Page 39 of Dirty Chorus

“Don’t wait up for me. I’ll be out pretty late.”

“Go get some good dick.”

“Charlotte!” She drops her purse from her shoulder to her hands.

“Bye!” I throw the pillow toward the door as she closes it right before it can hit her.

My phone goes off again, and I sigh, about to lose my damn mind if it’s Brody again. This time it’s Payton.

Payton: Mum said I spent too many days over there, and thinks I need a break. So I can’t come over tonight.

Charlie: It was just two nights in a row. We are legally adults, she can’t tell you no.

Payton: Sorry xoxo

Great. Payton isn’t allowed to come over tonight. Ryder is out delivering pizza until midnight, and knowing him, he’s going to the bar afterward. His new best friend is drinking Hennessy and sleeping all summer.

There are no good movies on Netflix since I binged all the new releases. The only suggestions are movies in French because the app tricked me into starting a foreign film.

I want to hightail it out of this house and go find Noah. Come up with a good reason to hang out. I collapse into my sheets, staring at the ceiling fan spinning its blades, with my thighs burning. Noah is still in my lungs, the crispness of clean clothes, the spicy cedar aroma in his hair. His lips are peppermint, soft and cold. Just thinking about kissing him makes me want more.

The seconds his lips were on mine, it was as if there was something deep down inside him missing that he was trying to find. Like he’s longing for a feeling he can’t reach. I loved how he tested the waters to see how hard he could bite my neck. And how far he could go touching every inch of me.

I can only daydream about how he really is with a girl. I threw half a bottle of foundation on my hickey to hide it from Mom’s memory. I only came out of the room when absolutely necessary, and if she popped into the kitchen, I ran back to my room. If I lived on my own, I’d show it off with pleasure.

I grab my phone, swiping left to delete Brody’s messages and finding Noah’s name. It’s been a couple of days, and I haven’t messaged him since the party. It left thorns in my stomach thinking he might only want one night stands or innocent flings. Who knows, maybe he doesn’t get serious because he plays music. Everyone knows that rock stars only like to get trashed and fool around. Even seeing him with that one chick in the bathroom, it leads me to think someone else is in his sheets. He’s fucking a stranger until he breaks the headboard. I wipe my face, shaking my head to get rid of the idea in my head, and type up a message.

Charlie: Hey.

Noah: Hey. What kind of trouble are we getting into today?

Charlie: Wanna know my address?

Noah: That’s random. Are you gonna draw on my face again?

Charlie: Lol no, but I’m home alone.

Noah: Oh?

Charlie: Wanna come over?

Noah: And do what?

Charlie: Pick up where we left off. You’re a good kisser

Noah: Oh yeah? Where you at?

I’m breathing so hard on the screen it’s fogging up. I type in my address, watching the icon show me he’s typing.

Noah: Fifteen minutes

Fifteen minutes. Oh my god he’s going to come over. I run my hands over my legs and feel them prickle. Blood rushes to my heart, and I realize I didn’t think this through. I’m in pink pajama shorts, a skimpy lace cami top with no bra. My hair is in a messy bun, and I need to shave. I sniff my armpits, and praise the Lord I put on deodorant after my shower.

I scoot my butt off my bed in a panic, barge into the bathroom, and fling open the cupboards. I start rampaging through the plastic bins of nail polish, scented lotions and soaps, desperately searching for a razor. I drag everything to the bathroom floor, and nothing.

I slam the door shut and jerk out one of the counter drawers, but with too much force. The whole drawer slides off the tracks and falls to the floor with a loud thud. A jolt of white-hot-agony shot up my foot. It hit my toe. “Fuck me!” I grasp my foot, massaging it as I hop up and down to keep my balance. My heartbeat pulsates in my toenails. “Pull yourself together, Charlotte!” I yell at myself.

I gather all the hair ties, the tweezers, and combs scattered all over the floor and cram them into the dismantled drawer and shove it back on the tracks to close it. I search the other drawers, and there isn't a single razor.