The whole ride here feels like I’m on trial for murder, trying to convince everyone I didn’t kill anybody…while my hands are still covered in blood. Except inmycase, the "blood" is hickeys all over my neck.
And the DNA is Gio’s, spread all over me and still inside me.
"Damn. Look who’s back," Jin says, leaning against the staircase. "Didn’t get deported, huh?" Daisy calls from the living room, legs up on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in her lap.
I drop my bag by the door. "Wow. Missed the warmth."
"Missed your whining," she fires back, popping a kernel into her mouth. "Your hair’s a mess. Spain’s humid?"
"Orgasms will do that to you," Jin mutters, and I flip him off without even turning.
My heart’s beating too fast. I feel fine physically, but I’m pretty sure I’m about to die from anxiety. I know he doesn’t actually know anything. He’s just talking shit like always.
But now, after everything, I’m going to be suspicious of everyone and everything.
Every comment. Every look. Every joke. It all feels like a trap waiting to catch Gio’s name written all over my face.
Daisy arches a brow at me. "Well, your hair survived, at least. Mine didn’t. The blue’s gone."
I glance at her. "Yeah, noticed. Shame. You looked like a depressed Smurf. It suited you." She throws popcorn at me.
I catch a piece and eat it just to piss her off. I make my way up the stairs, their laughter trailing behind me. Room’s the same. Bed untouched. Window cracked open slightly. I open my bag, drop my charger on the desk, and don’t bother unpacking anything else.
Shower.
I step into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. Clothes come off slowly, and the second I’m naked, I feel that weird rush of relief again. This room is even more of a hiding place now than it ever was.
In here, I’m 100% myself. No pretending. When I look at my body in the mirror, the first thing that hits me is… yeah.
Sex.
With Gio.
I had sex with Gio.
I still can’t believe it. The anxiety kicks in. Secrets eat me alive. I feel like one day I’m going to slip at the dinner table like an idiot.
"Yes, mom, the food’s great, also Gio fucked me, can you pass the bread?"
I groan into my hands. I don’t trust my own mouth. I’m a liability. But then I smile. Alone. Because it happened. Because I want it again. I look closer in the mirror. Yeah, hedefinitelyleft proof. My neck is a disaster. Hickeys everywhere.
Gio has never understood the concept of subtlety in his entire life. They look even worse under the bathroom light. It looks like he tried to sign his name on me with his mouth.
Why not just tattoo his initials on my throat while we’re at it. I had to wear that stupid neck pillow in the car. That ugly grey travel thing dad keeps for long trips.
I shoved it on, looking like I was seventy years old with spine issues. Just so he wouldn’t turn around, see my neck, and straight-up faint behind the damn wheel.
I’m such a good person. I am SO considerate. Thinking of everyone’s safety and emotional stability. I run my fingers over one mark and my face heats up. Because I remember exactly how he made it.
It’s insane how much that memory hits. I cannot walk out there like this. I step out of the shower. I lean down and grab Daisy’s makeup bag from under the sink. It’s overflowing with little bottles and sponges and creams that all look the same to me.
Please, let this stuff work on my skin too. Not just hers. I grab the first thing that looks normal, a liquid foundation.
I dab a bit on my finger and tap it over one of the marks. It instantly makes it look worse.
Nota littleworse. Violently worse. The purple becomes this muddy, sickly brown. Fuck. I try another product, a dusty one. Now the hickey is beige. Beige and purple.
I look diseased. I stare at myself, horrified.
