[01]Definition: Slut

When I was younger, I was a gigantic dork who read stories online. And, no, I don't mean legitimate books you would find in the book store that was being sold as an ebook. Nay, I read a lot of stories written by unrecognized amateur writers posting their stuff online. Yeah, it isn't really quite the best reason explaining why I was crown Queen Bitch in high school or the University Slut, but there is more to it, let me tell you.

I must admit that I was inadvertently in love the idea of childhood friends falling in love, two people who were completely opposite of each other finding some similar grounds and eventually falling in love, the brother's best friend having a crush on the brother's sister, and all of the other wonderful clichés. The list went on, really.

Though, what usually intrigued me weren't the main characters itself but the antagonist. There would always be that one bitchy-slash-slutty-slash-evil girl who came in between the relationships. At first, I hated those Queen Bee types of girls, but then I began to realize how important they were in the character's love development. I felt like Queen Bitch (read: me) has really been taken for granted in a lot of stories.

I mean, if she wasn't there, then who will make nerdy girl jealous of her not-so-crush-but-really-she-totally-dig-him-and-he-dig-her-back project partner, who happened to be a jock in these stories? The Queen Bee: that was who.

I wasn't really a slut. Truth to be told, I wasn't even sure what to do when doing the deed. Of course, my circle of friends would tell me agonizing details of their little sexcapades, though, fear not! Even if my ears are far from being pure, my hymen was still intact, contrary to popular belief. I told myself that I was going to leave this whole Queen Bitch ordeal behind after high school, but I suppose Queen Bitch refused to leave me.

I was starting in a new school, with new people who knew nothing of my past, and new friends (that was, if I would be able to make some), and I hoped to find new circles that would think of me as a friend and not a tool for popularity. I was very confident of keeping my Queen Bee-alter ego from surfacing, and I never imagined a situation where I needed to wake her up again.

Then I met Emily Kingsley.

And, it was love at first sight.

Or at least, I saw love when I walked in on her fighting playfully with her so-called "friend" (cough, cough) in our dorm room. At first, Emily kind of made you feel very insecure about yourself. Not because she was pretty or anything like that, but because she was beyond gorgeous. It wasn't the Megan Fox allure kind of thing, but with her pretty blonde hair, warm brown eyes, and welcoming smile that just screamed: I'm pretty and friendly! I'm beyond perfect! Befriend me, you know you want to!

Not that I was bitter. I supposed that she just happened to be lucky to have great genes. Though, I did somewhat hoped that she had a mean personality to go with her to die for looks. Unfortunately, at the time, Emily offered me a big, bright smile as she greeted, "Hi! My name is Emily. You must be Eleanor."

"It's Ella, actually," was my reply, feeling ever so disappointed that she wasn't a stuck up bi-atch.

Emily then introduced me to Jonathan who she met during the campus tours in the summer. I knew that I shouldn't have done it, but I did it anyway. I gave Jonathan Queen Bee's infamous flirty smile and giggled at his pathetic lame joke. I mean, I truly wouldn't have done it if it was a different situation. But, like I said: when I saw them, it was love at first sight.

It was blatantly obvious that Jonathan was interested in Emily. It was clear as day, like there was a huge sign over his head saying that he was whipped for her. Emily, of course, didn't see that. Therefore, as her roommate, I decided that it was my job to help her with her seemingly complicated love life. I mean, if they were to ever end up getting married to each other, I would bet that they'd make some pretty hot children. Unlike Emily's blonde strands, Jonathan's hair was black. And he had pretty green eyes.

It only took a whole hour of asking Jonathan to help me with moving my things to speed up their relationship. Emily and Jonathan were the classic couple with the classic relationship I've always wanted to have. If Jonathon got the PJ bottoms, Emily got the PJ shirt. She would eat his spaghetti without the cheese, and he would overdose his with cheese. It was agonizingly cute, really.

After they hooked up and got rid of the sexual frustration that had been harboring them since God knows how long, Emily confronted me to give a warning that Jonathan was hers and definitely off the market. I told her, "I know," which she took as an insult, and I had to explain to her my Queen Bee alter ego and need to stick my nose up in other people's business—or rather, love life.

I swore that that would be the last time Queen Bee would appear. I even asked Emily for help to keep QB gone forever. Of course, she agreed after we both clicked and decided to not only be roommates but dubbed our friendship as the same level as best friends. It was refreshing to have a girl friend that I could trust and not worry about needing to keep my shields up just in case she blackmailed me.

We signed a contract with rules outlining what we can and cannot do in the room. I specifically emphasized the rule about not doing it in the other's bed or leaving evidence that it was done at all. For example, we were (though, I'd be honest: this rule applied to Emily, seeing that I wasn't going to lose my V anytime soon) not allowed to leave condom wrappers, the condom itself (yuck), the boyfriend's clothes on the floor, and any other things used during the…action. It was also stated that the action was not allowed to be done in the other person's bed.

"Eighteen years is a long time without getting some," Emily pondered one night. She just got back from her date with Jonathan and just finished gushing off all the cute details of the date. I happily listened. I did love to hear good, romantic date stories. And Jonathan and Emily were perfect together.

"I'm not really missing anything," I told her as I tried to concentrate on the movie I was watching in my laptop.

"I suppose you're right," she said, flopping down on her bed as she hugged her pillow, a huge smile plastered on her lips. She giggled, burying her face in the pillow. I deemed her crazy—but that was what love would do to a person, I supposed. "I mean, I only had sex three times before, and I never really minded not getting any 'action.' But after one round with John, oh wow. I didn't want to stop. I mean, he was like—"

"La la la la la la la!" I sang out loud. "I can't hear you! La la la la la!" With the best friend title aside, even if Em was just some stranger, I did not want to hear about her sex life. I tried my best to not listen during high school, and I really did not want to taint my pure mind of it any more than it was already tainted. I mean, even in the books and stories I read, I had a tendency to skip over the X-Rated scenes.

"You're such a baby!" she said laughing. When she finally finished, she threw her pink, fluffy pillow at me, causing me to pause my movie and throw it back at her. Of course, with my lack of hand eye coordination, I missed, but the action got the message across.

"Anyway! We should definitely do something fun tonight! We made it through a week of first year! I think that we definitely deserve a break."

Or maybe it didn't get it across. I groaned, shaking my head. "But Lizzie's about to upstage that no good liar in his own concert!" I whined, "I wanna see her kiss Gordo!"

Emily gasped as she suddenly got off her bed and jumped beside me on mine. "Is that The Lizzie McGuire movie?" she asked.

I grinned. "The one and only."

We watched a few minutes of it before she shook her head and sat up. "No," she stated firmly, "I'm going to a party. And you are too, missy."

"But the look on Gordo's face will be so adorable!"

Emily had her lip in a thin line as she contemplated on a response. Her face looked conflicted, as if she was having a hard time to decide on what to do. Of course, I can sympathize with that. The Lizzie McGuire movie was a must see chick flick.

"Okay, fine," she muttered, giving up as she settled into a more comfortable position beside me. "I'll watch the end with you. Then, I'll head to the party and you're coming with me."

I still didn't see a point as to why I my presence was needed in this bash. "Why do I have to go?"

"You're making me late by watching this movie."

"You don't have to watch." To be honest, I wanted to go. Parties were fun, and I really haven't attended one since high school—and even then, I didn't stay long. I left after making an appearance. Though, tonight, I was going with someone and I was wary of the fact that there was going to be drinks and I didn't want to be pressured in drinking. I knew that somehow—one way or another—Emily and my Inner Party Girl Ella would convince Reasonable Ella that taking one, tiny, little shot would be fine. Then, Reasonable Ella would drink, and next thing you know, I'd be waking up in some stranger's house with a killer hangover.

And hangovers were painful.

Emily gave me the look. It was the look she would use whenever she wanted something and it meant that she wasn't going to give up on it at all. Though, if she was going to be stubborn, I would be too.

I sent her another look that said: whatever she was doing, or trying to do, it wasn't working.

It had only been a week and we've already created a new language via eye gestures. This new best friend experience was new to me and it was honestly fun.

She let out a frustrated sigh. Emily took a step towards, her head hovering over mine as she watched me with a penetrating stare in a way that I thought I was going to pee my PJ's. "Now, you're partying with me tonight, Roomie, unless your ideal Friday night is sitting alone in our dorm, and watching movies," she stated, her eyes gleaming with triumph, "Alone."

She made me sound like I had no life, and that the highlight of my youth was watching chick flicks alone on a night like tonight.

Now that she put it that way…

Damn it. She was a good convincer.

Sometimes, there was really no helping it. "Fine," I mumbled, letting my shoulder sag. I knew for a fact that Emily would drag me out to go by force, so I figured that giving up now was the best way to go. "I'll go."

Emily pumped her fist (wow, that was a little dorky for her) as she muttered a loud and triumph, "Yes!"

I wanted to blame Em for the dizzy feeling I had right now. I mean, she did leave me to fend off for myself in this strange, new house all alone. I watched enough CSI: Miami and Criminal Minds (Spencer Reid was really hot) to know that bad things happened to un-expecting girls in parties. That was why I had my purse filled with water bottles just so I wouldn't be drinking anything that could possibly be drugged.

Not that anyone would want to drug me. There was a lot more willing girls who seemed to be overconfident and knew that they were hot.

So, there I was, standing at the corners of the house with a bottle water in one hand like a sore-eye wall paper in midst of a wild frat party. High school parties were never this big. I mean, what could sixteen year olds do? Get drunk off of cheap alcohol with a few people? A fraternity party, on the other hand, was the kind of party a young, hopeful teenager would want to have.

This was probably one of the biggest parties of the year. I didn't even know how Emily got the invites for this.

"Hey! I know you!"

I ignored the statement, thinking it wasn't meant for me. The couple people I befriended in my classes were far from the party kind of people. I mean, I was only here because my roommate forced me to. Though, that was until I felt a hand on my shoulder. I jumped from the contact, almost spilling my water.

"You're Ella, right?" she asked, grinning widely.

I nodded, recognizing her in from my economics class. Her hair was blonde, but it wasn't the same honey-colour blonde Emily had. Hers was a little darker, and it was in curls. "Yeah, that's me," I answered. "You're…Amelia, right?"

She frowned. "I prefer Mia." She shook her head, her blue eyes staring at the abomination I was holding. "But enough about that. Why are you standing here drinking water?"

I frowned at the question. There was nothing wrong with water. Unless, of course, you were in frat party. "Why not?"

She chuckled. "Good, good," she muttered, "You're feisty. Come get a drink with me."

I shook my head. "I already have a couple," I lied, offering her a drunken grin, which I practiced millions of times in front of a mirror to perfect. "I'm on my water break."

Mia nodded, accepting my explanation. "Do you have another bottle?" she asked, leaning against the wall with me. "Maybe I should drink some water, too."

I was right.

I didn't know how it happened, but I was certain that I that I was a shot or two or maybe even ten shots of tequila over my Drunk Limit.

And it was safe to say that my Drunk Limit was less than four shots, though I couldn't be really sure. Though, I was certain that while Mia was epically drunk, I was merely tipsy.

"Come on, you're hot, Ella," Mia insisted, "Just go dance with a guy! Don't be such a party pooper!"

There were a lot of things wrong with that sentence. First was that I've never seen myself as the "hot" kind of girl, as Mia had said. Sure, being QB for four years kind of threw that insecurity away, bit in mix of all these other girls who looked far better than perfect even though they were drunk and sweaty, I felt the insecurity rising back up again. Unlike high school, I didn't have minions who would follow me around, praising my beauty. Secondly, who used party pooper anymore? That line was so grade one. The last thing was that I sucked at dancing. Like, if I tried, there was a one in three chances that someone was going to the hospital because I would accidentally injure them.

"I'm not sure," I mumbled, shaking my head. Okay, maybe I wasn't that drunk if I still had the guts to say no to this.

"Come on! Let's find you someone hot!" Mia urged as she eyed the whole room, looking for someone who would have to endure my lack of ability to socialize and dance. "Found him!" she stated a second later, "How 'bout over there?" She pointed at a guy at one side of the bar who was talking with his friends. "He looks really sexy! The one with the brown curly hair with the red sweater. He's absolutely gorgeous."

I wasn't really sure if he was or not. There was a group of guys in red sweaters, though only one of them had brown, curly hair. I couldn't make up his features since he had his back on us I supposed that I just had to trust Harriet with that since she was sober (I hoped).

"Do I have to?" I whined. Quite honestly, I did want to. As seconds passed, this seemed to get a little more exciting. Kind of like I was taking part in a rebellious Can't Tame Me stroll down the Slut Avenue.

Mia rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Come on! What are you scared of?" she asked, grabbing hold of my shoulder, "Tonight, your inner party girl is fighting to get out there and have fun! Do you really want the story of your life to be boring?"

No, I didn't. I supposed that I lost control with what I say as well, seeing that it slipped out even though I didn't intend on saying it.

"You go get him!" she cheered and pushed me to the general direction of the guy. God, Mia did sell that speech. No wonder she was in marketing. Then again, it could be just because I was slightly out it that she was able to convince me to take my barely-any confidence and go to talk to the guy.

I wanted to act cool and approach him in a seductive way like in the movies. And I thought I was doing a good job on it, too. I even had one of those irresistible smiles plastered on my lips (or I hoped I did). Though, I screwed up a little after three strides, seeing that I tripped over someone else's feet and bumped into Mr. Absolutely Gorgeous. It was probably one of the most embarrassing things that had happened to me.

"Whoa," he muttered, laughter evident in his slightly sexy tone, "You okay?" His friends, all in red sweaters, hooted. I looked around, realizing that it was a letter man jacket, and not just a red sweater.

Oh, no. This was so not what I signed up for. A guy I could handle. A group of letter-man wearing guys I could not.

I looked up, meeting his bright blue eyes and my thoughts of that drifted away. Wow. He had really pretty eyes. I attempted to get up, but failed as my knees decided that they were tired of carrying my weight.

Ugh. Why do my head feel so light?

"I think you're drunk," he stated, chuckling. He didn't look drunk, though his groups of friends did. Perhaps he was one of those people who looked fine even though they were batshit wasted.

What? I gave him a flat look, or at least I tried to and realized that my lips were saying things it shouldn't have been saying. Damn it! Did I say that aloud again?

He merely grinned, inching closer all while keeping his hold on me.

"Damn it," I muttered, running a hand through my hair in hopes that I would form a coherent sentence.

"Fresh air?" he offered, helping me balance without feeling the need to fall.

I nodded. Fresh air meant that I could get out of this place. "Yes, please," I muttered, grateful. Maybe a breather from the club was just what I needed.

Slowly, he helped me out of the party. I earned an approving nod from Mia as I exited the house with who she dubbed as Mr. Absolutely Gorgeous.

"First time?" he asked, standing in front of me as I leaned back on a tree trunk. We were outside the house. The music was still loud, but at least the air was cool and not insanely musky.

"No," I answered with an eye roll. "Your presence merely intoxicated me.

He cocked an eyebrow, obviously oblivious to my sarcasm. "Yeah?"

I shook my heads, hitting him on the arm. "I'm with friends," I said, "Though I think I lost them." Damn it! Why the hell did I tell him that? What if he was a psychopath killer and realized how easy of a target I was right now? I couldn't die just yet! I didn't want to die! I was too young! Too young!

"I saw you earlier with that blond girl," he said, "You don't seem like the type to go to these things."

I frowned, crossing my arms over my chest. "So what type am I?"

He grinned, placing his hands in his pocket. He dipped his head down, but his pretty eyes were on mine. "Are you flirting with me?"

I gave him a look of disbelief.

"I'm joking, of course," he stated. He chuckled, pulling his hand out for a hand shake. "I'm Damien."

Oh. That was a nice name. Not. It practically meant demon. Oh, my God! What if he was a vampire? A lot of vampires in stories were named after evil things. I gave him a smile, hoping to keep my cool. "Hello, Damien."

He rolled his eyes. "Perhaps it's just me, but I believe it's polite to introduce yourself, too, Nameless Stranger."

Crap. He was asking for my name I bit my lips, thinking of a fake name. Come on, brain! Just pick a name from the hundreds of stories I've fed you. "Umm…"Ella." That wasn't fake.

"Is that short for Angela or something?" he asked, coking an eyebrow.

I chuckled dryly. I wish it was short for Angela or something. "Eleanor, actually." Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Don't give him any more information!

"Sounds like an old lady's name."

I groaned. I knew I wasn't the only one who thought that. Maybe he wasn't so crazy if he and I had the same opinion of my name. "I know, right? What were my parents thinking?"

"Possibly, something along the lines of, maybe her name with make guys from clubs back off," he answered in a mocking way. I supposed it was because of the drink that made him look extra gorgeous right now. His jawline was defined in a way that someone like Ian Somerhalder jealous.

I grinned. He was funny. "Yeah, that's probably it."

Damien turned to me, his eyes boring into mine, causing all my senses to shot right up. "Well, I think it's not really working well."

"Oh?" What did that mean?

He grinned, leaning forward. He smirked, leaning in a tad too close.

Oh. That was what he meant by that. Well, that made a little bit more sense. Though, that was when I realized that he was possibly trying to kiss me.

Oh, no! I was about to make out with a complete stranger that could possibly be an axe murderer! What do I do? What do I do? I turned my head to the side, which caused his lips to make contact with my cheeks instead.

That was a close one.

He merely chuckled. "Well that's awkward."

"Yeah…"

The smile on his face didn't fade off. "I suppose that's because of your lack of expertise."

My jaw dropped in a very unattractive way. Did he just say I sucked at kissing?

"No, but I didn't say I'm not thinking it."

Damn it. I said that out loud again. I glared at him, his dark eyes watching me with much amusement. "I do not suck!"

His eyes were gleaming now. "You wouldn't know, really, if you've never done it."

"I kissed tons of guys before!" It wasn't a lie, but by kiss, I meant on the cheeks to make the guys' not-so-girlfriend-yet jealous. Of course, I've pecked guys on the lips before, too, but all of those meant nothing. It was all for the act of getting the girl they were totally into realize what they could lose.

He smirked, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Of course," he muttered, sounding definitely unconvinced.

"What?"

"What do you mean what?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow. "I just agreed with you."

"No, you didn't!" I argued. He totally said that 'of course' in the most sarcastic way possibly.

The grin on his face grew bigger. "So you admit on your own that you suck?"

"I don't!"

"Where's your proof?" By now, Damien had managed to make the distance between us disappeared without me noticing. I didn't realize that he'd been leaning closer and closer until his breath was close enough to make my skin tingle.

Damn it! He was too close! When Damien licked his bottom lip, I supposed that was when Alter Ego, Queen Bitch Ella decided to show herself.

I kissed him. It tasted like cherry. He must been doing some sort of Jell-O shots earlier. Or maybe he drank cherry juice. Though, I supposed it was the former than the latter.

Something sizzling ran through my system. I was kissing a stranger! I was kissing a stranger! The mantra repeated itself in my mind a million times just as he snaked his arms around me.

"Fuck," he muttered.

We both pulled away and stared at each other. Well, fuck, in deed.