My Escape Chapter 1

**Hiya, everyone! So, yes, I have come up with another new story. I had posted a little piece of it on my website and a few people responded saying that they wanted me to write it. So, here it is! Oh, and it's rated PG-13 because there's language and "grown-up" themes :) Anyways, hope you enjoy! Please comment!**

The music was so loud I couldn’t think straight and I had a serious problem with that. My guard was falling; it needed to come back up. The people around me were grinding against each other, some smoking, but the majority just drinking. There was a couple behind me that looked like they were eating each other’s faces off. How people could do that in public I had no idea.

I couldn’t believe Claire had dragged me to this. It wasn’t even people she knew! The only person she knew here was Tom and since she had spotted him in the crowd, I have no idea where she went. Usually at parties like these, they would be getting busy in a spare bedroom upstairs because her grandparents didn’t allow her to date. Yeah, like that stopped her from screwing around with Tom every spare chance she got.
It was Friday night and since I was busy for the rest of the weekend, I needed to be finishing my article about how the mystery meat served every Thursday was in fact, edible. But instead, I was stuck in a hormone-ruled house with guys who couldn’t keep it in their pants.

Since I had been here, about three guys have come up to me and asked me to go upstairs with them. I slapped one of them across the face. So now I was sitting on one of the stairs, thinking about how I was going to finish the article in time. I hadn’t even started it yet.
Then I heard a guy scream, "Fuck you, man!" The sound came from right behind me and as soon as I heard it, my head whipped around. Two burly guys who looked like they weighed three times more than me were screaming at each other. Soon enough the entire house turned to stare at them. Then I realized if a punch was thrown and someone got knocked down, I’d get run into.

Someone apparently had the same thought, because within a second, a large hand gripped my arm and pulled me up the stairs. For once I didn’t scream at someone for touching me, because this person had actually helped me. "Woah there, you okay?" the guy asked. I looked up at him and frowned.
I knew this guy; everyone in town knew this guy. He had dark brown hair that hung curly in his face. Long lashes coated his deep brown eyes and his pink lips were curved into a smile. His name was Oliver Carter and he was the star quarterback for Westwood High. Him and my brother had gotten into a couple of fist fights on the field, so basically, I was about to say thanks to my brother’s sworn enemy.
So, instead, I turned around, and started to walk away. He grabbed my arm once again and pulled me against him. "You know, I basically saved your life, you should thank me."

I rolled my eyes and said, "I should thank a lot of people; doesn’t mean I ever do."
"Feisty," he pointed out and then pulled me closer. "I like feisty." I pushed my hands against his chest and he looked surprised. Having the knowledge I did about this boy, I knew that girls always fawned over him as if he was a god. He was probably shocked that I had rejected him.
I wheeled around again, but once again he stopped me. "You really need to stop doing that. Go mess with some other girl." I could see why girls were so attracted to him; he really was hot. Too bad I wasn’t going to be distracted by him. I had enough stuff to deal with.
"Not until you tell me why I haven’t seen you at school." His hand still gripped my arm and he was leaning against the banister. The fight had died down-someone having broken it up before any punches were thrown. A bunch of people had been disappointed.

"I love how you think I’m going to stay and talk to you."
He smirked and pointed out, "Love is a strong emotion."
"Yeah, so is hatred," I spat and then pivoted around to walk away. This time, he didn’t catch up with me until I was down stairs and in the kitchen. Most of the people in the kitchen were drinking, some smoking a joint. All I was looking for was a coke.
Oliver grabbed me by the waist and then drew me in to where I could smell the alcohol lingering on his clothes. He pulled me into the dining room and I noted that no one was in here with us. Was he going to rape me?
As I tried to remember self-defense tips, he asked me, "How come I’ve never seen you at school?"
"I don’t go to your school," I told him, trying to distract him from raping me. But then I realized he had propped himself up onto the dining room table and was just holding onto my arm. Maybe he wasn’t going to try and rape me.
"What school? Or are you in college? You do have that whole up tight college thing going on. It’s kind of a turn on."

I smirked; maybe this would get him away from me. "You know my brother."
"Oh really, now?" he asked, smiling. It seemed as if he was starting to think his charm was getting to me, but it was doing the opposite. Telling him this would repel him.
"Yeah, my name’s Kara Gregory. My brother is Greg Gregory; ring a bell?"
It was at this point that I thought he would get mad and storm off, saying how much he hated my brother. But he didn’t. Instead, he laughed. He clarified, "Greg Gregory is your brother?"
"Is there an echo in here?"
He rolled his eyes at me and I told him, "You reek of alcohol, you know that?"
He laughed and then hit his knee; oh yeah, definitely drunk. It was as if telling him this was the funniest thing ever when it so wasn’t. But what really pissed me off was that he was a cute drunk; not many people could pull that off. "What else is there to do at a party like this?"

"I don’t know…not drink, maybe," I told him matter-of-factly.
"Then what do you do at parties like this? Go screw around with guys?" he asked, a smirk planted on his face. Why was I even talking to this guy? Maybe it beat out sitting alone in a corner, but he was getting a little personal.
"No…"
He stood up and then made his way over to where I was standing against the wall. He had an intense look in his eyes as he pressed his palms against the wall. "Get away from me," I warned. His face was bending towards mine…closer, closer… "Stop it, you’re drunk!" I tried to push him away with my hands, but since he was a football player, he wasn’t exactly tiny.
He shook his head and smiled lazily at me. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, but it was also mixed with some sort of cologne. "I’m not drunk."
"Then what the hell are you doing?" I spat in his face. He was invading my personal bubble and I hated it when people did that.
He stated, "Isn’t it obvious?" and then roughly placed his lips against mine.
Okay, so being an overachiever requires a few personal qualities. I need to be good with deadlines, which, for the most part, I am. I also need to be a perfectionist and I definitely was one of those. The main thing I needed to be good at was dealing with the unexpected. Like what if the newspaper photographer forgot to take the cover shot? What would I do then? I would place a picture of the school mascot, a lion, in its place.

So I was good at surprises like that, but surprises like this…surprises like a hot, drunk, football player that you were supposed to hate kissing you like there was no tomorrow. Surprises like actually liking the way his hands had cupped my face and the way his knee was pressed in between my legs. Surprises like actually kissing him back even though I had known him like thirty seconds.
For now, I would just have to handle surprises like this by pushing him away. So that’s exactly what I did. His face was completely baffled as he looked at me. "Stay the hell away from me!" I commanded and then ran away like a little girl.
When I got back into the den, I saw a group of people sitting on the ground and playing strip poker and a few druggies lighting it up by the fireplace. Wow, it seemed like all of the overachievers were here. Yeah, right.
I had smelt weed before, don’t get me wrong, but never with this much of a vengeance. I’d never smoked it before-it was way too stupid-but Claire did sometimes and she was always at my house seeing as how she hated her grandparents. But this much of it just made me want to gag.

My eyes searched the room for any signs of Claire, but I saw absolutely none. I needed to get out of this place. I didn’t like the way that my heart was pounding or the way that my body really wanted to be back in the vacant dining room with Oliver. I couldn’t do stuff like what I had just done. I had a 4.3 GPA for crying out loud!
You know what? Tom could give her a ride home. I wasn’t going to stay in this house for any longer. Besides, my curfew was two and my cell phone said it was one-thirty and my house was forty-five minutes away. My dad wasn’t very lenient on curfew so I had to get home.
I could take Claire’s car and just give it back to her tomorrow morning. She had given me her keys since she knew her pants would be flying off anyways. That was enough to convince me to steal her car.

So I ran out of the house and hopped into her old red Mustang convertible named Heinz. I shoved the key into the ignition and then peeled away from the house so wildly that I didn’t see Oliver running out of the house to get my attention.
When I pulled into our driveway, it was exactly two. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief and then flew into the house so that my dad wouldn’t blow a gasket. He was sitting where he always sat when we came home late,-or way too close to late-the tan couch and he was watching what he always watched, David Letterman.
"Hey, dad," I greeted him and then headed up the stairs, passing the usual pictures off the three of us at the beach two summers ago. That had been back when I liked my dad and Greg. Now all the two did were ride my nerves.

As I scrubbed vigorously against my teeth, I noticed that I didn’t look any different. You’d think that after kissing-I mean really kissing-a total stranger I would somewhat resemble a slut. But nope, I still looked the same.
I still had the light brown hair which resembled hay, the same big blue eyes that made me look like a bug, and the same full lips which made me look like I was always pouting. Yep, that was what I loved about myself. Yeah, right.
I washed my face with plain water and then threw my hair into a ponytail. When I was done with that, I sat down in front of my computer and brought up the newspaper article that was due to the printer tomorrow.

An hour later, when I was finally done, I lie in my bed and turn out my lamp. It’s then that I let thoughts about my mom come in. Most of the time, I pushed those thoughts aside and saved them for later, but I couldn’t tonight. I needed her to be here so that I could confide in her. I mean, I would never tell her every detail-she would be disgusted and disappointed-but I would tell her some things. Tears streaming down my cheeks, I fell into a deep slumber.