I toss my torn dress and panties in a trash bag, then hide it under my bed for the moment. The next time I’m home alone, I’ll make sure to throw it out in the bins out front.
But as I step under the hot spray of water, I’m hyperaware how sore I am. My whole body feels tender, from my banged up knees to my breasts that might as well have been squashed with a hammer the way they ache.
It’s no wonder—when I finally dare a glance in the mirror, I’m black and blue all over. It’s even worse than it had been earlier at Kel’s place. The bruises have only deepened, migrating to different areas and darkening in tone.
My gaze tracks each one with a sickening twist in my stomach.
I have no recollection of how I got any of them. Not the giant bruise along my collarbone. Not the bruises on my thighs that look like some disturbing Rorschach test.
Then there’s the odd sensation in my vagina. No place is more sore and achy, forcing me to confront the last thing I’ve not wanted to think about.
I had sex last night.
I had sex and don’t remember any of it. The realization trickles in like it had earlier this morning when I woke up in Kel’s bed… and honestly?
I don’t know what to do with it.
I don’t know how to feel about it or what to think or do next. I’ve never…
My eyes snap shut as I try again to block out thinking any more about it. At least for now, there’s no use fixating on what I don’t know.
Answers.
I need answers from Kel and the others first. Once they sleep off last night, they’ll be able to fill in the blanks. Kel can tell me what we did last night, and it’ll help me feel better.
Convinced this is the way to go, I shove on some pajamas to cover the bruises. The baggiest sweatshirt to hide my arms and chest and an old pair of Moses’s sweatpants so I don’t have to look at my swollen, discolored knees.
I draw the curtains so it’s dark and moody in my room and crawl into bed, willing myself to go to sleep.
…to forget last night even if it’s for a little while.
Hours pass and I wake up confused and groggy in a room even darker than it was this morning. I scrub a hand over my face and then check the time on my phone.
Crap!
It’s six o’ clock in the evening! I’ve basically slept the whole day away. Shoving the covers aside, I scramble out of bedand pad through the shadowy room in sudden need of human contact. Just to remind myself I’m still me and I’m home.
But it’s no surprise that, as I wander into the hall, the rest of the house is dead quiet.
The living room’s empty and so is the kitchen.
There’s a note waiting for me on the counter, scribbled in Unc’s illegible chicken-scratch handwriting:
Club business tonight.
Picked up some dinner from Beef & Bunz.
In the microwave.
—Unc
I sigh reading the note, crumpling it up between my fingers and going over to pop the microwave open.
Sure enough, there’s a greasy bag of Beef & Bunz waiting in the microwave. I can’t remember the last time me, Unc, and Moses were all under the same roof at dinnertime; I can’t remember the last time we sat down and enjoyed a meal together.
Even this past Thanksgiving and Christmas, we couldn’t make it happen.
They either had club engagements or stuff from their personal lives. Moses went over to his girlfriend Shawna’s house, and Unc was away on a mission.
