Grayson
“What the fuck are you doing?” Aiden yells.
Jesus Christ. My head throbs as his voice ripples through the air. He’s been doing that a lot recently, getting involved in things that have nothing to do with him.
“Drinking.” I spit out. “You got a problem with that?”
He narrows his eyes at me, staring down at the bottle in my hands. “Since when?”
I snort. “I’ve always drunk. I’m not a Mormon.”
He shakes his head. “Grayson. You drank one beer, two max. Never a full bottle of whiskey before.” His face twists in disgust. “You’re bordering on alcoholism.”
I don’t want to hear him anymore. I groan, burying my head in my hands. “Shut up.”
“I’m trying to help you out here.”
For fucks sake. My head snaps up. “I don’t need your help,” I yell. “Why does everyone think I need help? I didn’t ask you or her for anything.” Do people just automatically assume I’m a helpless fuck up?
“Her? Rosalie?” he asks.
I don’t want to talk about it. I ignore him, taking a drink out of the bottle, feeling the liquid burn in my throat.
“Is this about your parents?”
I wave a hand. “Yeah, sure.” I don’t want to go into details about how he was right and give him a reason to gloat.
“That sounds convincing,” he says wryly.
“Listen,” I say, looking up at him. “I don’t want to talk about my feelings or whatever bullshit you’re trying to do, so why don’t you fuck off and go find a girl to fuck?”
“Jesus Christ,” he whispers. “What the fuck happened to you?”
I look away, feeling my jaw clench. Rosie happened. She told me she loved me. She had to ruin a great thing we had with feelings. Why did she do that? Fuck, this is all my fault. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten involved with her, especially since she was so innocent when she came to me.
Aiden was right. She mistook what we had for something else, and now she thinks she loves me.
Fuck, I’m such a dickhead. I ruined that poor girl. I didn’t want to hurt her. I hated seeing that look on her face, the tears spilling down as she looked at me and kept repeating, ‘I love you’ over and over again.
Every time she said it, it was like a knife digging deeper and deeper into my chest. It fucking hurt knowing I could never say those words back to her. And when she asked if I had feelings for her, I didn’t know what to say.
The way she wrapped her hand around mine made my skin burn, making me gasp for air like I always do whenever she’s around me. It clouded my judgment and made my brain foggy with emotion, ready to tell her yes, that I had feelings for her. But then I blinked and thought rationally, and I knew that I didn’t, not in the way she was asking me.
I love being around her, having her near me, seeing her smile, the way she talks, her laugh, everything about her, but I don’t love her. I couldn’t love her because it wasn’t real. I like her, sure, but there was nothing more to it.
“Dude, just get out of here,” I mumble, bringing the bottle to my lips and taking a swig.
“I’m not going anywhere. Not until you tell me what’s going on. You’re scaring me.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not like your junkie mom.” I bite my lip. What the fuck is wrong with me?
He squints his eyes, shaking his head. “I know you’re hurting right now with whatever is going on that you won’t tell me. But let me remind you that my fists still fucking work, whether you’re crying or not.”
“I’m not crying.”
“You will when I kick your ass,” he threatens.
I laugh. “Go ahead. At least then you’ll leave me alone.”
“I told you I’m not leaving. You’re my best friend, even if you’re acting like an asshole.”
I groan. “Fuck. I just want to be alone. Why won’t you get that?” I want him to leave, to let me rot away in peace without hounding me for questions I don’t want to answer. “Why are you still here?”
“Because I love you, man.”
“Jesus Christ.” I laugh. What the hell is wrong with everyone?
“Tell me what’s going on and how I can help you,” he says.
“You can’t. No one can help me.” I feel like I have a massive hole in my chest, and nothing can fill it. This bottle stinging my throat doesn’t fill it, despite every sip that I take.
“I can try.”
I snap my eyes to his. “Can you bring my uncle back to life?”
He frowns. “He died?”
I swallow. “When I was thirteen.”
“Is it his birthday or something?”
“Nope. Just celebrating the fact that I’m alone,” I say, holding out the bottle and bringing it to my lips once again.
Aiden sighs. “Ok, you have to start talking because I have no idea what’s going on.”
“He was a drug addict.” I hear him hold his breath, and I can’t help but laugh. Yeah, he didn’t see that coming. “And he overdosed when I was thirteen.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. It gets better,” I say, swallowing another sip. “I visited my parents this weekend. Turns out he was my dad.”
He’s quiet for a while and then clears his throat. “So, you’re drinking because?” he asks.
I glared at him. “Isn’t that reason enough?” He said he’d leave, and yet he’s still here. I just want him to go.
“Yeah, but you hated your dad, right? Didn’t seem like you’d care that he wasn’t your real dad. So why are you bummed out?”
I sigh, closing my eyes and tipping my head back on the couch. I’m not going to spill my fucking guts to him. I just needed a drink, no real reason to it.
“Nice tattoo,” he says, gesturing to my arm.
I look down, staring at the plastic wrap around my arm, and swallow hard.
“Angel wings, huh?”
I close my eyes, cursing under my breath. It was a dumb move, but I couldn’t get her out of my mind. She’s already deep in my body, might as well have her on it. I don’t reply. Instead, I take another drink from the bottle.
“Fine. You don’t want to talk about it? I’ll leave.”
“Thank God,” I mumble.
He grabs the bottle from my hands. “And I’m taking this with me,” he says, holding it up.
I get up from the couch. “You can’t fucking do that.” Honestly, who does he think he is? He might be a hot shot on campus, but he can’t just take my fucking drink.
“I can if I think you’ll drink yourself to death,” he says.
I scoff. “That’s not going to happen.”
He shakes his head. “Wake the fuck up,” he says. “You drank half a bottle already.” I look at the bottle in his hands, seeing it’s half empty. I drank all that? “What you need is a shower and figure out why you’re really drinking right now.”
He walks away, and I groan, sitting back down on the couch where I slept last night. I reach inside my pocket, take out a cigarette, and light it up. I’m not with Rosie anymore, so I can smoke again any time I want.
I bring it to my lips and… I can’t do it. I can’t smoke because every time I bring it to my mouth, I think of the look on her face when I kissed her. Fuck.
I throw the whole pack in the trash and head into the kitchen. I open the cabinets looking for a drink. I don’t give a fuck what it is as long as it takes some of this pressure from my chest away.
I curse when I can’t find anything. I guess Aiden went through and got rid of everything. Dickhead.
I head upstairs, wanting to get a decent night of sleep. I haven’t slept well in days. I can’t get into my bed because my sheets smell like her. I can’t keep torturing myself by sniffing the remains of her perfume. I’ll never get her out of my mind then.
I rip the sheets off my bed and strip off my clothes, getting in the shower. I lather my body, closing my eyes, remembering her soapy hands running down my body, her soapy tits in my mouth, the way her legs trembled when I ate her out. Fuck.
I snap my eyes open, looking down at where my hand is stroking my cock at the thought of her. What is wrong with me? It’s not like she was my girlfriend. We fucked twice, big deal. I’ve fucked many girls on campus way more than that. Why is this one girl affecting me this way?
I can’t even take a shower without thinking about her. I can’t sleep without being reminded of her soft hands wrapping around my body and her body nestling into me. I can’t smoke without seeing her face wrinkled in disgust. I can’t do anything because of her.
I might have hurt her.
But she fucked me up even more.
