A/N: Hey, everyone! This chapter is rated NSFW. Definitely some smut-like material coming your way. Feel free to skip this chapter, but know that there is some important plot in this chapter. Happy reading!
Need a playlist for your reading? Check out the Anarchy Road Playlist on Spotify!
Chapter 22— Writing on the Wall
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We stared at each other, both of us trapped in a strange trance. The fleeting seconds passed between us like a challenge. A challenge I could never, ever refuse. His kiss still stung on my lips. He gazed down at them. It fueled me like kerosene to a wildfire. In another second, I wrapped my hands around the sides of Rodrick’s face and pulled him into me, letting all of the hunger and desire in my chest completely take over. I had to have him. All of him.
His lips, still warm from the kiss and the seltzer, locked onto mine. Rodrick ripped the guitar from his lap and set it against the side of the bed. His hands grabbed onto my body, squeezing my waist and running up my back like he’d been practicing it. Every touch was electricity, sending chills up my spine. God, I had never wanted anything more than his every touch. His chest pushed me further down into the bed, and Rodrick took the opportunity to hover over me dauntingly. My hands ran all over him, digging deep into his hair and ruffling it up even more than before. They roamed down to his shoulders and across his chest. His warmth lit up my hands like a living, breathing furnace and sent tingles all through my fingers.
I pulled away from Rodrick and balled up his shirt in my fist. Every instinct had been clouded by desire. Desire for the punk loser who looked at me like a dare worth every bit of his energy. And I planned to use all of that energy tonight. I tugged on Rodrick’s “I Heart Colorado” shirt, and he took the hint to strip it off, tossing it onto the floor. His chest heaved, and he gazed at me, youthful mischief flirting back in his eyes. I grinned and pulled him down into me. We continued at this for a while, my past experience coming in great handy guiding his hands to just the right places. Finally, I pushed Rodrick’s chest and flipped him over on the bed so that my hips straddled his. His back hit the bed with a thud and knocked the breath out of him.
“Shit,” he breathed out, a smile teasing on his lips, “You’re strong.”
I leaned over and whispered hotly in his ear, “Thanks.”154Please respect copyright.PENANAHnyBBzhnbk
Rodrick gasped at the prickling heat of my breath, and I took the opportunity to lay down a trail of kisses all down his neck. There was no ignoring the quick pace of his heart beating out of his chest. And, on top of him, I could feel the quickening growth of another sign of his desire. Teasingly, I ground my hips down onto his, feeling the hardness forming in his pants. Rodrick emitted a low, unrestrained groan that ignited a new fire in my chest. His face, twisted in delicious pain, formed a perfect ‘o’. I sat back up and slipped the black glasses off of my face. If I was going to be anyone tonight, it was going to be me. Philly Emmett. Fuck Jenny Tyler.
I reached my hands behind my back, fumbling for the zipper to my dress. Finally, my fingers latched on and pulled down until the fabric pooled around my waist and left me in only my black lace bra. At the sight, Rodrick’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. I began to think he’d never seen a girl topless before. And, somehow, the thought only made me hornier.
Rodrick’s hands were stuck hooked around my hips and tightened with need. I ran my hands deep into my curly copper-red hair, now beginning to frizz from the heat. Rodrick ogled back like he was watching the world being created before his very eyes. I smirked. He could hardly imagine. Finally, I reached behind and unclipped my bra, letting my breasts fall out. All at once, I felt the tightness form drastically in Rodrick’s jeans. I latched onto his arms and pulled him up to a sitting position so that we were face-to-face. His eyes sparked amazement and terrified wonder. His lips, still left open, quickly found mine again. And when we pulled away, his eyes went straight back to my chest. I groped around for his hands on my hips and drew them further and further up until they finally grazed over my nipples. I hissed at the sensation and felt them harden. Rodrick’s breath hitched in his throat, and he let his hands remain there, feeling me. The sound of his breaths mixed with the little noises I made drove me wild.
“You’re so hot,” he moaned, our foreheads pressed together. “You look like an angel.”
I smiled at his words, feeling a deep glow in my heart. Like the kind of feeling you get when someone makes you breakfast in bed. My stomach fluttered happily, and I attacked his neck with kisses and pecks, trailing all the way down to his collarbone.
He panted and whined at my touch. “You look like—”
Suddenly, it stopped. His movements stopped. His hands, tracing circles on my breasts, stopped. His chest sunk in and his breath was caught stuck in his lungs. Something was wrong. I pulled away from his neck to see what was the matter and found him blankly staring straight ahead at something past me.
What the hell…
I slowly craned my head around and found just what had caught Rodrick’s attention.
It was a poster tacked on the middle of his bedroom wall. A poster of four teenagers dressed in dark, punk rock clothing and makeup. Four teenagers posing for a photoshoot for their album “Hell’s Highway”. Anarchy Road’s album. And there was Freddie grasping his drumsticks. There was Trevor, jutting out his chin and crossing his arms. There was Valerie, crouching down and holding the neck of her electric guitar like a staff. And there was me, running one hand through my unruly red curls and sliding the other hand down my fishnet thighs.
My mind went blank. Completely and utterly blank.
Slowly, I turned back to Rodrick who now looked at me, shocked and speechless.
And for a songwriter, I typically thought myself good with words, but only a single one was coming to mind at that particular moment.
FUCK.
Not a word. Not a sound. Not a breath. Neither of us dared to even look away.
My mind was an explosion of panic. Red flashing alarms rung like crazy, and bells clanged and clanged and clanged at a deafening volume. But, on the outside, I was motionless like the fragile, crumbling statue I’d become. Rodrick’s face was one mixed with horror and irrational confusion. He expected something out of me. Some answer. Some reason. Some explanation. But I had nothing. My hands were completely empty.
He began sputtering out a few words, “You’re Phi—”
I sucked in a breath and pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him yet again.
This can’t be happening, my mind reeled. This cannot be happening.
I tried opening my mouth, but my throat was as dry and dusty as desert sand. I could only stare back at him and breathe in my small, shriveled breaths. Like a blessing, my legs connected to reality in a way my brain couldn’t and began pulling me off of Rodrick and the bed. As soon as my feet hit the floor, it was a race to get the hell out of there as fast as humanly possible. I scrambled desperately around the room in search of my bra, shrouded in darkness. Rodrick, still two steps behind me however, began finding more words in his stunted state.
“You’re…You’re Philadelphia Emmett.”
I shook my head desperately, the only thing I could do while in search for my bra. Where was my fucking goddamn bra?!
“N-No…” he stammered, climbing over the bed and jabbing his finger at the poster. “That’s you. That’s you.”
Finally, by the grace of God, I found my bra discarded in the corner and I wrestled to strap it on. But Rodrick was approaching. And I needed to get the hell out now. I slipped the loose front of my Homecoming dress on and tore up the zipper. It jammed right in the middle, leaving my chest hanging out at the top.
Fuck.
But I had no time to fiddle with the broken zipper. I raced to snatch up my heels, and I made a break for the stairs, Rodrick close at my tail.
“Wait!” he called, “Jen—Phil…Wait!”
I ran down the stairs in a mad dash and sprung down the stairs just as I came face to face with two grown adults and two children. My heart stopped.
Rodrick’s parents.
Fuuuuuucckkkk.
Their faces froze in horror and instant bemusement, absolutely aghast at the sight of a half-naked girl they hardly knew standing in their living room near their shirtless son. It wasn’t a good look for me.
I stuttered noisily, looking back between Rodrick and his parents.
How the fuck am I supposed to get out of this mess?
“Oh my god!” Rodrick’s mom exclaimed, raising a hand to cover the youngest child’s eyes. “You! You’re the girl from the school. What are you doing in my house? Who are you?”
I gasped like a fish, unable to make a sound as I desperately tried to cover my chest. Rodrick gaped back at me, unbelieving at the sight in front of him. He fell silent and shook his head, asking, “Who are you?”
There was the look I’d feared so badly. The look that stripped away every conversation we’d ever had and every innocent look we’d ever shared. The look that stripped away all of the memories and revealed all of the lies. The look the made us strangers to one another—like he didn’t know me the same way as before, like he didn’t know me at all. My shoulders slid down my back, a heavy weight pulling them down. And my heart felt so heavy, like a bag of rocks. My mouth pulled into a line and my brows knit together remorsefully.
“I’m sorry.” It was all I could say.
Rodrick stared back, his lips pursing and his face sagging with disappointment. As much as it pained me to walk away from him, somehow I found the strength to. Sliding past the family, I darted out onto the lawn, down the street, and into the empty night.
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It was over. My life was over. My story ended here along with my career and any hope I had of surviving next week. Might as well engrave my name on a tombstone now. Will it be Philly Emmett or Jenny Tyler? God, fucking Jenny Tyler!
I seethed and hurled my pillow right at my bedroom door, my face burning hot with anger.
How could I be so stupid? How could I be so reckless? Now, Rodrick knows and so will the rest of the school and then I will officially be buried.
I then thought of the band—Anarchy Road. Anarchy fucking Road. The whole reason I was in this mess in the first place. The whole reason I was at this psychotic, heartless school. The whole reason I was living a fake life and lying to Every. Single. Fucking. Person.
I ripped the pillow off of the ground, balled it up in my face, and screamed until my voice went hoarse. My whole body trembled.
God, what am I going to do?
I sunk myself down onto my bed and curled up into a tight fetal position.
What am I going to do?
I didn’t sleep at all that night. My brain simply wouldn’t allow it. But thankfully, some sliver of hope remained in the fact that I had the weekend to pick up the pieces—the shattered and jagged pieces.
I faked sick all weekend, claiming I’d caught a stomach bug. I was already throwing up in the toilet from all the stress and anger anyway. Might as well put that to good use. Valerie called me a few times, but I couldn’t bring myself to pick up and pretend like everything was okay. It wasn’t okay. Nothing about this was okay.
When times got particularly lonely, I considered rash solutions like stealing as much cash from my mom’s wallet and running away—running away from school, the band, and all of the problems caused by the toxic mixture of the two. But the more I contemplated it, the more I realized it wasn’t a solution. It was only a band-aid.
When Sunday night rolled around, I kept tossing and turning in my bed, desperate for some release. Desperate for sleep. What was my plan for Monday? I had no plan. It was either: (A) Tell my parents that my carefully crafted alias had come crumbling to the ground at the hands of one of our devoted fans who just so happened to be my classmate, (B) pack up my shit and fly to New Jersey to live in Valerie’s crappy apartment, or (C) fulfill my God-given destiny and finally become a high-school dropout. Each option made me feel sick to my stomach. And what was worse, I’d realized that I’d forgotten my fake black-rimmed glasses at Rodrick’s place. I stared up at the ceiling in the midst of my insomnia. The black emptiness of my bedroom seemed to echo back a sympathetic sigh of an A/C gust. I had to get this over with. I couldn’t be a coward. I had to face the consequences of my own stupid fucking actions. I had to tell my parents.
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