Finding Willow (Hers) (7 page)

I slipped all my clothes off, leaving nothing but the black pair of boy shorts panties. I laid back on the inflatable mattress and waited. It was always the same. He would start with my breasts, then work his way down. He licked, kissed, teased, and sucked every inch until his fingers parted my soaking cunt and made their entry. Typically he was gentle at first, but that never lasted long. Every second that went by, he would get rougher, more desperate.

His arm reached up my body with his fingers clenching around my throat as he finger fucked me. I shouldn't have liked it, but I did. Because for once in my life, I finally felt connected to another human being in the way I’d always craved. I learned early to mistake intimacy for love.

“You like that, you dirty little bitch?” he whispered into my ear. I knew it shouldn't turn me on, but it did. He made me like it. He turned me into the sexual creature I was. I loved him and hated him for it all at once.

“Mmmmmm, yes, Blue.”

His finger grazed my sweet spot and I felt my orgasm starting. His hand got rougher, and his mouth bit at my nipples. I cried out with pleasure.

“Oh god! Right there!” That was all I could squeak out in between my lustful pants. My release crashed through my body. I could feel it from my lips all the way down to my soaked cunt. With each wave of pleasure, I soaked Blue's hand with a fresh squirt of come.

“I love that disgusting little cunt.”

He pulled his hand out and I could feel him shifting around. I knew what came next. I got my pleasure, and I was done with the hookup, but I would never speak up and tell him that. I didn't know what he would do if I did. Deep down, I was scared of him.

His body covered mine and he roughly pushed inside me. The pain mixed with pleasure. As much as I didn't want to like it, I did. I always did. No matter how many times we would play this fucked up game, I continued it. He was rough and quick. Before I knew it, he pulled out and emptied all over my stomach.

“You look so good with my come all over your body. You are mine, Star. Mine.”

I shake off the memory. I fucking hate it when that shit creeps up on me.

“Miss? Miss?” The kid is trying to talk to me, and here I am in La La Land, completely ignoring him. Being back in Woodstock is already starting to get to me. I can't say I didn't know this was going to happen. The few times I have come back end the same way, completely mind-fucked.

“Sorry about that. It's just strange to be back after all these years. This place always fucks me up.”

I don't know why I’m here pouring my soul out to this kid like he is Dr. Phil, but there’s something about his soft green eyes that tells me he is a good person. Not that I’m the best judge of character.

“I know the feeling. I put you in the next room over. Number one. If you need anything, just come over here and let me know. The name is River.”

He hands me a key and smiles again. Maybe he’s being nice because he recognizes me from some porno he watched on the internet. I get that a lot.

“Thank you.” I accept the key and put my license and credit card back into my purse. I turn for the door, and he speaks again.

“One lost soul to another? This place is good to get your shit straight. I'm outta here at six if you wanna catch a bite to eat.”

I nod in his direction and head for the door. Am I really that fucking transparent? Do I really look that fucking lost that some kid barely old enough to buy a beer has me pegged?

Whatever.

This was probably a really fucking bad idea.

I look at the old yellow bathroom vanity inside the motel room, which is now covered in dark brown hair dye. I can't dye my own hair. I have tried for years, but every fucking time it turns into a nightmare. I am going to have some serious cleaning to do before the dye starts to stain shit.

I squirt the cheap, store-bought hair dye into the last spot of blonde I can see, while I wish I had eyes in the back of my damn head. I toss the bottle into the garbage can and start to clean up the mess before me. As I scrub the dye off the edges of the sink, I fall into my mind again. Which is exactly what led me to think the two dollar box of dye would be a good idea.

I want to be a new person. I don't want to be Star, the porn star, even though that label is going to stick with me as long as I’m alive. I want to be Star, the woman who wants the American Dream. I want to be Star, the amazing painter, the artist. I want to channel the talent I’ve never put to use. I want to re-invent myself. I want to change my life so one day Willow can say,
that is my birth mom
, and actually be proud of it.

Maybe this is finally me growing up? It’s probably something most average people go through at fucking nineteen, or maybe even twenty-one. Not damn near fucking thirty. At my age, this shit is just a fucking mid-life crisis.

I think about all the shit I fucked up over the years. Most of it was fueled by whatever drug I decided was fun that week. It’s been a few days, and I don't have a single desire to get fucked up. I never realized how bad being numb actually made my life.. It wasn't about not feeling or about being an addict; it was about the party. And that is clearly over.

Maybe jumping into the marriage and kids thing would be a mistake.
Not like there are any stable men in my life anyway!
Love really isn't on my list of shit to do right now. Speaking of my list, after I got to my room, I actually pulled my laptop out and wrote one.

Star's List of Shit to Do

Find Willow

Establish a new Career

Dye my hair

Find a therapist

Buy a house

It really doesn't seem like a lot. It seems downright pathetic really. To me, though, it’s everything. Once I find my daughter and work on repairing that relationship, if I can, I need to do some simple things for myself. At least I can cross
dye my hair
off the list.

The alarm on my cell phone goes off, letting me know it’s time to jump in the shower and wash the dye out of my hair. I crank the hot water on and let it run until the temperature is no longer arctic chill. I make quick work of washing the sludge-like dye out, shampooing twice before turning the water off and getting out.

I grab the white towel hanging on the dated metal bar next to the shower and slightly dry my hair before wrapping the towel up on top of my head and drying the rest of my body with the smaller hand towel. Little-by-little, I wipe away a bit of my past. With every pass of the towel, I make a new promise to myself.

No more drugs. No more alcohol. No more porn. No more Blue. Over and over again, I wish away everything I never want again. I will get healthy. I will re-claim my life. I will be everything I never thought I could be. And I will do it all on my own.

Dressed in a loose fitting pair of blue jeans and a fitted black Bettie Page shirt, I look in the mirror. My new short, dark locks are exactly what I needed. The light brown hair rests chin length around my round face. My bright blue eyes slowly start coming back to life. I thought I would never get their slight twinkle back. Kicking the drugs worked wonders. I mean, I still feel like a bag of ass throughout the day, but it beats my life wasting away. Complaining about withdrawal is for pussies anyway. Seven would punch me in the cunt if she heard me.

My stomach rumbles, and I look at the clock; it reads quarter to six.

I pull on my black hoodie and head over to the motel office. I figure I’ll take River up on his offer for dinner. Even though I know a good amount of people in this town, I don't have any real friends. I cut all the ties years ago. A new friendly face could help me immensely, even if he is just a baby. Plus, the fact that he doesn't know me or my history is a big plus.

As I reach for the office door, it flies open and a rock hard chest crashes directly into my body. Fuck, that shit hurt. What the hell? I growl. Legit growl. Like a fucking dog. I am pissed and in pain.

“Watch where the fuck you’re going!” I say.

I look up to see a mountain of a man. Tall, dark, and handsome wouldn't even come close to describing him. He is extremely tall, at least six-four, dwarfing my five foot five frame. His head is shaved bald. I laugh to myself when I think about rubbing it.
Would a genie pop out?

But then I meet his eyes. He has the most beautiful pair of warm caramel colored eyes. The slight hint of wrinkles around their edges shows mystery, depth. They scream of untold stories, a weight of burden. How do I know? Because I wear the same baggage on my very own face.

“Shit, I am sorry,” he mumbles as he continues his long strides toward a motorcycle parked on the far side of the lot. I can't help but watch as he walks away. The way his jeans fit snug over his delectable ass. The way the white long sleeve shirt bunches on his forearms, exposing dark shaded tattoos. The way the black leather cut hangs from his shoulders, unbuttoned and moving freely with every step he takes.

A large patch spreads across his back reading,
Hell’s Renegades.
He is dangerous, gorgeous, hot, and sexy. Fuck, I could go on and on with various adjectives to describe him. None would do him justice. I continue to stare like a child. The motorcycle roars to life, startling me from my thoughts. Like that, he pulls out of the dirt parking lot, and onto the small two-lane road running through the center of town. He is gone, and I’m still frozen in the same spot.
What the fuck just happened?

I shake my head and walk inside the office. River stands behind the counter, looking pissed. He doesn’t even acknowledge me. Maybe this isn't a good time. Maybe dinner was a bad idea. Or maybe he needs the company tonight just as much as I do?

“Bad time?” I question, and his glare swings in my direction. His face softens, and he cracks a smile. Good to know I can make someone smile these days; it hasn't been one of my strong suits recently. I can't help but smile back at him. It is totally fucking contagious.

“No, actually. I could use company for dinner.” He pulls a jacket off the back of the chair behind the counter.

“Any preference? There isn't much for choice around town, but there is a diner that is pretty good.”

Maggie's. I remember it well. My parents never had much money, but every opportunity I had to scam some money, I ran there for French fries smothered in American cheese and gravy. Still, to this day, any time I step foot inside a diner, it’s a must.

“Maggie's is good,” I tell him, and I pull the keys to my car from my pocket. His eyebrow lifts with curiosity. He’s finally taken a good look at me. The changes. The hair. Let the questions begin.

“You drivin'?” is all he says, though. I let out a sigh of relief, but I’m sure as soon as we’re packed into the snug booths at Maggie's, he will start with the questions. Maybe instead of investing in a therapist, I will just hang out with this child. Seems like an easier remedy.

“Yeah, you wanna ride with?” I jingle my keys and press the fancy remote on my keychain to unlock the doors. I don't think I’ll ever get over the excitement of having my own car. It’s not even a Volkswagen bus, or an actual school bus converted into a fucking home.

“Sure.” he reaches for the door handle and lets out a laugh. “But where am I supposed to sit?”

I realize I still have half my music collection sitting on the passenger seat. I climb into the driver’s seat and start chucking CD cases into the back.

“Sorry, it was a long drive.”

And like that, we’re off.