A strangled moan comes out of me in the next blink. My fists curl around the sheets, and I watch the wall inch closer and closer from the force of his thrusts. He might not be good to look at, but his dick game isn’t half bad.
My head hits the wall, but I barely feel it. I laugh—it feels good. At least it should feel good. I can sense the stretch and the slap of himagainst me and the heat of my skin against the sheets. But it’s pressure without the sensation. I feel nothing, and it’s fuckingphenomenal.
I’mfree. My body is weightless and numb; my brain free of all problems. Just this moment. Just sweat, heavy breaths, and the muffled sound of the world around.
I cry out for the sake of crying out and arch my back to meet his thrusts. Another laugh tumbles out, and it feels better than anything else.Thisis why I do this, to feel exactly like this. Soft snores fill the air somewhere by my ear in another blink, and a heavy weight lies over my middle. Then everything plunges into total darkness.
“Fuck,” I groan, slapping around the bed to stop the incessant beeping noise.
“Stop hitting me,” another voice rasps.
I freeze.
I peel my eyes open and shut them straight away.
Oh fuck. I moan into the pillow and fumble around for my phone that’s somewhere in the sheets. The alarm stops when I press a random button.
On top of the killer hangover from the copious amount of alcohol I consumed, I’m coming down from who-knows-what. But above all,thatis what I’m waking up next to? Kill me now. It also smellshorrendousin here. I thought rock bottom would at least smell better than this.
I’ve done walks of shame before, butshameisn’t an adequate enough word for sleeping with Duke Morrison—one of St. Augustine’s resident drug dealers, and—rightfully—nicknamed Shitcake after what happened when he ate the food he made incooking class. Nothing beats this kind of low.
I push myself onto my elbows.
Uh oh.
“Where’s your bathroom?” I stumble out of the bed and scramble for the door. My head spins, and my stomach does the same thing double-time—Jesus Christ, why is it so bright?
“What?” He sounds as shit as I feel.
“Where’s your fucking bathroom?!” Bile lurches up my throat.
“Uh…”
Fuck his response. Whipping the door open, I sprint to the only open door down this hallway. If it’s someone’s bedroom, well, tough. Everything I consumed last night is coming out—and it’s all coming outnow.
I crash onto the floor in front of a toilet and throw my head forward just in time for everything to go hurtling out. The acid burns its way up my throat as I empty my stomach into the bowl. I’m never drinking again.
Shivers rack my naked body as the cold of the tiles sinks down to my bones. Over and over, I hurl until my throat is swollen and my cheeks are soaked with tears. I clutch my stomach as cramps radiate out from every nerve ending in my body.
Somewhere in the distance, I hear someone having the same reaction as me. The two-night bender wasn’t my brightest idea. I wish I could say that it got out of hand, but last night was exactly what I wanted. I came here to forget about my shitty mom and the theft of my vice, and I did. If Duke has anything on him, neither of us will have to deal with the second part of our hangover. The aftermath never gets easier, no matter how many times I’ve ended up at this point over the years. I never seem to get used to it either.
When there’s nothing left to come out of my stomach, I stay put, staring at the bowl and wondering how many more mornings like this I can take before one day I don’t wake up at all.
I leverage the door handle to pull me onto my unstable feet, my fingers tightening around the metal as the room spins with the motion. It feels like an impossible feat, but I manage to find mouthwash before sitting back on the floor.
After a while I leave the bathroom, my bare feet shuffling along the carpet as I try to locate the shithole room I’ve been sleeping in for the past however long. Both of our cell phones blare with the alarm, and I rush as much as my body will allow to shut it off. Why on earth would I set an alarm this early on a weekend—
Shit, I forgot.
“Want a ride to school?” In front of me stands the unmistakable embodiment of regret, butt naked at the foot of the bed, and the urge to repeat last night's mistakes surges within me.Gross.
I stare at him. Dear God.
Hmm, being seen walking with him into school, or walking solo from who-knows-where to school, risking who-knows-what fate along the way. The latter sounds more appealing, but if I skip a day of school, Grandpa’s punishment will be far worse. That’s another week before I get my allowance, or money to fix the window, and an extra day before my grandpa sends groceries.
Incentivizing me to stay in school is his way of keeping up with appearances as if everything in our life is all pixies and butterflies.
“Yes.” I’m a goddamn ray of sunshine today; why not let everyone see that Blaze Whitlock fucked Shitcake. “Got anything to make today bearable?”
