Текст книги "The Temptation of Lila and Ethan"
Автор книги: Jessica Sorensen
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
“Yeah, Micha told me a couple of weeks ago.” He slips his arm around my shoulder and draws me closer as a guy tries to hand me a card with a picture of a naked lady on it. “Sorry I didn’t mention it. Micha wasn’t even supposed to mention it, because Ella wasn’t ready to tell anyone, but he let it slip out.”
“She told me the other day,” I say, breathing in his scent. He smells so mouthwateringly good. “And she sounded so happy.”
“I’m sure they are.” He slants his head down to meet my eyes and inquisitiveness sparkles in them. “Is that why you’re upset? Because they’re getting married?”
“No, I’m just… honestly, I’m not sure what’s bothering me. I think maybe I’m just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”
He searches my eyes a moment longer, the lights on the marque above our heads reflecting in his pupils. “Do you want me to take you home?” he asks. “So you can get some rest?”
I shake my head, even though I’m exhausted. I don’t want to go home to my empty house. “Can we go to a club or something? And I mean really nice one.” I grab his arm and pretty much beg. “I need to do something that’s fun.”
He dithers. “You know how I feel about clubs. They’re too God damn noisy and packed and fancy ones are even worse.”
“Please.” I pout, exaggeratedly sticking my lip out. “I’m not ready to go home just yet.”
“Can’t we just go to a bar?”
“I want to do something that’s my kind of fun.”
“You mean spend money you don’t have?” he says bluntly.
I glare at him. “Fine. I’m sorry I even tried.” I start to stomp away, but he pulls me back.
He sighs. “Fine.” He gives in to me, then lets go of my arm and offers me his elbow and I take it, even though I know I shouldn’t, because I’m getting too attached, dangerously one-sidedly attached. He guides me across the road, talking about how hot it is. So simple. So easy.
Too bad he doesn’t want me because I would love to let him have me.
Ethan
I really hate clubs. There are too many people packed in a tiny area and the music is always turned up to the point where it vibrates in my chest. But Lila didn’t want to go home and I don’t want her out and about when she’s obviously upset about something.
We’re sitting on barstools at the bar that probably cost more than my truck. The bartender keeps hitting on Lila, even though she seems uninterested. It’s annoying to watch, but it’s always hard to watch her get hit on. In fact, it’s harder than it used to be and I can’t help thinking she’s mine, even though she’s obviously not.
“Are you sure you don’t want a shot?” she asks me over the music as she slams down her fifth shot of top-shelf vodka, which I’m sure she can’t afford. I remember when I first met her how much of a lightweight she was, barely able to drink beers, but now she’s fucking crazy, reckless even. It makes me a little nervous and I’m seriously considering taking her fake ID and cutting it in half so she can’t use it anymore to go out, but then again I’d be a fucking hypocrite if I didn’t get rid of mine so I could stop going out.”
“Then who would drive home?” I ask loudly, glancing at the dance floor. There are a ton of women out tonight, dressed in short dresses, tight pants, their tits pretty much bulging out of their tops. It’s usually a nice sight, but I’m not feeling it tonight. I wasn’t even feeling it back at the bar with the blonde eyeing me. I kept staring at her, deciding if I wanted to hit on her or not, but Lila and my worry for her kept pulling me back and finally I’d decided just to focus on her.
“We could get a cab.” She spins the empty shot glass around on the bar. I open my mouth to protest, but she interrupts. “You don’t have to. You’re just always so tense when we come to these kinds of places and alcohol usually relaxes you.”
My forehead creases as I assess her. Typically, people don’t notice my uneasiness and it makes me question why she’s been paying such close attention to me. I remember the countless times London use to drag me to noisy places, either not noticing that I hated the noise or not caring.
“What?” Lila touches her hair self-consciously and then glances down at her dress that brushes the middle of her legs. She has a sweater jacket thingy over it, which makes no sense to me since it’s hot as hell outside. She also has a pearl bracelet on and a diamond necklace and everything about her screams money, a rich princess pretty much. We’re so opposite, yet I can’t seem to stay away from her.
“It’s nothing,” I say, patting the bar with my hand. “I’ll take a few shots with you, but you have to order them.”
She lowers her hand to the bar. “Why?”
I restrain an eye roll. “Because the bartender is obviously into you and I’m guessing he might get the shots for you faster.”
She glances over at the bartender talking to a group of women. “He’s not my type,” she says nonchalantly, looking back at me with curiosity. The lights from the dance floor flash across her face and there’s no use trying to deny how beautiful she is, princess or not.
“Not preppy enough for you?” I tease, but underneath my skin, irritation surfaces.
She props her elbow on the bar and watches me, not saying anything. It’s making me uncomfortable. I want to ask her what the hell she’s thinking about and why she’s staring at me like that, but I don’t because I’m afraid of the answer. “What do you want to drink?” she asks.
I shrug, taking an uneasy deep breath, hating how unsettled I feel inside. When did things get so complex between us? How did I let it get that way? “I’m going to have to go with tequila.”
She giggles under her breath. “To kill ya coming up.”
She raises her hand, leans over the bar, and flags down the bartender. She slips off her jacket, the thin straps of her dress revealing her shoulders and the low-cut back showing her smooth skin. I’m not sure if she does it on purpose, to get the bartender’s attention, but it works. She orders a shot of vodka and a shot of tequila. He grins at her, drinking her in, and I want to punch him in the face just for looking. I’m not much of the jealous type, so the feeling throws me off a little.
The guy on the barstool next to Lila starts flirting with her a few seconds later, eying her lips as she chews on the straw. He’s older, at least twenty-five, wearing a black suit and ridiculously shiny shoes. Lila seems vaguely interested in him, not laughing at his jokes, yet she lets him place his hand on her thigh and inch it up north.
I’m getting pissed. I’ve never had much of a possessive side—I’ve seen my father overact too much with my mother, even if she was just talking to the mailman—but right now my jealous, controlling side is coming out. As the bartender sets the shots down in front of us, I grab the top of her barstool and spin her in my direction so the guy’s hand falls off her leg.
Her eyes widen as the guy shoots a glare at me. “What the hell, Ethan?”
I have an arm on each side of her and my hands are just beside her hips. I lean in so she can hear me. “If you want me to stay here with you and take shots, your attention needs to be on me.” I wince at my own words, but it’s too late and I can’t retract them.
Her expression is calm, yet her eyes carry interest. “Okay,” she says simply and gathers the shot from the counter. She raises it in front of her, giggling. “To paying attention.”
I shake my head, rolling my eyes at her drunkenness, but a laugh slips through as I collect the shot glass. “All right, Lila.” I raise the glass upward. “To paying attention.”
I’m about to clink our glasses when she pulls back. “That goes for you, too,” she says and when my expression slips to confusion, she adds, “You have to pay attention to me tonight, too.”
Why do I see this going very, very wrong? “Okay.” I’m an idiot. “You have my one hundred percent undivided attention, Lila Summers.”
Her lips curve to a smile and then she clinks her glass against mine. We both pull away and tip our heads back, devouring our shots.
“Now what?” I ask, slamming the empty glass down on the bar while she gags on the drink—she always does.
Her grin is almost devilish. “Another one?”
I sigh and shrug, feeling slightly better as the alcohol burns its way through my body. “Why not?”
“Why do you think it’s so hard to be alone?” Lila asks, struggling to keep her eyes open as she gazes out at the night sky through the cab window.
I’m turned sideways in the seat, with my knee up, so I’m facing her, even though she won’t look at me. I lost count of how many shots we had hours ago and I can barely comprehend how we got to a cab—stumbling, laughing, as she rubbed her hand up the front of my jeans. No, that can’t be right, can it?
“I think being alone is fan-fucking-tastic… well, maybe… sometimes…” I mumble, draping my arm on the back of the seat. I stare at her for a moment, taking in her bare skin in the moonlight. I want to touch it. Lick it. Even bite it.
I’m bursting with sexual energy and I channel it to my foot on the floor, bouncing my knee. There’s something different about tonight, something out of the ordinary, this strange need to keep getting closer to Lila. It could be the alcohol. Or it could be something else, but there’s no way my tequila-soaked mind is going to reach any sort of answer.
Lila turns her head toward me, her pupils wide and shiny. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
I keep tapping my foot on the floor, trying to think of a better answer than the first one that pops into my head, but I can’t find one. “Because I’m thinking about you.”
She glances at the cab driver, a thirtyish guy wearing a baseball cap, and then her gaze lands back on me. She sucks her lip into her teeth and I have to bounce my knee faster or I swear I’m going to fucking lose it. “Thinking what about me?” she asks, looking wary, interested, and exhausted.
Don’t say it… “I was thinking about what it would be like to lick you… or bite you… either one really.” It seems like I should regret it as soon as I say it, but regret is nowhere in my reach at the moment.
Her breathing quickens and her voice comes out shockingly unsteady for someone who has sex so much. “Then do it.”
I blink, wondering if I heard her right through the massive amount of alcohol consuming my thoughts. “What?”
She holds my gaze steadily, even though she seems really nervous, her voice trembling. “Then bite me. Or lick me… whatever you want.”
Every part of me is screaming not to do it, that I’m breaking my rules—rules I set for a reason. But desire and fucking tequila rampage the rational side of my mind. Drawn by a needy current, I lean forward, sweep her hair off her shoulder, keeping our eyes locked the entire time, and she quivers as my fingers brush her collarbone. When I reach the curve of her breast and trace a line above it, she bites her lip and groans. It’s way too much. My body feels like it’s going to combust. Before I can even acknowledge what I’m doing, I duck my head forward, slip my tongue out, and lick a path from her collarbone to the arch of her neck, grazing my teeth softly along the path.
“Oh God… Ethan.” She shivers, clutching her hands at her side. “That feels way too good.”
My eyes close and my breathing becomes ragged as I battle to pull back, keep my hands to myself, fearing that if I touch her, I’ll rip her clothes off right here in the back of the cab. And I can’t go there. It’s not the same as when I hook up with random women. I can feel a connection with Lila and sex will ruin it, especially when I bail out afterward.
“Lila…” I trail off as her hand glides up the front of my shorts. “I think…”
I bite down on the sensitive spot right below her ear, just above her neck, not enough to break the skin, but enough that her shoulder jerks upward, and my hands clamp down on her waist, my fingertips delving into the fabric of her dress.
“Do it again,” she whispers, breathless, her hand rubbing me hard. “Please.”
I remember how she told me she never begged, and suddenly all my doubts dissipate into the sea of alcohol swimming around in my head. I move my mouth upward to the tip of her earlobe, breathing hotly on her skin the entire way, and then I graze my teeth along her earlobe, slide my tongue out along it, and taste her just like I wanted to.
“Oh… my… God…” She releases a slow breath that’s echoed by a whimper, her chest curving forward and pressing against mine.
I’m a little stunned by how much she’s enjoying it and by how much I’m enjoying it, too, my moves fueled by an adrenaline surge and yearning in my body. I swear all the sexual tension inside me is pouring out in my motions. I’ve lost control. I place my hand on her bare leg and glide it up until it’s fully underneath her dress, her skin searingly hot against mine, and my fingers graze the edge of her panties. The warmth and wetness that I felt when she had the towel on is there and all I want to do is say fuck my rules, slip my fingers inside her, and lay her down on the seat.
“Shit, Lila…” I sound choked as I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to decide what’s right and what’s wrong—what I need to do and what I want to do. “I think we should—”
The cab jerks to a stop and Lila and I quickly pull back, looking stunned. I’d seriously almost forgotten that we were in a cab. We’re at the entrance of her apartment, the lampposts lighting up the parking lot. It’s late, the neighborhood quiet, and the cab driver looks really pissed off.
“Jesus,” she whispers, blinking her eyes open, and then she aims her attention at the door. Her hand is still on my cock and my hand is still up her dress.
Reluctantly pulling my hand out from underneath her dress, she follows my lead, so we both have our hands to ourselves. I inch my legs out of the way so she can squeeze through and climb out, but she doesn’t budge, looking at me expectantly.
“What?” I ask, confused.
“Aren’t you going to come in?” Her voice carries confidence, but her slackened posture and uneasy demeanor portray self-doubt and the doubt makes me hesitate.
“Maybe I shouldn’t,” I say, torn between the good side of me and the bad, the drunken side and the sober side. Rules. No relationships. What am I doing? “It might not be a good idea… maybe…”
“Oh.” Her eyes widen in horror and it surprises me. With all the flirting we’ve done and the guys Lila has slept with, I’d never expect her to look so hurt. And maybe that’s why I decide to do it. Or maybe I’m just really, really stupid, but somehow I find myself getting out of the cab with her.
After we pay, we run in a drunken stupor to her complex, laughing about God knows what. When we reach her door, she fumbles with her keys, until finally she gets it open. She trips over her own feet, laughing as my fingers fold around her waist, catching her before she falls.
“You’re a clumsy drunk,” I say as she stands up straight, steadying herself by clutching on to my shoulders.
“And you’re sexy when you’re drunk,” she says, biting her lip as she turns to face me.
My hands are still on her waist, my fingers gripping at her skin, wanting to feel more of it, but I’m still hesitating to take it any further. I know Lila—like really know her—and afterward, I’ll have to see her again. What if it changes things between us? Do I care? As soon as I think it, I realize I do care about her more than I want to admit. She knows more about me than anyone. Jesus, she really does. I’ve told her shit about my parents, my druggy past, and my future loner plans and she’s told me a lot of stuff about her and how her dad is verbally abusive and cheats on her mom all the time and her mom just accepts it. We know stuff about each other and I never even got that far with London.
Looking anxious and uncertain, Lila grips the front of my shirt and tugs me with her as she walks backward toward the hallway. Neither of us says anything. We don’t turn on the lights. We just breathe loudly with each step, our eyes fastened together as we move our legs in sync.
Minutes, or maybe seconds, later, we’re falling onto her bed. I brace myself with my arms, catching my weight so I don’t crush her, and she gazes up at me, not saying anything, just breathing, her chest brushing against mine with every inhale. I want her so damn bad and I know she can tell since my hard-on is pressed up against her hip. Unable to tolerate the tension anymore, I lower my mouth toward hers, ready to kiss her, but she turns her head at the last second and my lips brush against her cheek instead. At first it’s kind of weird, but then she slides her body upward, so her neck is in my face and I understand what she wants.
I press my lips to her skin, rolling my tongue out, and then drag my teeth gently across her neck as her hand finds the top of my shorts and she undoes the button and zipper. I shiver and groan as she grabs my cock and starts to rub me hard again. I bite down on her skin, maybe a little too roughly but she trembles with me, enjoying it, but she doesn’t moan, which is disappointing because the sound of it in the cab nearly drove me crazy in a good way. I want to make her moan so badly that it becomes the sole focus of my thoughts. Moving my body downward, I create a path of kisses and gentle bites, nibbling soft skin until I reach the top of her dress. Then I suck the curve of her breast as I reach up and slip one of the straps down her shoulder.
“You are so beautiful,” I mutter. The sight of her skin right there for me to taste is driving me fucking crazy and I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to be inside someone as much as I do right now. I’m about to yank her other strap down so I can get a full view of her breasts when I realize how still she’s gone. At first I think she’s passed out, but when I pull back, she’s just lying there motionless as she stares at the ceiling, fiddling with the platinum ring on her finger.
“Lila,” I say, trying not to worry over what it could mean. That maybe I’d misread her and she really wasn’t into this. Did I force her to do something? Shit. I didn’t even remember to ask if she wanted this.
“Yeah,” she answers numbly, without looking at me.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” She sounds as hollow as she looks. “Keep going.”
I blink at her, stunned, and then I sit up, disconnecting the fiery connection between our bodies. “Keep going? Are you even into this?” I try not to sound upset, but it shows through the unevenness in my voice.
She still doesn’t look at me, and when she speaks, her voice is flat. “Yeah, I want it.”
“You sure as hell don’t sound like you want it.” I climb off the bed and zip my shorts back up. “How wasted are you?”
She finally meets my eyes and I’m taken back by the emptiness in them. And it’s not because she’s drunk. She knows what’s going on, yet it looks like she feels nothing about it. As much as I hate to admit it, it stings, tears at my heart a little.
“I’m just going to go,” I say, backing toward the door, pissed off at myself for getting into this situation to begin with. I knew better than to go here with her and now I can’t take it back.
She sits up, the moonlight filtering through her window, illuminating her pale skin. Her eyes look black in the shadows. “If that’s what you want,” she says emotionlessly.
I have no idea how to take her right now. I could ask her questions, but we’re both drunk, and honestly the hurt inside me is intensifying. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” It’s all I say—all I can say at the moment because I have no idea what’s going on and I despise how freaked out I’m feeling over it.
I leave her in her room and she doesn’t chase after me. By the time I reach the curb, I’m chewing myself out for ever going there because I know there’s no way we can go back to what we were before. This is irrevocable.
Chapter Five
Lila
November is pretty much over and I’m running out of money and ways to escape the landlord. I know I need to get a job, but I’ve never worked before and I’m not qualified for any decent jobs. I guess I never really thought the whole being-on-your-own thing completely through. I feel like I’m standing at this fork in the road and both paths lead to places I don’t want to go. I could go backward, but I don’t want to go there either. My past is full of irreversible mistakes. I’m sure anyone who looked at me, when I was medicated anyway, wouldn’t think I had any problems. But I’m seriously considering breaking down and asking someone for help. Asking Ella. My sister even, although she can barely take care of herself. I even went as far as calling her, but she cut the call short, saying she had to go to work. I could hear her son crying in the background, the one I’ve met only once because I moved away and haven’t been back to California since. We barely talk anymore, and when we do, the conversation is causal and rushed because she’s always too overwhelmed with bills or her job as a waitress.
I could talk to Ethan, but I haven’t really seen much of him since the whole club fiasco. I’m not even really sure what happened. I mean, he’d finally given me what I wanted, touching me and kissing me, and even through the alcohol it’d felt different, good for once, like I was safe and maybe worthy of being touched like that. But it lasted for only a moment and then the past caught up with me. The second we reached the bed I knew what was going to happen. He’d fuck me and then leave me and I’d be completely alone this time because Ethan is pretty much my only friend anymore and now I don’t even know if he’s that.
So I let the off switch flip me into a state of numbness and I moved through the motions, knowing what I was supposed to do but making myself disconnect from my emotions. What shocked me though is that he was upset about it. No guy has ever been upset about how I act. Then he’d left without finishing and I haven’t talked to him since. I’m a little afraid too, afraid of what he saw in me that night or didn’t see in me.
The last week has been really depressing and the only company I’ve really had is a random friendly call from my sister and my mother’s phone calls that leave me feeling emptier than I did before them. She keeps making threats, telling me she’s going to disown me if I don’t get my ass back to California. It’s not too late, she keeps saying. Brentford Mansonfield is back from his six-month trip to Europe and he’s looking to settle down. I could win him over, start again, and turn myself into someone worthy of the Summers name. I asked her if she really thought Brentford wanted used goods for a wife.
“Well, you’re almost twenty-one, Lila,” she’d said. “No one expects you to be a virgin.”
“True, but I’m also kind of a whore,” I’d responded, mainly because I’d had a couple glasses of wine and was feeling a little bit tipsy.
“Lila Summers, watch your mouth,” she replied sharply. “You will not utter such things aloud.”
“Why? It’s true.”
“I know it’s true. I’m the one who had to come clean up the mess in New York.”
“How can I forget,” I said. “Since you’re always reminding me.”
“Lila, quit being a little bitch. I didn’t raise you to be that way. I raised you to keep your mouth shut and to do what you were told.”
I couldn’t take the frustration building inside me anymore, so I let it explode and screamed into the phone, “Like you do with Dad and his slutty mistress!”
She called me a spoiled bitch and told me she was going to hang up. I told her okay, because I didn’t really have that much more to say and she hasn’t called me since.
It’s overwhelmingly hot today, but I couldn’t turn the fan on since it would rack up my already overdue power bill. I open the candy cane slash pill drawer again, reaching for the bottle at the bottom. Ethan gave me the candy canes as a Christmas present after I told him I’d never had a candy cane, and it was seriously the sweetest moment I’ve ever had with a guy.
“Are you fucking being serious right now?” he’d said. We were in his truck and it was late, the midnight sky above us as chilly winter air filled the cab and frosted the windows.
“Um… yeah… What’s the big deal?” I’d wondered, turning sideways in the seat to face him.
“Because it’s a fucking candy cane.” He’d gaped at me unfathomably. “It’s like the most common Christmas candy there is. My mom even puts them all over our tree every year.”
“Oh, I’ve never had a Christmas tree either,” I admitted, which made him gape at me only longer. “What? She thinks that the pine needles on real ones are too messy and artificial ones are too tacky.”
Later that night, he’d given me an entire box of them. He didn’t wrap them or anything, just dropped them on my lap when I’d been sitting on his sofa in the living room of his parents’ house.
“There you go.” He’d said it like it was such an inconvenience for him as he flopped down in the recliner.
I’d smiled, then leaned over and gave him a hug before I unwrapped one. As I started sucking on it, I told him it was delicious and he’d made a dirty remark about my lips. I made a comeback about the zipper on his pants being undone and that I could see his special man parts bulging out. He’d rolled his eyes, but then checked his zipper anyway. I started to giggle and ended up dropping the candy cane on my leg. I was wearing a dress and the candy stuck to my thigh.
“Okay, maybe I don’t like them,” I’d said, pulling a disgusted face as I picked it up from my leg. I tried to wipe off the stickiness with my hand, but that only made everything stickier.
“Here, let me help you,” Ethan muttered, his eyes locked on my leg. I thought he was going to go get me a paper towel or something, but instead he got up from the recliner and dropped down on his knees in front of me. His dark hair hung in his eyes as he peered over my knees, smirking at me.
“What are you doing?” I asked, intrigued but slightly nervous. I mean he was super hot and everything, but I was fully sober and could feel everything going on, like my accelerating pulse and the weird flip my stomach did.
His eyes darkened as he ran his hand up my leg and it made my skin instantly ignite with stifling, overwhelmingly passionate heat. It was a new sensation for me since foreplay was pretty much absent with any of the people I’d hooked up with. The feeling was piquing my curiosity so I let my legs fall open just a little and suddenly he seemed like the nervous one. I kept thinking about how much I wanted another pill because I could feel way too much, but then I’d have to get up and break the moment.
Ethan had paused with his hand resting on the top of my thigh. I traced the lines of the tattoos on his arms, biting my lip as my heart leaped inside my chest. His breathing became ragged and his palms were starting to sweat the longer we sat there, unmoving in the silence and glow from the twinkly lights on the Christmas tree. Then he did it. He angled his face down, his lips parted, and his tongue slipped out as he licked the candy cane stickiness off my skin.
I dug my fingernails into the arm of the chair and moaned, a loud, blissful moan that surprised me, along with the burst of warmth that flashed through my body. He responded with a sharp intake of his breath and I quivered uncontrollably. I wanted to run my fingers through his hair, touch him, push his face up just a little bit farther, and make him lick me in places that would send me into a euphoric, uncontrolled spiral. But then he quickly sucked my skin, nipping at it before pulling away.
I frowned disappointedly up at him. “Seriously?”
He shrugged, dropping down into the chair. “What?” He eyed me over, like he was waiting for me to announce that he’d gotten me all hot and bothered. “Is something wrong?” He’d pressed back a smirk, like he was the funniest person in the world. “I’m just waiting around for my Christmas present.”
Two could play at this game. Smirking back, I unhooked the front clasp of my red lacy bra through my top, then slid the straps down my shoulders, managing to get it off without flashing him. Then I threw it at his face. “Merry Christmas.”
Most guys would have grinned or said some dirty comment, but Ethan just flicked the little red bow on my bra, then shrugged and set it down on the armrest of the chair. “I’ve seen sexier,” he said, his grin shining through his eyes.
With my mouth hanging open, I tossed a candy cane at him and it hit him in the head. He laughed, picked it up and unwrapped it, and then popped it into his mouth. “Damn, these are good,” he said, smiling as he rolled the candy along his tongue.
I think that’s when I realized how much I liked him. Not because he was being an ass or because he gave me candy canes, but because he’d stopped kissing my thigh. He knew enough about me—how easy I was—to know that he could have pretty much gotten me to do whatever he wanted, yet he didn’t. Even if it was because he didn’t like me, I still kind of liked that he stopped, even if it left me sexually frustrated. I’d had sex with guys before who later made it clear they didn’t even like me, yet they still had sex with me because I was an “easy lay.” And I was left with self-hatred stirring inside me because deep down I knew they were right. I’m good for only one thing. A one-night stand, a good lay, a moment of distraction, and I’ll pretty much do whatever they ask, even when I don’t want to.
But now the good thing I had with Ethan is gone, thanks to my fucked-up head. It makes me loathe myself even more, knowing just how good of a guy Ethan is. He’d stopped it, refusing to have sex with the numb version of me. I’m still baffled over it.
Sighing, I force myself out of the memory and return my attention to what’s under the pile of candy canes and pick up the orange bottle. I take a couple, then lay down on the bed, on my back with my legs and arms out to my side, just like they were that day my life changed for the worst six years ago, when he used me and then abandoned me. I’ve been on a downhill decline ever since, but the good thing is I’ve barely been able to feel it. I feel the soaring rush from the pills and then the crash from the wine as the two substances mix and collide inside me. They’re diluting each other, so I turn on my side and take a few more pills and somewhere between the sixth or the seventh my thoughts start to melt together. Until I feel empty.
