squeeze and slinging my purse over my shoulder. He didn't look at me, and only glanced out the driver's window. I opened my door, and slipped out of the Jeep, my sandals hitting the cement with a smack.

"Ahh... Do I detect a look of disapproval in your eyes," I asked, grabbing my pretend perfume bottle and spraying some in his direction. "Tough beans, buddy, 'cause that's the way it's gonna be." He didn't seem to understand my reference, and only rolled his eyes and started up the Jeep once again.

"Whatever. Goodnight, Saylor," he sighed crossly before putting the car in reverse. As he pulled out of the driveway, I cried, "Golightly. Holly Golightly! "

<3

I wanted to angrily bash my head against the kitchen table the next morning.

I woke up to the sound of Beacon screaming into my ear about breakfast, and a garble of toast crumbs flying into my ear like minature meteors. Little brothers were disgusting; little brothers while having a hangover was like God punishing you. Grumbling and trying to get all the salivated burnt toast crusts out of my ear, I pulled the covers from my body and reached blindly for the terry bathrobe I had lying somewhere around here. My head pounded, and the light that strained through the dark purple drapes was blinding.

Peeking out at me from beneath a pile of quasi-clean clothes that had been lying in shambles on my floor for months, I finally found the robe, and pulled it on.

"Saylor, breakfast," my mother called from downstairs. 'Thanks Mom,' I thought sarcastically, 'I hadn't figured that when your evil spawn nearly fried my eardrums.'

Trotting down the creaky stairs, the smell of black coffee tickled my nose. I hated black coffee; my mother loved it; my father used to drink it straight, before he died. I stumbled into the kitchen, still groggy and fogged, and collapsed into one of the rickety oak chairs. Next to me sat Hope, her wide brown eyes studying me like she had never seen a hangover before. Well, she was three.

"Morning," my mother said, her voice monotonous, her back facing me. She, hair held at the nape of her neck, was skeletal and had tired, crying eyes that were red and puffy. Filling a coffee cup with shaking hands, she set it in front of me, like a zombie. Now would be the time my father would enter the kitchen. He'd jog into the kitchen, whistling off-tune, and place a big fat kiss on my mother's cheek. He would have the newspaper in hand, and tap me on top of the head with the roll, chuckling about my bedhead.

It was kind of fucked up, how he died. He served in the Navy SEALs for almost fifteen years before getting in a car crash right by the local Get N' Go. That's how we Remington kids got our names. My dad used to say, 'Every sailor has to find their beacon of hope.' Well, now I have both Beacon and Hope. Literally.

"I got really drunk last night," I said, taking the coffee cup and getting from my spot at the kitchen table. She didn't bat a lash when I turned towards the sink and dumped the contents of the cup down the drain.

"That's nice," she muttered, sounding just as monotonous. She didn't meet my eye, as I arched a brow and glared at her from in front of the sink.

Our kitchen was tiny. She looked at the powder blue fridge that was older than the both of us. She looked at the green kettle that was moldy and had been sitting in the sink for months now. She looked at Hope, who was sitting in her chair, looking at me from beneath camel lashes and doe eyes. She couldn't avoid my eye contact forever, but she seemed very hell-bent on trying.

"What does drunk mean," she asked, her grubby fingers pulling at the hem of the grubby t-shirt I hadn't changed out of from the night before. Her mouth was full of toast and jelly, making her fingers sticky to the touch.

 "Nothing," I mumbled, biting the inside of my cheek, "And, you know, Mom, I met this guy. I think I'm going to have sex with him. Like crazy, hard-core sex."

She didn't even flinch.

"What's sex," Hope asked again. I sighed, and turned towards her. We all looked like our dad. Same pert little nose, same copper brown eyes, same tingy dirty blonde hair.

"It's when a boy puts his key in a girl's... key hole," I muttered, grabbing a washcloth from the white, wood drawer under the sink and wet it with warm water. After picking Hope out of her seat and balancing her on my hip, I began to wipe off her face.

"So, when Pete Henry gives me the key to his-"

"Okay, go get ready for school," I cried, loosening my grip on her, and setting my sister on the floor. After she scampered out of the kitchen, I pulled out a chair across from my mother.

She wore one of my dad's old t-shirts, and you could see the lining of her periwinkle underwear that bagged and sagged. The glint of the dark dog tags caught my eye, and I felt my stomach roll.

"Um, Mom," I said quetly. Her eyes flickered from the long L shaped cut in the oak table to the cup of cooling coffee. "Mom, are you going to work today?"

"Maybe... maybe," she mumbled, her eyes lost and cloudy. I thnk that's  why I messed up so badly. My mother was sick; my siblings were a handful; my dad was dead. I needed to feel safe. Unfortunately, that was in the arms of Todd Fisher.

After

 "Jesus, that motherfucking asshole. I am going to kill him," Meika seethed, rubbing my back as I sobbed into her pillow. She had everything. Ice cream, old Audrey Hepburn movies and shirtless Channing Tatum movies, pillows, Kleenex's were piled around us. The tissue box was empty though.

The shirtless movies only reminded me of the shirtless picture. The ice cream made me think of the pale bit of chub that had showed in the picture. The pillows reminded me of the way I fell back onto my bed, naked, after taking the picture.

A loud knock at the door made us both jump, and I looked up to see Frankie standing in the doorway. He wasn't as greasy anymore. Nope, since dating Mindy Crenshaw he had become the perfect gentlemen. Instead of making the expected 'Hey, Saylor, I saw your picture. You're kinda hot naked,' he just blushed.

"Uh... the p-pizza's here, Meika. And Saylor," he added, nodding at me. I raised a weak hand, letting it fall back into my lap with a hallow slap of skin against skin. Meika chewed her lips before jumping from the bed.

"I'll go get that pizza."

An awkward, pregnant pause built in the room as she shuffled out the doorway.  Frankie still hung in the doorway, his large frame awkwardly smushed against the door frames; he wouldn't look at me. At one point in time, Frankie and I would tease each other about everything. Anything. I knew his biggest secrets; he knew mine. Clearing his throat, his cheeks still burning, Frankie broke the silence.

"I told him not to send it, Saylor... I'm sorry. I-I should have... I don't know," he mumbled, his dark brows furrowing. My face flamed. He had seen it. Fuck. Frankie Lopez had seen me naked. Shit. Fuck. I want to die.

"Please don't make me talk now. I-I'm on the verge of throwing up," I mumbled, glaring at the laptop I had lugged to Meika's house. We tried to call Emma, but she had band lessons. The Facebook page glared at me, teased me. I felt the bile begin to rise in my throat everytime I glanced its way.

"Right... Look, Saylor. What people are saying... I sitll think you're a tough bitch, you know that right?"

I laughed, a dry humorless laugh, and bit my bottom lip. Tough bitches could take a sexting scandal, right? "Totally, Frankie."

"And... Saylor, I don't want this," he said, his face flaring red once again, motioning to what would be breasts on the female anatomy, "to ruin the relationship... between us."

"Of course, Frankie," I smiled, a deviousness sparking my interest when I added, "And you know, we could fix that. You'v seen mine, now I need to see yours."

I swore the kid would faint. His eyes grew wide and his jaw slacked slightly. The tinge of pink returned to his cheeks, and he shifted, a dark brow arched. I felt like I was under inspection, when his eyes roamed my body and his breath came out odd and shaky.

"Okay, bitches," Meika cried, making us both flinch as she stormed back into the bedroom, a grease-spotted box of Tino's in hand, "how are we getting revenge on this sick prick?"

"I-I'm going to go take a shower," Frankie mumbled, his breathing shaky.

"Maybe a cold one, Frankie-boy," I snorted, and Meika gave me a look.

"Were you trying to seduce my brother," she asked once it was just he two of us. 

"No. We were plotting revenge," I insisted, reaching for the box of pizza between us and attempting to distract myself with a piece of greasy cardboard and pizza sauce. She just rolled her eyes and plopped down onto the bed, grabbing a piece of pizza for herself from the spotted box. I glanced at the Facebook page once more, my lighter mood darkening. I had reported the picture, but the only thing that had happened was the unlimited supply of comments weighing down on my chest.

Ew. Her boobs sag lol

This is disgusting. Ho.

Id thought shed look httr naked... DX

Wtf !!! someone has daddy issues

Anger making me cry out, I slammed the laptop shut.

"Saylor," Meika smiled half-heartedly, "we're going to get him back. I promise."