The Rebel

Weeping Duck

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Author's Note: This one-shot features Reanon Turk from "The Brat Pack." The continuation of her story can be found there.

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"Where do you think you're going?"

Reanon Turk didn't slow down as she strutted down the upstairs hallway of her elaborate house, located in the most upscale part of Chattanooga, Tennessee—Lookout Mountain. The impossibly thin heels of her black leather boots, which came up to her knees, clacked down the hardwood floor of the hall. Her slim legs were bare from between where her boots stopped and her miniscule dark denim skirt started; her skirt barely cleared her extreme upper thighs. A fiery red halter top covered her torso, but the fabric was strategically destroyed to expose slivers of Reanon's tanned skin, and most of her back was uncovered. A mixture of thin and chunky black beads hung stylishly from her neck.

Calm as could be, Reanon called over her shoulder, "Out."

She could practically feel the tension radiating from her father, who was glaring at her from the doorway of his office. Unfortunately, her hopes that he was too involved with studying for his sermon for the next morning's church services had been dashed, for the tall man had appeared just as Reanon had started to leave for the current Saturday's wild party.

"You're not going anywhere this late," William Turk informed her sternly with his southern drawl. "Especially not dressed like that. Get back here right now!"

Smirking, Reanon paused for a moment to give her father a look that blatantly said how seriously she took him—as in, not at all. Her pause also allowed her to check her cinnamon waves in the mirror hanging on the wall. "Sorry, but you ain't stoppin' me. I'll see you some time tomorrow."

"This is it, Reanon Turk," William called after her furiously. "This is the last time you do this, and you better know it.

"Oh, shut up before you lose your religion over me."

William inhaled sharply, his normally tanned face losing all color. "I've had enough of this, Reanon. Everything we've talked about… I'll be making the phone calls tonight. I'm not putting up with this behavior from you anymore."

Shrugging, Reanon smirked at her father, her eyes glaring at him icily, while she pretended not to care. "See if I give a damn. You make all the calls you want and send me wherever the hell you like. It ain't gonna change nothin' about me."

"It doesn't have to be like this. Don't go. Stop this nonsense."

Reanon kept walking, the heels of her boots clacking, as her father simultaneously scolded her and pleaded with her from where he stood in the hallway. She knew from experience that her mother would appear in a few minutes and tell him to give it up, and the pair of them would spend most of the night discussing how their poor daughter had been led astray, and then they would pray for her until church started, and Reverend Turk would ask the masses at their church to pray for her as well in hopes that Reanon would see the light.

To hell with that. Reanon Turk didn't need them.

In the hallway, there was a picture of Reanon from when she was about four years old, and she was wearing a puffy pink dress that she'd hated. She'd ripped it off just after the picture was taken, swearing she'd never again be dressed like that. Her mother had asked her to put the dress back on, and Reanon had promptly refused and then stomped all over it, choosing instead to go home in her underwear. The next picture down was her freshman cheerleading picture, and Reanon wanted to rip it off the wall, just to shatter the glass of the frame. But she didn't, only because she recalled that the next year was the one when her parents tried to dictate where she went and who she was with. It had been the same story—Reanon had done as she'd pleased and never looked back.

She swore that she never would.

Reanon flew down the staircase, which was covered with European carpet that her mother had imported. In fact, most of the furnishings in the house—a structure that could rightfully be called a mansion easily—were imported from Europe. Reanon thought it was all a waste—if her parents were so philanthropic, they should spend their wealth on third world countries instead—and she had been tempted on several occasions to set the place on fire, usually during drunken sprees. However, some part of her had refrained, even while she was under the influence, and the house still stood in all of its great grandeur.

The front door slammed behind Reanon, and she was merry was she walked down her long paved driveway to the curb, ignoring the chill of the February cold. From the corner of her eye, she could see her pretty Lexus car—it had been her eighteenth birthday present, since she'd wrecked the BMW that she'd received for her sixteenth. But after all of her wild partying and all of the times that she'd broken her curfew and disobeyed her parents, her parents had taken her car away. Even if they hadn't, Reanon knew that she couldn't drive her car—not tonight. Tonight she was headed to East Ridge, and a car as nice as that one would either get vandalized beyond recognition or hotwired and sold for drug money.

"Hey, girl!"

Kirby Davis was grinning broadly from the driver's seat when Reanon slid into the passenger side of his beat-up green Chevrolet Cavalier; it was an old nineteen ninety-something model and had plenty of rust stains (as well as more than a couple of dents). They'd had a rather racist joke that the car with mixed colors was perfect for Kirby because he was a little mixed himself, since his mother was black and his dad was white. The best part of the car was that the passenger side mirror was attached mainly by green duct tape, purchased from Walmart for less than a dollar; it had been necessary when Kirby's girlfriend had become an ex and decided to beat the mirror off of his car with a crowbar. Why the mirror? Nobody knew, but Shontelle had mixed her drinks that night and smoked a bit of marijuana, so that probably accounted for her reasoning.

"Hey, Kirby," Reanon greeted him affectionately, shutting the car's door behind her. Familiar short dreadlocks donned the head of the African American guy sprawled out all over the cramped backseat, and she flashed white teeth at Zeb, who was probably Kirby's very best friend. "How's it goin', Z? You're lookin' rough."

Kirby laughed and burned rubber as his car peeled off the curb, speedily passing extravagant houses in Reanon's extravagant neighborhood. "Oh, ole Z ain't doin' nothin' but hidin' back there, RT. Y'know how he gets when he up in this part o' town, girl."

"Aw, man, shut it," Zeb groaned through light, unnecessary laughter that was a popular characteristic of his. Zeb's eyes were bloodshot, a clear sign that he'd gotten into some pot already, and it was barely eleven o'clock. He gave Reanon a sleepy smile. "What your daddy say 'bout you runnin' off again tonight?"

Reanon rolled her dark eyes grandly and pulled the sun visor down for a glimpse in the mirror—a cracked mirror, that is, not that Reanon paid any attention to it. "Who cares? I'm here, ain't I?" She rubbed away a light smudge of her heavy black eyeliner and gave her hair a toss. She looked at Kirby, grinning saucily. "Tell me I look good."

Grinning, Kirby agreed, "You look damn good."

"You're lookin' good yourself, Kirby," Reanon informed him, her grin turning naughty. "You gonna be hookin' up with Gloria tonight?"

"Oh, Glory is hot," Zeb announced from the backseat, sounding higher than he had a few moments ago. He lived his life on a euphoric cloud. "Kirby best be gettin' some of her fine ass tonight, y'know what I'm sayin'?"

Smelling a sweet aroma from the backseat, Reanon gave a careless glance behind her. She was more than used to Zeb lighting up, but the sight made her recall a night from a few months ago; maybe it was around Halloween. They'd all been at an intense party in East Ridge, fondly referred to as the hood, as it was the neighborhood of Chattanooga with the highest crime rate, prone to gang violence and drug usage. Zeb had been so blitzed that it was a lot even for him—and that boy could really smoke some weed in huge doses. He'd started rapping about how he was 'reppin' the 423' and how he was 'gettin' laid, baby.' Stoned, smashed, or sober, the whole crowd that heard him was laughing until they cried over his melody about his zip code and his reputation with girls.

"I'm thinkin' I'll be gettin' with her," Kirby answered, grinning boyishly. Reanon admired him fondly; she thought Kirby was the sweetest of her guy friends. "We was talkin' earlier today, and she said she wanted to hang tonight. So we'll see."

Reanon grinned at him. "Thatta boy, Kirb."

With Kirby's super fast driving skills, the car arrived in East Ridge shortly after that conversation, despite the thick traffic that haunted Chattanooga at all times of every day. The roads were always insanely crowded, but that was part of what Reanon loved about her city. East Ridge, however, was her favorite part, and she considered it more home than Lookout Mountain, which just happened to be the snobby part of town where the median annual income for families was over $120,000, a huge difference from East Ridge, where families earned about one-third of that.

"Kirby D! Rea-Turk! Z!"

A jumble of voices called out their greetings over roaring rap music. Even from where Kirby had parked on the street, the scent of beer mixed with pot could be smelled, and Reanon loved it. Already moving provocatively to the music and cat-calling back to the crowd, she made her way inside the small, run-down house—which belonged to some of her friends—that was cramped with sweating bodies. Once inside, the mixture of beer and marijuana was overpowering.

"KP!" Reanon yelled over the music to one of her best girl friends, a pretty Latina with very popular, curvaceous hips. Kristyna Pierce waved her arms madly when she saw Reanon. "Get your ass over here, skank!"

"I'll meet'cha halfway, ho!"

As Reanon grinded her way across the room, mingling happily with the other guests, to meet her friend, Gloria Griffin appeared at her side, visibly drunken already. She thrust a red plastic cup of beer at Reanon, who downed it in a single gulp. "Glory-baby!" Reanon exclaimed, grinning madly. "Kirby's lookin' for ya, girl!"

"Oh, I done saw him already!" Gloria answered brightly, her white teeth glowing brightly in contrast to her dark skin tone. "He's lookin' pimpin'."

"Hey-hey, GG," Kristyna called as she neared. "Turkey, I've been hollerin' your name all over this place, lady. What you gettin' here so late for?"

"I'm makin' my entrance," Reanon told her, waving her hand dismissively.

"Glory-Glory!" Kirby appeared and settled his hands on Gloria's slim waist, and she responded by grinding against him to T-Pain's throbbing music. Reanon knew that was the last she'd see of them for awhile, since they were already mixing into the crowd without any departing words.

"RT, I've been lookin' all over for ya, girl," Kristyna said, pushing Reanon toward the kitchen, where the music wouldn't be so loud. Even though it looked like Kristyna had already downed a couple of drinks, Reanon could see the concern in her friend's blue eyes.

There were so many people crowded around playing beer pong that getting to the kitchen proved to be virtually impossible. It was so impossible that Reanon dug her heels in, refusing to move any farther, and demanded, "What's wrong?"

Kristyna bit her lower lip for a moment before blurting, "He's here. He came back."

No other words needed to be said, for Reanon knew exactly who her friend was referring to. Her dark eyes flickered with loathing, but her arms itched to hold him, perhaps with more intensity than her lips longed to kiss him. It had been four months, but time didn't matter. Nothing mattered when he was concerned. He was addictive, and she was the addict.

"What do ya wanna do?" Kristyna asked over the music, her dark eyes aglow with earnest loyalty. "Do ya want me to have the guys get rid of him? You know they're just waitin' to throw down on his ass. Just give me an order!"

Reanon raised a bronzed shoulder gently. "Just get me another drink."

Kristyna glanced around and plucked a beer from the hand of their nearby friend Jazmine, passing it on to Reanon. After sniffing the beverage to be sure it was just beer—and then deciding she didn't really care anyway—Reanon gulped her second drink down easily and tossed the plastic cup to the floor. If she chugged a couple more drinks, a happy buzz would settle over her, and then maybe she'd know what to do. At the very least, she'd have an excuse to do whatever she would end up doing, probably with him rather than to him.

"Who's he with?" Reanon asked suddenly.

Kristyna thought about it for a moment. "I saw him with Terrell and Quinn about twenty minutes ago. I think that's who he came in with, but ya know how he likes to get around. He could be hangin' with anybody by now."

Oh, Reanon certainly did know. It wasn't as if he was someone that she wasn't very well-acquainted with. She'd met him at the beginning of her freshman year, when she'd transferred to the prominent Baylor School from Girls Preparatory School; both were some of Chattanooga's most exclusive education institutions. When Reanon had started getting into trouble to convince her parents that she didn't belong in an all-girls' school, they had allowed her to withdraw and transfer to Baylor. That was the first time Reanon had realized that acting out would get her what she wanted, and it would prove true many times over. However, had she known that he would be there at Baylor, she might have settled for somewhere else, but alas, she met him, and it was infatuation at first sight.

It really was picture perfect. He was the raving star of the freshman basketball team, an amazing competitive swimmer on Baylor's revered team, and an esteemed member of student council—certainly Mr. Popularity material. She had been a stunning cheerleader and actually shined with social radiance and beauty throughout the school.

Sophomore year was when things changed. Reanon had started getting bored with her life again, but instead of making trouble at Baylor as she had at GPS, she started traveling to the other side of town, mingling with the party scene. Sure enough, rebellion led to her satisfaction once again. Halfway into the school year, she had run into him at one of the parties, and both of them had been shocked to see the other, as they'd both kept their partying lifestyles a secret from their preppy classmates and friends. By day, they had blessed Baylor with their presence as excellent college prep students and spent their afternoons in their classic J. Crew outfits, socializing with Chattanooga's teenage elite. By night, they had traded in their preppy clothes and partied the nights away, carefully hiding their hangovers the next mornings.

It hadn't taken long for them to hit it off romantically, posing as an alpha couple at Baylor and living a different image in East Ridge.

But four months ago, they had broken up, and four months ago, Reanon had come out with her bad girl image at school, seeing no reason to keep it a secret any longer. People had talked and said that he'd ruined her—broken her heart and caused her to rebel—and he had graciously stuck to his side of town, letting her keep up the ghetto scene without him.

But now he was back.

"Are ya okay, girl?" Kristyna asked, her brown eyes full of worry. "Ya just have to give the word, and I'll spread it. Y'know we can have that boy outta here in no time flat. You ain't gotta take any shit from him, Turkey."

"It's all right," Reanon told her, giving Kristyna an encouraging smile. "I got this."

Departing, Reanon danced her way through the house, rubbing up on her guy friends and then leaving them for new guys. By the time she'd made it across the room, she'd finished off another beer and was feeling a lot better about herself. The exposure to the pot in the air was also helping her to mellow out, which Reanon had no complaints with. Her perfect night of partying had been tainted by the news of him…even though she wanted nothing more than to hunt him down and jump his bones. That was part of the tainting.

"Aw, Rea-Turk, there you are, baby girl."

Reanon threw her hands up into the air and danced slower, more sexually, a leisurely smile blossoming over her face. She'd made it across the room to Quinn, a guy who had been a mutual friend of hers and…the prep. That's what she'd taken to calling him after the breakup. "Hey, hey, Q," she greeted, moving closer until she was dancing right up on him. "How goes it?"

"It's goin' better all the time," Quinn replied, the pupils of his green eyes dilated. He started dancing to the beat along with Reanon, though his movement was choppy and uncoordinated. Even when he was sober—which he wasn't presently—Quinn was a terrible dancer. Give him a couple beers—or more, given the looks of him—and he had a handful of left feet. "How you doin' these days? I ain't seen you nowhere in a long time."

"You're the one who ain't been comin' around here much anymore," Reanon answered, flicking her cinnamon hair away from her face. She knew that he must be nearby, as she'd caught a glimpse of Terrell. The three guys had been a group with Reanon and her friends back in the day, and she remembered hilarious stories that Quinn and Kirby would tell about their days working at Hamilton Place Mall, where some pretty thug happenings occurred; there were weekly shoplifting and physical fighting stories told, and the two guys would always compare the strategies that different security guards at the mall used to fight the violence. "You tell me why you've been keepin' yourself away from me."

"Aw, girl…"

Amused by his answer, Reanon closed her eyes and danced provocatively. Lost in the music, her slender frame moved beautifully to the beat of the raging music, not at all sluggish from her alcohol consumption. It took more than three drinks to do any damage to her. She moved erotically to the throbbing beats, zoned out completely.

This was the feeling that she loved most, and it was a feeling that she only felt when she was partying in the ghetto. She knew this because she'd tried getting drunk at home, but there was never a thrill there. Actually, it was depressing to be drinking alone in her house. It was only moments like these when she could relax and relish in being herself.

Flashes of her breakup with him interrupted her peaceful bliss. It had started over an argument over how she'd started smoking pot at a couple of parties. It hadn't been much, and Reanon hadn't thought it was that big of a deal, but he sure had. Drinking was one thing, he'd said, but marijuana something else entirely. It was funny how Reanon's lips hadn't touched another joint since the night he'd walked out of her life. Sometimes she thought it was the first lesson she'd ever learned, and other times, she thought she was just stupid for letting him get to her. Something that Reanon had thought was so small had been the driving force that pushed them apart and caused him to drop the scene completely.

Until now, apparently, when he was done posing as straight-edge and was now ready to make a comeback.

"Lookin' good, RT."

Straight away Reanon's dark eyes fluttered open, and she spun around at the sound of Andrew Morrison's voice to face him. Her eyes were icy as she looked at him; she'd been right in deducing that he'd be near Terrell and Quinn—though neither of them was around now. "You've had better lookin' days, Drew."

That was a total lie. Andrew Morrison was gorgeous—to a fault. He had perfectly groomed brown hair that looked good even when it was past due for a hair-cut, like now when it fell into his blue-green eyes. Their aqua color was majestic, and it had always been able to stop Reanon in her tracks, even before she'd fallen hopelessly in love with him two years ago. He had a body that was pure perfection—abs that Reanon had loved running her fingernails over, a firm chest that she had loved sleeping on, and strong biceps that she had loved having wrapped around her.

He stood not even two inches away from her; they were practically chest-to-chest, though Andrew was a good five inches taller than Reanon when she wasn't wearing her stiletto-heeled boots. Leaning down, Andrew pressed his hot mouth against Reanon's ear, causing chills to run through her whole body. "I love it when you're feisty. Dance with me."

Intensely, Reanon's arms wrapped around Andrew's neck, pulling his head down close to hers as their bodies moved together, the rhythm of the music pounding louder and louder. Reanon slithered her body up and down his, careful not to show any reaction when Andrew's hands grazed the bare skin of her back. With their bodies so closely pressed together, Reanon knew that Andrew could feel her heart beating, but she could feel his pounding, almost louder than the music.

Lightly, Reanon brushed her lips against Andrew's neck, satisfaction sinking into her soul when she heard him gasp softly. Andrew's hands held her tighter, keeping her so close to him that they could have been a single person. In a fluid motion, Reanon spun so that her back was pressed against him, and she grinded her hips passionately against Andrew's pelvic region. One of his hands slid from her collarbone, over the curve of her breast, and down to the flatness of her stomach, resting just over her pierced naval.

Reanon's body moved against Andrew's, teasingly and tauntingly, until he could take no more. His hand slid up her body, cradled her cheek, and angled her head to face him. "Let's go somewhere else," he whispered, his lips grazing hers for the slightest of moments. "Please."

Even if Reanon had any defenses against Andrew, they would have evaporated at the sound of his sexy voice. Since she didn't, she followed behind him, her hand encased in his, into the chilly night air. Reanon had no idea where they were going, but being with Andrew was something that she took delight in no matter what the circumstance was.

He stopped walking abruptly just short of his car and pulled Reanon close to him; the heat from his body made Reanon press into him, almost in a needy way. Andrew brought his mouth down to hers, kissing her demandingly. It was a fiery kiss, powered by bottled desire that erupted along with satisfaction the moment that their lips touched.

Moaning softly, Reanon wrapped her arms around Andrew's neck, deepening their kiss. Not withdrawing his lips, Andrew pushed Reanon's back against his car, his arms going around her slim waist in a hungry clutch. Reanon was so lost in bliss that she barely felt the cold of the vehicle against her nearly bare back; she was way too incredibly focused on getting lost in him to mind something as unimportant as that.

Breathing heavily, Reanon tipped her head back, and Andrew's lips attacked her soft neck. "I-I want y-you so bad," she murmured to him, her hands clinging to him fiercely. "Oh my G-God, Andrew…"

In a blurred moment, Reanon found herself stretched across the backseat of Andrew's car, a place where she was certainly at home. Roughly, she jerked Andrew's shirt over his head and ran her hands over his well-defined chest. His sculpted muscles were even better than they were in the memories she'd recalled to her thoughts so often.

Andrew's breath was hot against Reanon's throat as he removed her halter top. Anxious to get past the foreplay, she assisted him with the removal of clothing until there was nothing but his skin on hers. There wasn't anything tender about the way his mouth explored hers or the way her fingernails clawed at his back during their passionate embrace. Their actions were nothing but rough and avid, both of them eager to make up for lost time together.

Afterwards, Andrew kissed Reanon slowly, his hand cradling her smooth cheek. "I've missed you so damn much, boo," he told her gently. "So damn much."

Reanon kissed him back enthusiastically. "I've missed you too."

Andrew pressed several soft kisses against Reanon's neck and shoulders, and she closed her eyes in unadulterated ecstasy. "Can we get past all that shit from before?" he asked. "Let's make us work again, RT. You know we can."

Hesitantly, Reanon opened her eyes and laid her hand against Andrew's cheek. His aqua eyes stared into hers, pleading and searching for her answer in the depths of her brown irises. "I'm leaving, Drew," she answered finally. His expression was one of surprise. "Very soon."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?"

Reanon sighed and stroked his cheek wistfully. "I'm gettin' shipped off to Virginia to live with my grandma in some small-ass town. My dad's been threatenin' for months, and he's serious. I can tell. I'm gettin' kicked out of Chatt-town for bad behavior."

"You don't have to go anywhere," Andrew insisted, shaking his head angrily. "You're a badass. What's that you always say—fight the power."

Reanon laughed wryly and shook her head disappointedly; of course things would fall back together in her life as soon as it wasn't her life anymore. "I wish it was that easy," she told him sadly. "They've had my bank account frozen for two months, and I lost access to the family credit cards long before that. That limits the places I can go." She shrugged and kissed Andrew gently, pleased to see some of the anger fade from his face, even though it was briefly. "I'll be eighteen over the summer though, and then they can't say shit to me anymore."

Andrew looked hopeful. "And then you'll be back?"

"Hell, I'll be tryin' to get back sooner than that." Reanon ventured a smile, and the attempt prompted Andrew's lips to touch hers again. She'd smile all the time if it meant constant kisses from him. "I really will miss you."

"Not more than I'll miss you." Andrew nuzzled his cheek against Reanon's. "Hurry back to me, RT?"

"That's a promise."