Sinder 1: Experimentation Read online

  SINDER

  Jane Devreaux

  SINDER

  Translated from French by Veronika Sinagra

  Part 1 - Experimentation

  Warning: This novel for young adults contains sexually explicit scenes.

  Copyright © 2015 Jane Devreaux

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1511761075

  ISBN-13: 978-1511761079

  Legal submission: April 2015

  Prologue

  I watch his beautiful hazel eyes and his dimple form as he gives me a faint smile. He caresses my chin and leans in to kiss me tenderly. Oliver is so tall that even when I stand on my tiptoes, on the edge of the sidewalk in front of my house, I’m still smaller than him.

  I chose to wear a flimsy almost see-through dress for him and he takes advantage of it, letting his hand climb up my thigh. I love the sensations he brings up in me, the pleasure tickling in my lower stomach and up along my spine. I know Oliver would like more, but I don’t feel ready yet. I promised him he would get his ways at prom night. I’m crazy about this boy; he’s so handsome, so nice, so different from my father.

  He takes a step back and I protest by running my fingers under his shirt.

  “If you don’t go home right now, your father will get mad.” He says while contouring my lips with the tip of his thumb.

  I let him go regretfully, because I know he’s right, and as soon as I’ve walked in, my father’s glare almost makes me regret coming home.

  “You are late” he yells at me with glaring dark eyes.

  I turn to my mother, frantically rubbing the kitchen without looking up. I don’t have to ask her to know they’ve been fighting again and that I’ll soon have to pay the piper. He never takes it out on her. Her, he finds perfect. There’s nothing he can deny her. Her, he does love.

  “I’m only five minutes late and I was in front of the house well before time.” I protest and take a hesitating step towards the stairs.

  If I manage to get to my room before the storm, he’ll take it out on the door and tomorrow I’ll slip away to school early to avoid the reprisal.

  “When I give you a time limit, it is not a minute later, nor a second.” he hisses at me while getting closer.

  I hesitate to run for the stairs, I’m faster than him, I can shake him off, but if he does catch me, the consequences will be even worse. I throw myself onto the stairs exactly at the same time he grabs me by the arm.

  “And what is this you’re wearing? You look like a whore!” he screams madly.

  “Mom!” I plead, praying she would step in. She finally looks up and starts eyeing me as if she had just realized I was here. A strange smile lights up her face, one that has always brought all men to their knees.

  “You loved it when I dressed like this when I was her age.” She says wryly.

  He smiles back at her and releases his grip. I make the most of this moment of inattention to free my arm and climb de stairs two by two.

  He catches up with me at the exact moment I lock up the door. I can feel the knob shake under my fingers and pray God it doesn’t give in to him one more time. I hate the noise of his fists against the wood and the whining of hinges.

  “Fuck, Sandre, open that door! You know it, you have to respect my rules… if you get knocked up, you’ll only have yourself to blame for it… Sandre! Fuck!”

  I curl up in a corner of the room to wait until he calms down. I try to think about Oliver, I imagine his arms around me, rocking me gently to reassure me, I wish I could slip out the window and go find him, but he lives in the next town, and there’s no bus that could take me there for the next two hours.

  The blows become less insisting and I start to breathe again. When he’ll start wearing off, I know my mother will intervene.

  I can hear her soft voice as the slamming fades away.

  “Ryan, she did nothing wrong.”

  “I can’t have her disobey me. She will end up like you if this goes on.” He replies.

  “You know very well that this is not really the problem.”

  Then silence, and I imagine my mother’s hands soothing my father, and her kisses calming his tensions. He never takes it out on her; he loves her too much to do that. I wish he could love me this much as well; I wish he could look at me the way he looks at her.

  1 — Sandre

  From my perch I can see everything. The lost souls, the unfaithful, the idiots, the drop-outs, the too serious, and the not enough ones… and through my lens I don’t miss any detail.

  Steve Marchal, the pretty green eyed blondy, with his perfectly neglected look and his pumped up body that has all the girls going wild, always hidden in a corner, making out or more. Today, he’s chosen the way too young Julie What’s-Her-Name. She’s barely 15 years old and already wears flashy clothes that don’t cover much. If I was her mother, I would force that slut to wear jeans and a turtleneck. She might stop showing off once she realizes what Steve’s after. How can this asshole not get caught? Are all the girls as cheesy as they seem?

  I take a few pictures where one could almost see her panties, if she’s wearing any, with the perv’s hands well positioned, his mouth even more so. Then I turn my camera to a much less appealing area.

  I end up looking at Lewis Brakman with his way too long and disgusting hair that he makes me sick even from this far. After all, I probably preferred Steve and his salacious fondling. But I like to know what the junkies’ group is up to. One filthier than the other. There isn’t a single one of them that could make up for the others. As if showering meant wasting time they could spend getting high. They’re always squatting behind the garbage cans. Some say it is to hide the smell of weed and other illegal substances, but I’m not convinced by the idea, considering the cloud of smoke coming out of there.

  I zoom in on the small black squares they keep exchanging, but from this far, they could as well be playing dominoes that it wouldn’t make a difference. I don’t linger very much as the sight of their greasy mops makes me gag, and that even without the smell.

  Will Donnell is as always stuck in his books on the bench in front of the entrance. When one has forgotten to take notes or doesn’t know if there’s a test, he’s the one to go to. Everybody knows him even though he’s more part of the furniture than of the pupils. And you can’t miss him with his Harry Potter style glasses and his brown slick hair parted on the side. And I’m not even talking about his awful, checkered shirts, buttoned up to his neck. This guy has got the decade all wrong.

  There’s nothing to see there, but it’s my way of fighting the urge to do what I’ll most certainly do if the bell doesn’t call me to order and fast.

  And here it comes, it’s too late, I’m there. My fingers have sled to the small shadowy area where the most popular ones gather. Without asking for anything, I have Josh Anderson in the viewfinder. I’m a lost cause, as cheesy as all those klutzes drooling over him. Yet, I should be immune; I’ve already been through all this with Oliver. He too was tall, toned and cute. An asshole, like all the others, who plays with your weaknesses and dumps you as soon as things get ugly. Josh is the same kind of handsome, popular and shallow guy, who just swaggers around and is unable to add without the help of a calculator. I should be making fun of him, of his stupidity, his arrogance… instead of ogling him like a cat in heat.

  But, fucking shit, that idiot is so handsome!

  And like all the klutzes from high school, I drool over his massive football player stature, his brown hair, shaved on the sides and the top messily falling to his eyes which go from dark to azure blue depending on his mood. I’ve frozen on his biceps waving his sweatshirt, his jeans fitted closely around his cute little ass. I imagine this sweet
power wrapped around me, his burning, sweaty skin against mine, my fingers on his body, redrawing each and every one of his muscles. Suddenly a hand appears on his back, bringing me back to reality. Fuck I’m raving!

  There’s just one thing off about this guy, he only has eyes for the splendid Marcy Shepard. Well, so far, nothing abnormal! She’s beautiful, with legs to die for, perfect breasts, breathtaking blond hair, and eyes that get her anything she wants… but she’s also taken the vow of chastity or something like that. I don’t really know much about religion, but it happens so that the little Miss is the President of the anti reckless sex committee. Come on, seriously, she’s been with him since middle school, what would be reckless about treating yourself to some good time with your boyfriend? I wonder how she does it to not have an itching pussy, especially when she spends her days letting a beautiful idiot like Josh fondle her. This chick must have missed her puberty.

  And what the hell is it that has him drooling over her like an idiot instead of screwing another one? I’ve been betting on the lucky one that will take his virginity for a year, but still nothing.

  Like every day, they’re standing close while talking to their respective friends. I watch Josh’s imposing fingers play with Marcy’s as if this simple gesture suggested something indecent. You can see he’s dying for more. If it was all up to him, Steve the perv would look like a saint next to him. Anyway, from them I won’t be getting any incriminating pictures, but I still shoot them. I’ve tons of those; I could do the inventory of their daily wardrobes.

  Today, Marcy has opted for a grey, fitted, wrap-around skirt and a slightly see-through shirt that’s barely visible under her beige trench coat. Josh is wearing jeans, a little more torn than usual, and a dark blue almost too fitted sweatshirt. I wish I could see the toned chest that draws so well the dark fabric.

  No, Sandre, do not think about this!

  Sometimes, I hate my hormones.

  Being 17 sucks pretty bad!

  You want it all but are still too stupid to get anything. You want sex, but despite all the bullshit you’re told to avoid the mother-daughter drama or terrifying illnesses, well, you still don’t get what’s expected from you. You have to study even though you don’t have the slightest idea about what you want to do later, and mostly, you’re requested to act mature when your brain hasn’t yet taken in what it means. Teenagers are really pathetic. We all stand around waiting like idiots for something to happen, without really knowing what.

  Well of course there are some who take action. Take guys like Will Donnell for example, those are already flat out in their future and I’m sure they know perfectly well where they’re headed. And in another way, the Steve Marchals, they know a fair bit about sex, which makes everybody look up to them, even though he’s the dumbest guy I’ve ever met. Even Josh only swears by his ridiculous advice. Well, despite this, he still hasn’t screwed that Marcy girl. Here it comes, I’m becoming vulgar again.

  That’s because of the hormones I’m telling you, those fucking hormones.

  I could spend hours taking pictures of those idiots, living their crappy teenage life. It looks so much easier from here, so much cooler, but this phase is really crappy. I wish I was 30 already and all the complications surrounding my firsts far behind me. I wish I had chosen my path and mostly I wish I didn’t feel stupid when it comes to sex anymore.

  Anyways, if I don’t go, right now, the social worker is very likely to come down on me. My life is messy enough as it is; no need to add to it.

  I get down from my perch, actually from the stadium’s bleachers overlooking the park in front of the school. I sneak through the too loud crowd entering the large building from past centuries, without really knowing why.

  Among others I don’t really feel like I’m in the right place. I’m with no-one, I don’t talk to no-one, yet I’m not a no-one. No, everybody knows me. I’m the girl with contract killer or behind bars parents. Some even say that I too did some time for beating up to death a guy who’d made fun of my name. Of course, none of this is true, but it has the merit of keeping them away. And to be honest, I kind of like fueling the rumor. I like seeing them look away when their eyes accidentally meet my dark eyes with way too much make up. Well, about my name, ok, it’s legitimate to wonder, but I won’t tell you why my mother got the very bad idea of naming me Sandre.

  My first class on Thursday mornings is civic education. I still wonder why I’ve chosen this optional course. Everybody was saying: “You’ll see, it’s the class that gets you good grades without doing anything, as all there is to learn you already know.” Well, I can tell you that, don’t ever listen to this kind of bullshit. Those saying this either have Einstein’s brain or they’re not normal. And because of these stupid rumors, I have to put up with two weekly hours of a soporific speech with a bunch of idiots who have been coned like me. Of course, among those idiots there had to be Josh and Steve the perv.

  And, as always, Marcy and Josh are already in front of the door French kissing. Well, rather exchanging chaste kisses. Yet, Josh is well into this, he tries to push her against the wall, to lift her skirt too fitted to comply, but the lady’s gifted. How does she manage to at the same time push him away with a knee, handle his wandering hand and straighten his adventurous tongue?

  This is disgusting; can’t they hide somewhere to get dirty? And if that fucking Salomon wasn’t this short-sighted, she would have already thrown those lovebirds out. As I walk past them, I bump into the bitch, just to disrupt her expert footwork. She glares at me and I give her a proud smile, trying to hide the unease provoked by Josh’s azure eyes turned to my direction as well. I must be a coldhearted pain in the ass for him, and maybe some other things that I prefer not to imagine.

  I rush into the room and avoid by an inch the steamy couple: Steve and Lucy Romy. She’s been the perv’s official girlfriend for the past few months. If she knew all he’s doing behind her back. And yet I’m sure Lucy isn’t of the timid kind. Although, she’s friends with Marcy, so one never knows.

  And the teacher who sees nothing.

  Before the bell, nobody respects anything. People yell, throw objects, bump into and scream at each other, and she ignores the racket. I too ignore them. I have my usual spot that nobody would dare to take. In the back, by the window, so I can admire the view when I’ve really had enough. Usually, people avoid looking at me, but today, they’ve been eyeing me and whispering behind my back.

  Oh my God! What the hell is going on here?

  Suddenly I freeze. Some kind of four-eyes with ponytails sticking out the sides of her head, making her look ten years younger, is sitting at my spot. How’s this possible? Why hasn’t anyone warned this klutz?

  “This is my spot!” I yell at her, putting as much hostility as I can into my voice.

  “Um…I’m sorry, but Mrs…Um…Salomon told me there wasn’t a sitting order.” She mumbles with her already tearing eyes.

  Oh God! This tramp’s going to get eaten alive, but there’s no way I’ll soften. I wait, but she keeps eyeing me pleadingly without batting an eyelid. I know that everybody is watching us. She can bawl, I’ve my reputation to keep up to. Well, I hope I won’t end up in the principal’s office because of this idiot. I can’t handle this now.

  Luckily, the old Salomon sees nothing of this.

  “You move or I’ll smash your frames into your pretty…green…eyes.” I threaten her, eyeing her with my dark eyes which always have an effect.

  She hesitates a moment and without letting me off of her frightened sight, she stands up, shaking, to move to one of the rare free places left in the front row. The others are openly making fun of her while ignoring me. Bunch of assholes harassing a poor, already wounded being.

  What? It’s not my fault. That uptight brat should toughen up a bit.

  2 — Sandre

  Suddenly, the old Salomon slams her fist into the desk to get silence. She at least did toughen up a lot since the beginning of the year. I observe
her, with her strict bun, her bins making her grey eyes look huge and surreal. She’s wearing a frilled shirt buttoned up to the top embellished by a pin in case the closing gave away, one never knows, and her flowered skirt falling to her ankles. An exact copy, except older, of the klutz who just stole my spot.

  She starts going on about the evolution of citizen rights, but I’m not listening. I’m still angry at that bitch who dared to defy me. And as if to taunt me, she turns around and gives me a shy smile that says I’m sorry. I glare at her, but it seems she’s too stupid to get the message. I look away to try and think about something else and I end up facing Josh’s azure blue irises partially hidden behind his rebellious strands of hair. He eyes me out of the corner of his eye as if I was a powerful criminal and my heart jumps when it shouldn’t even react. I eye him as well and he turns his attention back to the old Salomon who’s already getting on my nerves.

  Sandre, calm down!

  I observe the big blue sky illuminating the room, the soft breeze gently caressing the spring’s first buds. Why don’t we ever have class outside? I’m imagining myself laying on the grass, rocked by the too high pitched teacher’s voice, when this piercing voice dares calling out to me, me who haven’t been listening at all.

  “Sandre River!” She repeats with an irritated voice. “What?” I shout out, trying to hide my surprise and irritation.

  “This month, the presentation is for you.” She announces with a big smile.

  And she’s happy on top of that? No, no, no way, not me. Of course I knew it would end up on me. But well, I secretly wished she would forget about me. If it was just me, I could have given her a speech that would have made her regret choosing me, but, I’ll have a partner. I mentally pray for her not to put me in pair with David the filthy pig, or even worse, Steve the perv. I see her hesitate and announce: