Reckless Little 15: Carleigh's Confessions Series, Vol. 1

By Liana Resles

When Carleigh DuMetz turns fifteen, she quickly joins her mischievous friends in seemingly innocent adventures, which brings to light her naïveté. She finds her first love in Aiken Lyons, a handsome young man from her neighborhood, who is friends with Richard - a predatory adult - who also has designs on Carleigh. This story is based on actual events.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 24, 2012
• ISBN: 9781483503714

Book preview

creativity.

1

Tomorrow is April sixteenth–my birthday.

I’ll be turning fifteen, but I feel like I’m way more mature than most other fifteen year olds. I have already been through so much in my life. At least it’s felt that way since I was molested five years ago.

I was only ten at the time, and was just learning through playground gossip about the concept of sex and virginity. At that time, they seemed like such grown-up topics that I wouldn’t even have to think about for another ten years, or so. Then, before I knew it, my mysterious virginity disappeared in a few brief minutes on Christmas Eve night.

I haven’t been the same since; nor, have I ever mentioned it to anyone. I know if I did, it would cause all sorts of problems for me, my family, and the person who did this to me. Since I’ve always taken it upon myself to be the peacemaker in any situation, I couldn’t bring myself to tell anybody. I just pushed it to the back of my mind the best that I could, and tried to put on a happy, normal face for everyone around me. I believe I’ve done a very good job of it, because nobody seems to know.

I remember feeling very scared, and dirty. And the very idea of eventually doing that with my future husband absolutely terrified me for quite some time.

I always assumed that I would be married someday. The thought of just remaining single, and never having to have sex in the first place, never even crossed my mind. After all, the men are the ones in charge, right? I couldn’t possibly survive on my own without a husband, so I knew that eventually I would have to subject my body to this humiliation again at some point in the future.

So, since I’ve already experienced one of the major transitions into adulthood, I feel like I should be turning twenty-one tomorrow. But no…I am stuck here…in this fifteen year old body, impatiently waiting for the day when I can get out of this jail my parents call a house.

My mom has been very secretive and twinkly-eyed lately, so I know she’s planning something for my birthday that I’m supposed to get all excited about. Inwardly, that is just not going to happen, unless I open a present and find the keys to my own apartment in there. But, of course, since I’m the good kid in the family, I will act thrilled and give her a hug and kiss, while she cries tears of joy all over my shoulder.

Meanwhile, my brother John and I will be giving each other the finger behind her back. This is typical for us. We hate each other, and I don’t just mean the typical, sibling rivalry stuff. We really cannot stand each other. Here’s the brief 411: My brother is an asshole. And, it really doesn’t help that my friends come over now mostly to drool over him.

I’ll admit he’s a good-looking guy, and he’s in high school, and he drives, but he’s still a complete waste of the human genome. Why can’t these, otherwise intelligent girls see that? I mean, it’s so obvious!

Carleigh! my mother yells.

She is always yelling…what is that?

Coming! I yell back.

I let out a sigh, and eye roll, as I exit my bedroom–my only sanctuary until my release.

Dinnertime! she yells again, as I’m three feet away from her.

Okay! I yell back jokingly.

I feel the sharp sting as slaps me right on the cheek.

Don’t you yell at me! she screams.

Oh my God! This woman seriously needs some Prozac, pronto!

Jeez, Mom, don’t have a cow! I was just playing with you, I mumble, as tears start forming in my eyes.

Well, don’t do that again! It’s rude! she retorts, then turns around and storms off into the kitchen.

I help bring the dishes to the dining room table, while the guys just sit and gawk at us–waiting for the maids to serve them, no doubt.

As we’re eating, my brother yells at me, Shut your damn mouth!

Huh?

I can hear you chewing! It’s disgusting!

That’s another one of my brother’s wonderful traits–super sensitive hearing. Considering how loud he blasts the music in his room, it’s a wonder he can still hear anything.

I allow myself to daydream as I wash and dry the dishes after dinner. I make sure they are perfectly dry before putting them back in the cupboard. If I left them sitting in the dish rack, my mom would freak. She hates spots on dishes. In fact, she hates anything that isn’t perfect. It seems like my whole childhood was spent learning how to clean a house.

When I decided to start cleaning houses to earn money, she told me I had to do our house first, to make sure I did it right. She agreed to pay me fifteen dollars–a third of what she paid our regular bimonthly cleaning lady.

Excited at the prospect of earning fifteen dollars–a fortune to me at that time–I spent eight hours scrubbing, polishing and vacuuming every room in the house, until it looked as good as my mom would have done. When she came home from work, I stood there smiling as she went through every room in the house, inspecting my cleaning job. I was so proud of myself!

Then she goes into my bathroom, runs her finger along the rail of the toilet paper roll holder, and finds dust.

You didn’t do a very good job, she says in consternation, so you’re not going to get paid for this.

I felt like she had just body-slammed me. I worked for eight hours straight. The job was perfect! How could my own mother not pay me for cleaning the whole house, after we already agreed on it? I was so angry, I just stomped into my room and slammed the door.

Of course, the job couldn’t have been that bad, since she continued to have me clean the house every week after that–with pay I might add. I think she realized what a bitch she was that first time around, and wanted to make up for it.

But, I’ve never forgotten it.

When the dishes are done, I go into the family room to say goodnight to my parents who are glued to the television, as usual.

My mom says, very sweetly, Do you know what day it is tomorrow?

I pretend to look confused, and say, Yeah, it’s Tuesday.

Like I wouldn’t know when my own birthday is? Come on!

Tomorrow’s your birthday, honey! she says, like it’s this big revelation.

Yeah, I know, I respond sullenly.

Well, aren’t you excited? she asks.

Seriously? Another three years of this? I’m going to go insane.

Yeah, sure, I say.

What would you like for your birthday? she asks, like she didn’t already buy something months ago.

Knowing she already got me something like a shirt, and still being pissed about the slap earlier, I decide to throw her for a loop. Hmm, what gift request is way out her price range, and would freak her out the most?

Oh, I know! I exclaim I would totally love to have a surfboard!

I thrill at watching her face droop and turn ashen. She would never get me a surfboard, and would probably freak if she knew I had already surfed on several occasions while at the beach with my friends. She thinks surfing is thrill seeking and dangerous.

Okay, maybe it is if you get eaten by a shark; but, seriously, that hasn’t happened to anyone around here for months; so, I don’t know what she’s so worried about.

"Well, you’re not getting a surfboard," she says firmly, then clamps her thin lips tight so it looks like she just has a line for a mouth.

I know. I just thought I’d tell you what I wanted, since you asked, I say with a smirk on my face, but, I’m sure I’ll love whatever I get.

Of course, I have to add this last part, to smooth any ruffled feathers my snarky comments may have raised.

We give each other our evening kisses, then I walk back to my room, feeling a bit of myself breaking free of the restraints a little bit. I have always been the one to tell people what I know they want to hear, so I don’t end up getting slapped or something. But, damn it, I’m going to be fifteen tomorrow! I’ve already been working for five years cleaning houses, so I think I deserve a little independence and personal opinions. Don’t I?

As I’m lying in bed waiting to fall asleep, I start fantasizing about Tony DeRaimo. He is so cute! I would love to have him stare at me all googly-eyed, and pass me a note telling me how pretty he thinks I am. I dream about kissing him, and having his arms around me, and hanging out with him around town while we’re holding hands.

I really doubt that will ever happen. His girlfriend, Heather, is this cute, petite, green-eyed model type. Unfortunately, she’s really sweet to everyone, and a classmate of mine, so I would never act on my feelings; but, oh…my…God!

Six o’clock in the morning, my mom walks in and starts to sing Happy Birthday To You! at the top of her lungs. I was just having the best dream about Tony, too. Ugh!

Time to wake up, Birthday Girl! she trills.

It is way too early for this.

I smile since that’s what she expects, get out of bed, give her a peck on the cheek, and say, Thank you.

She smiles and practically dances out of the room.

At least I won’t have to deal with her at school, I remind myself.

I apply my makeup carefully, and dress in the sexiest outfit I can get away with. You never know, today may be the day Tony and Heather break up, and I want to look good just in case.

I never expect it to happen, but what if it did? Could I really do that to Heather-a fellow female? I really don’t think so. I’ve always had a mental list of things a person should never do, and dating a friends’ ex is right near the top.

I wonder if Heather would be considered a close enough friend to have that kind of loyalty for? After all, we’ve never talked very much at school; and, we’ve never called each other or hung out on the weekends. I’m going to have to draw up some kind of mental friendship scale that will help me determine whether it’s safe to cross that line, or not.

After breakfast, I grab my lunch and strap everything onto the book rack on my bicycle. I love having a bike! I can go almost anywhere, and I don’t have to try to convince my parents to give me a ride. All I have to do is get their permission to go somewhere, tell them where I’m going, when I’ll be home, and off I go.

It’s a mile and a half to school, and I’ve been doing this for so long, I can ride most of the way without holding onto the handle bars. Of course, on my way, I stop off at the liquor store and buy a pack of cigarettes. Not having to hold the handlebars makes it easier to smoke and ride at the same time. I don’t actually inhale, I just do it to look tough, because that’s what guys find attractive.

At least, I think it is.

Happy Birthday, Carleigh! Jessica yells, as she comes over to me, with a perfectly, white smile on her face.

Thanks, I say, with a smile.

"So, you’re finally fifteen! What are you gonna do for your birthday?" Jessica asks, looking at me with one eye. Her light, brown hair is really short in the back and on the sides, but on top she has this big mass of curls that she always keeps over half of her face. I think it’s because she doesn’t have any eyelashes, due to a bad mascara mishap. It does look kind of weird, but I don’t know if I would cover up half my face like that if the same thing happened to me.

I shrug, I don’t know; some family stuff, I guess.

"That’s it?" she splutters. "You’re fifteen, you should be doing something radical! We should go to Infinity."

I look at her like she’s crazy.

Infinity is a nightclub in town where people go to listen to loud music, drink, dance, and make out with strangers. There’s no way a fifteen year old could even get in the door.

As much as I want to be independent, and dream of Tony feeling me up every night, I don’t think I’m ready for Infinity.

Jessica has always seemed like a fun person, who’s up for anything, but this seems way over the top–even for her. She stands there waiting for my response, like it’s even a remote possibility.

Yeah, like we could get in there, even if my parents allowed it–which they won’t I say. I grab the books out of my locker, slam the door shut, and we start walking toward first period.

Fifteen, I sigh.

Still too young to have any freedom…or fun.

I’m getting nervous that Jess is even suggesting this. She’s acting like she’s already been to Infinity, but I know she couldn’t possibly have done that. She’s only fifteen! And she’s so wholesome looking, and dresses on the boring side, so she couldn’t even look eighteen if she tried.

Eighteen seems so far away! I hope I can make it that long, and don’t die of despair first. I’ll definitely be ready for Infinity when I turn eighteen!

Yeah, we’re going to Infinity, she says with a serious look.

Yeah, okay, I say, just to get her to shut up about it.

In a sad attempt at changing the subject, I say So, what are you doing this weekend?

I’m sleeping over at your house Saturday, Jessica says.

I stop walking at this monumental statement.

What? I say all wide-eyed.

Jessica never sleeps over at my house. She can’t stand all the yelling, and I think she’s afraid of my mom. Heck…I’m afraid of my mom!

She says, with a twinkle in her eye, Yep! I’m coming over. We’ll have dinner, watch a movie, have some popcorn, veg out, do each other’s hair…

I’m still stuck on her saying she’s sleeping over at my house.

"You’re actually sleeping over at my house?"

Jess giggles and lowers her voice, "We’re not actually going to be sleeping, you ditz! We’re going to Infinity to celebrate your birthday properly!"

Oh my God, how am I going to get out of this?

I’m not ready for Infinity!

Slowly, I start walking again, and thinking fast.

When we’ve arrived at first period, I push Infinity thoughts away as I enter the classroom.

During Mr. Thomas’ lecture though, I keep thinking about how I’ve got four days to come up with some reason why I can’t go.

I know Jessica will be disappointed; but, even though I feel like an adult, I know I’m not ready for such grown-up stuff, yet.

In all honesty, I really can’t believe she is either. She’s got to be bluffing!

Maybe if I just ignore it, Jessica will get such crazy ideas out of her head, and the weekend will go by as usual.

When I get home after school, nobody’s there.

John is on his way home, and my parents are still at work. The little girl in me is still afraid to be alone in this big house; so, I turn the radio on almost full blast, and start dancing. It helps calm me down a bit, so I don’t get completely freaked out being by myself.

Plus, this is my only reprieve from my annoying family–these brief thirty minutes before John shows up. I need this. It’s my therapy.

As I’m gleefully dancing around, all of a sudden the music stops. There’s this ominous silence in the house. I turn and see John by the stereo, with a stupid smirk on his face.

Man, I hate that face!

Turn it back on! I say, indignantly.

He just walks out of the room. I want to turn the music back on, but I know if I do he’s going to come back and start beating me up, again.

I try to muster up the courage by reminding myself that I’m fifteen now, and can listen to music when I want.

Hesitantly, I walk back over to the stereo and turn it back on at half the volume I had it on before. Before I can even relax again, John grabs me by the arm and starts punching me as hard as he can on my upper arm. It really hurts, and feels like he’s breaking the bone. I struggle to get away, as usual. As soon as he lets go, I run into the bathroom and lock the door–the only room I’m allowed in that has a lock on the door.

Feeling sorry for myself, I camp out on the toilet lid and cry. I can hear banging in my bedroom next door, and I know he’s trashing it again.

Why he does this is beyond me. Seriously, he’s seventeen years old and acts like a child! If his girlfriends could only see how he treats me, I’m sure they would have nothing to do with him.

We go through this every day–Monday through Friday–and, I am so sick of it!

My parents are no help, either.

All they say when I tell them that he was hitting me again is, So, hit him back! When I tell them I can’t because I don’t want to get in trouble, they both promise me that I won’t be punished for hitting John back.

Of course, if they knew me at all, they would know I am not capable of hitting him back, anyway. I know if I did, he would probably give me a black eye again, like he did when I was eighteen months old.

So, I figure I’ll just plan on living in the bathroom every afternoon until John moves out of the house. Just the thought of him moving out lifts my spirits.

As soon as I hear my mom’s keys in the front door, I rush out of the bathroom, knowing I’m fairly safe from John until tomorrow afternoon.

Hi! I say, truly happy to see her.

Hi, Birthday Girl! How was your day? she asks, with a big smile on her gorgeous face.

Good, I quip with a smile. How was yours?

Good, but I’ve got to tell you something, she says furtively. "We had this patient that’s been in the hospital for three months, and he died today."

Now, Mom talks about her work a lot, but she doesn’t usually tell me when someone dies; so, I figured there was more coming.

How old was he? I ask.

"Thirty-nine. He was very young," she says with a grimace.

How is thirty-nine ‘young’?

Thirty-nine seems like a million years away!

I just turned fifteen today, and I’m agonizing over the thought of living as a fifteen year old for another 364 days. I can’t even comprehend what it would be like to be thirty-nine.

What did he die from? I ask.

Hiccups, she says, and looks at me for my reaction.

Hiccups?

Well, that is certainly a first!

How can someone die from hiccups?

Yes. He had hiccups for two weeks before he came in to the hospital. For three months they tried to get rid of his hiccups, but they couldn’t. He ended up starving to death, because he couldn’t eat; and, they couldn’t keep a feeding tube in him because his diaphragm kept going into spasms she explains.

"Wow, that’s like, totally bogus," I mumble.

As I help her bring things into the house, my mind is racing.

I get hiccups all the time! I could actually die from hiccups? I might not even make it through the next 364 days!

I know it sounds weird, but this guy I’ve never met, dying from hiccups makes me think back on my life and how little I’ve done with it. I have almost always played it safe, to keep from getting more injured than I already do from John on a daily basis.

Thinking about all the things I’ve never done, but have wanted to…or, at the very least, been curious about, I decide it’s time to really start living. I resolve to take advantage of every opportunity that comes my way–unless I know for sure it will end up killing me.

Little did I know then, how much this decision would shape the rest of my life.

At six o’clock, Mom asks me, Are you ready?

I know she’s referring to going out to celebrate my birthday, but I like to play with her a little bit–just for kicks. Plus, I know she likes it.

For what? I ask innocently.

To go to dinner to celebrate your birthday!

Sure! Where are we going? I ask, already knowing the answer. It’ll be the same restaurant we eat at to celebrate every occasion.

Grande’s! She answers, eyes all excited. We do love that restaurant!

As we drive to the restaurant, my brother keeps flicking me on my thigh, just to irritate me. He’s such a dweeb! I can’t help but wonder if he’s this immature at seventeen, how mature are guys my age going to be?

Perhaps, I’ll have to start checking out the older guys when I start high school next year.

When we’re done eating, a group of waiters brings over a pile of gelatinous goo with a candle in it. As they sing Happy Birthday To You, I seriously want to crawl under the table; but, I know I can’t, so I just sit there with a little smile on my face.

As they finish singing, one of the waiters spoons up a pile of the goo and shoves it into my mouth. I am absolutely horrified! My family is laughing, as are the waiters, as they leave our table.

"Oh my God, this is like, grody to the max!" I say, as I spit the goo out onto an empty plate.

"What…that was very cute," my mom says.

"Fine, then, you eat it!" I spit back.

This is so not like me to talk to my mom this way, but I’m really irritated about that spectacle.

Okay, she says, grabbing a spoon.

I am appalled that my family will actually eat that stuff, and insist it’s good. It’s totally gross!

I do find some amusement in the fact that my father seems uncomfortable with the idea of a strange, older man, spoon-feeding his fifteen year old daughter. It’s not the first time that an older man has come on to me, so he shouldn’t be surprised–especially when the first one was a friend of his, and I was only twelve at the time. Ew!

At home, we have cake and ice cream, and I open my presents–all clothes that I will probably never wear, and a record from my brother that I will never listen to. Since it’s one of his favorite bands, he quickly snatches it back, and I never see it again.

Hmm, has he really stooped so low as to give me something he really wants for himself, knowing I won’t like it, just so he can have it? It seems so.

Happy birthday to me, I think sullenly.

Oh, I love sleeping in on Saturday! No rushing to grab breakfast, and my school stuff. No primping, and looking at my reflection in every mirror I pass to make sure I still look good for Tony.

So far no luck with Tony and Heather breaking up.

At least Jessica’s coming over tonight, so I’ll have something to distract me from thoughts of him.

I call Jessica as soon as my mind is awake enough for me to move, When are you coming over? I ask.

"I’ll be there at six. Infinity, here we come," she crows gleefully.

My stomach starts churning at her response.

She’s obviously determined to do this, and apparently excited about it, too. How can she not be scared of doing something like that?

My stomach sinks as I realize I’m going to have to be worrying about this all day.

What am I gonna do?

I certainly don’t want her to think I’m a wimp, and I did decide yesterday that I really need to start living more.

I know I’m going to end up going to Infinity tonight, but I just don’t see how we’re going to manage this with my parents around.

I also don’t know how we’re even going to get in there, since we’re too young to even have IDs.

After we hang up, I go out to the kitchen and pour myself a bowl of cereal. I open the fridge to find the milk, but there’s none there. I look around and see John sitting at the breakfast bar, pouring the milk into his bowl.

Can I have the milk, please? I ask.

Sure, he says, then shoves the empty container off the edge of the bar.

"You’re such a dick," I mumble under my breath, as I bend down to pick up the carton.

What did you say? he yells.

Nothing, I grumble, throwing the empty carton in the recycling bin.

Sometimes I feel like a doormat in this house.

I spend the day doing the housecleaning, and try to keep my mind off this major thing I’m going to be doing tonight. It doesn’t work, but at least the cleaning gets done, so my mom will be happy.

As I go into the bathroom to get cleaned up before Jessica comes over, I check myself out in the mirror.

I’m half-expecting to see a scared, little, four year old looking back at me, because that’s how I feel inside. Instead, I see my fifteen year old self, looking perfectly normal. How is that possible when there is so much turmoil going on inside?

I start looking at all my features, turning this way and that, to see if I could possibly look even older. You know…so I could get into Infinity without being carded.

I lift up my long, auburn hair, and hold it in a loose pile, on the top of my head. No, that doesn’t look like a nightclub look. Maybe if I curl it a little, so it’s wavy; and, wear something tight on top that will push my boobs up a bit, the doorman won’t be looking for an ID.

Oh my, I am getting a dirty mind, aren’t I?

It’s rather exciting actually…having such naughty thoughts. I can’t help but giggle a little.

I turn my head this way and that, looking at myself straight on and sideways. I know I’m going to have to wear makeup to pass this off, but I’m not sure what would look best with my brown eyes, and dark eyebrows. All the girls I think are attractive have blond hair and blue eyes, and they look good with or without makeup; but, I know that’s not the case with me. Sigh!

Hopefully Jessica will have some ideas.

I hear the doorbell and run to greet Jessica; but, standing in front of me is Aiken. He’s one of my seventeen year old neighbors. I’ve never really spent much time with him, except when I was housesitting for his family, and he had to show me around the house.

He’s kind of cute, I guess. He’s a total Valley Dude and a surfer–fairly choice in my opinion. Most girls would find him attractive–tall, blond hair, blue eyes, cute dimples, and a muscular body.

Since we’ve both grown up in the same neighborhood, though, I think of him like a brother, only the nice kind…not like my brother. Most of the time, I don’t even notice him, since he’s so quiet.

Um…hi, Carleigh, he says as a blush explodes in his cheeks.

I feel a gleeful flutter in my core at the fact that a seventeen year old boy would flush at saying hi to me. But, since I know Aiken to be the quiet type, I brush this off, thinking, perhaps he’s just uncomfortable around people in general.

Hi, Aiken. What’s up? I ask, while anxiously looking over his shoulder for Jessica.

Um…I was wondering if you were doing anything tonight, he says.

What? Did I just hear that right? Aiken is asking me on a date?

I am totally startled!

I’ve never been on an official date before–well, except the one time I went to see a movie with a boy in my class when I was ten years old. But, seriously, how can ten year olds go on a real date, especially when their parents are taking them to the theater and picking them up afterwards? Not exactly romantic.

I hate to do this to Aiken, because he really is very sweet.

Yeah, actually, my friend is sleeping over tonight. I’m sorry. If she wasn’t coming over, I would definitely chill with you, I say, kicking myself for not foreseeing the possibility that some boy might ask me out on a date.

Of course, it hasn’t really happened before, so I don’t know why I should expect myself to have foreseen it in the first place.

Jessica would freak if she knew I was passing up a date with Aiken to hang out with her; but, a promise is a promise.

Well, okay. See ya, he mumbles.

Bye, I say softly.

I watch him walk down the driveway and