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Groaning, I covered my eyes to block out the little bit of daylight filtering through the blinds.
“Stop,” I said to absolutely no one, as if the sun would quit shining and let me go back to sleep.
It didn’t listen. And I needed to go to work eventually.
With a disgruntled exhale, I rolled over. Searing pain gripped me and I almost yelled out loud. What the hell? Something hurt. A lot.
Shit. Had I tried to ride a bike down the hill downtown again? I’d done that once and wound up in the river. And with a lot of bruises to show for it the next day. But I didn’t remember falling into the river. This time of year, there was no way I’d have forgotten. The shock of cold water would have sobered me up quick.
Wincing, I sat up and wiped the crust out of my eyes. Maybe I’d tripped off the sidewalk or something. I pulled the covers back and checked the obvious places—knees, elbows. No injuries. I stretched out my arms and twisted my wrists, then rolled my shoulders. Nothing.
A hazy memory tickled the edge of my mind and I cracked a smile at the absurdity of it. It wasn’t a memory, it was a dream. Had to be. There was no way I’d…
Except…
Oh shit.
Sandra’s crazy stunt? She’d gotten her nipples pierced. I distinctly remembered turning around so I wouldn’t see her with her shirt off, but reaching back to hold her hand while the guy did it.
And then I’d thought it would be a great idea to…
Fuck.
Slowly, I lifted my shirt. Something definitely hurt. No, I couldn’t have. I wouldn’t have. There was no way.
I had. I’d gotten my left nipple pierced.
With a shriek, I dropped my shirt. Who the fuck would have done that? I’d been drunk off my ass. That was some shady shit, right there.
Then again, I was pretty good at pretending to be sober. Maybe I’d been that convincing.
“Fuck,” I muttered. What the hell had I done to myself? I was not a nipple piercing kind of guy. And once I realized what it was, the pain was just plain stupid. The entire left side of my chest throbbed, the ache running deep. It felt like I’d been stabbed.
Of course, I had been.
I was such an idiot. How did I get myself into these situations?
More importantly, how was I going to get rid of it?
There was only one thing to do. Take it out. I’d deal with the pain of it healing, but I was not leaving that thing in.
I took off my shirt, moving it gingerly over my head so it wouldn’t brush against the piercing. How had I gotten my shirt back on afterward? Thank goodness I had. I vaguely remembered getting a ride home from one of the few Uber drivers in town. Hopefully he hadn’t seen it.
Glancing down, I felt slightly nauseated.
“Come on, Z. You can do this.”
I looked again but couldn’t seem to make my hands go anywhere near it. I decided I needed to pee first, and I should probably wash my hands before I touched it anyway. I wasn’t avoiding the problem. I was just being smart about cleanliness. The last thing I needed was a nipple infection.
Vaguely wondering if Sandra was also in pain, I went to the bathroom. I washed my hands and stood in front of the mirror. My left nipple and the surrounding skin were an angry red. The gold barbell stuck through it looked awful. Other people were into that sort of thing, and that was fine. I wasn’t judging. But this was not my jam.
I touched my chest near the piercing, close to the edge of the redness. It hurt, but I didn’t flinch. No problem. I could get it out. I poked around the circumference a little more, working my way closer. I had a pretty high pain tolerance. This wouldn’t be an issue.
Except every time I tried to unfasten the barbell, I started to get dizzy. Sweat broke out on my forehead and the throbbing pain intensified.
“Fuck,” I muttered again. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get the damn thing out.
This was stupid. I’d picked gravel out of my knees a thousand times as a kid. Why couldn’t I take out a simple nipple piercing?
