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“Let’s run it off,” she said, opening up a drawer that held my workout clothes. “Sweat the toxins out of us.”
“No,” I moaned. I rolled over onto my side and pulled the blanket up over my shoulder. “I want greasy food and something to chase the hangover away. Hair of the dog is calling me.”
“Sully,” she whined. “Come on.”
“Portia,” I whined back, mimicking her tone.
“I want to run.”
How true her statement was. She always wanted to run.
“Maybe you should try not running for at least one day,” I said.
She slammed the drawer shut and threw my sweats onto the bed. “Yeah? Well, maybe you should stop trying to ‘chase away’ things for one day.”
Touché.
Clearly, we were who we were and nothing—not even an intimate night—could change that. Especially when neither one of us were going to discuss what we said… and what we felt.
When she saw that I had no intention of getting out of bed, she huffed over to a chair and sat in it with her hands crossed. “Fine. After breakfast we go outside at least. I need fresh air.”
“Fine,” I said, wanting to give her at least something. She reminded me of a caged animal, and I didn’t blame her one bit for needing to escape the suffocating walls of the Oleander.
We remained in awkward silence until Mrs. H arrived with our bacon, eggs, and orange juice that would soon be a screwdriver once I was done adding the small bottle of vodka that sat beside the glass.
Mrs. H looked at me, then at Portia and said, “Well, you sure do look a lot better than Sully does.”
“Thanks,” I murmured, but couldn’t deny the fact that Portia truly lit up the room even in leggings and a tank top. “Love you too.”
Mrs. H smirked as she placed the tray on the table by the fireplace. “You kids enjoy and let me know if there is anything else you need.”
“We might need some more orange juice,” I said as I sat up fully for the first time, trying to ignore the ringing in my ears.
“We have plenty of orange juice,” Portia corrected. “We won’t be needing anything else. Thank you.”
I shot daggers at her and decided to not make an issue in front of Mrs. H, especially since it was likely Mrs. H would take Portia’s side. “Thank you, Mrs. H. It all looks and smells great.”
When the woman left the room, I got out of bed and considered walking over to breakfast buck naked just to really make Portia uncomfortable, but decided to put on the sweats she had tossed at me instead.
I was too tired, hungry, and still slightly drugged to be a full dick.
Portia beat me to the tray of food and took hold of the tiny bottle of vodka. “If I don’t get to run, you don’t get to chase away.” She took a few steps away from me as if scared I would fight her for the booze. “Seems fair,” she added.
I took a seat and reached for my plate, giving up on my morning cocktail. “Seems fair,” I agreed.
16
Portia
I was feeling a little better after our last Trial as Sully and I walked down the stairs towards what faced us tonight. We’d had a few days off after the LSD.
Maybe this was the easy part of the Initiation, where they decided to take a break on us. They couldn’t always be sadistic bastards. The whole point of this entire thing was pleasure, right? Absinthe, LSD, old men getting off in lots of new and interesting ways?
True, there was no Costume Box along with the invitation this time, so I would be naked. What else was new? The old men liked eye candy. Shocker.
I was young and scrappy.
They couldn’t fucking brand me twice.
And Sully would protect me.
I glanced over at him and frowned. Things since the LSD hadn’t been great between us. I mean, they hadn’t been especially bad. But not great either. He’d been sleeping a lot. But not inviting me to bed with him. I did a lot of sit-ups and lunges and some of the in-room dance aerobics I remembered from YouTube videos Tanya and I used to do.
In short—we hadn’t had sex since the LSD. After the morning after, I’d been so deflated when he told me the entire night… along with all the things he’d confessed to me, had all been because of the drugs. He’d said it so flippantly, like there was no possibility he could have said those caring, intimate things for any other reason.
I’d had to immediately flee to the bathroom so he wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes. Because I’d thought—I’d thought—well, I’d been a stupid girl, hoping for stupid, stupid things.
I’d washed my face in cold water, gave myself a scolding in the mirror, but that wasn’t nearly enough. There were still tears leaking uncontrollably out of my eyes, so I’d turned on the shower and took the hottest one I could stand, careful to keep my still stinging brand out of the water as much as I could. Eventually I’d given up and switched to cold water. Cold water in January was punishing but also felt entirely appropriate.
