Fuck eight days.
The alarm clock she slid her note under is in pieces to match my phone. My campus ID is still in my jacket pocket from the last time I wore it, which was eight days ago.
The worst part—the part that makes me want to put my fist through the wall—is that this pain is not real. I know that. No one cracked my ribs. No one broke my nose. I didn’t get dragged under a road-train. My body is completely fucking fine, not counting the bruises on my knuckles. Why does it feel like someone has been sitting on my chest for eight days.
Eight… Officially my most hated number. Until tomorrow comes around, then it’ll be nine.
Blesk.
Please.
I reach for my iPad. My heart leaps into my throat when an email blinks on the screen, only to plummet back into its black cavity again when I see it's just from Flick.
Bossy older sister: Missing Cassidy's eighteenth birthday is a criminal offence! You're in trouble!
Fuck.
Last week, Cassidy drove four hours from the District to personally invite me to her eighteenth birthday party. I know how much she loves me. I feel the same. That day though, she brought Faith with her, who is like a dog with a bone—the bone unfortunately beingme.
I did something I regret…
Fucking friends, though, right?
That’s what we are.
Shoving my iPad to the side, I close my eyes.
Suddenly, the door sounds like a damn drum, over and over and over as someone knocks on it. Note to self: get Adolf fired for letting someone upstairs—again.
“Go away!” I yell.
I keep my eyes shut and grumble, planning on ignoring my visitor in the hopes that they tire and go away.
As I roll onto my back, my cock jerks up, tenting the sheets, demanding some early morning attention. I rub my face with both hands and mumble inelegant words to myself.
The knocking continues.
It is so loud as if shots are being fired point-blank behind my eye sockets. Hiding from the drones of life seems better than answering the damn door and being forced to string together coherent thoughts.
Gripping my boner, I drag my palm up and down, ‘cause this has to happen or I’ll never be able to think straight. I imagine that the knocking sound is my bed slamming against the wall as I fuck Blesk. Hard.
Imagine her soft, fleshy thighs wrapping around my hips as I shove her up the mattress with each thrust.Fuck.I feel her pussy grip me, begging me to stay deep inside her.
Oh fuck, yes.
I tug up and down, beads of pre-cum slide over my fingers as I hiss her name. “Blesk. Blesk.” My muscles quiver. I stroke faster, squeeze tighter. Biceps twitching, abdomen clenching, a groan rolls up my throat.Fuuuck, feels so good. So tight.Blesk...
“Konnor!”
I growl and drop my boner.
Bolting upright and yanking on a pair of track pants, I groan as I tuck my hard-on into the waistband. I round the bookcase that now reminds me of Blesk because she touched the books with her fingertips once, and now she owns them just like she owns everything that’s mine.
The front door swings open, and I freeze—Elise fills the frame, her blue eyes burning straight through me. “I knocked, but you forced me to use the keys.” She jingles them on one finger. “You could have been face down in your own vomit.”
I relax when I see her—my connection to Blesk. “That’s why I gave them to you.” She has come by uninvited almost daily. I can’t find the nerve to mind. She’s tucked me into bed when I could only crawl, listened to me slur and complain like a little bitch, and still—every damn day—she shows up. She’s my tether when Blesk feels a million miles away, the only proof I haven’t lost her completely.
“It reeks of skank in here, Konnor,” Elise says, as she strides in like she owns the place.
