His eyebrows shoot up. “But I touched your clit like you asked me to. And my name’s not Brad. It’s William the Third.”
Huh, I could have sworn his name is Brad.
A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stifle it. “Sorry, William. You kind of look like a Brad. Anyway, you should maybe study the female anatomy more because that surely wasn’t my clit.” He kept stabbing at my labia with his finger like he wanted to make a shish kebab out of it. I did try to move it and redirect him, but he told me he knew where the clit is because he was a man. Honestly, I should have pushed him off me in that moment, but I kept hoping it would get better.
The vein on the side of his forehead looks like it’s going to pop any minute now. “I’m sure that’s where the clit is. My mother showed me,” he snaps.
WHOA!This is definitely not something I was expecting to hear from a guy I just had sex with. I clear my throat, trying to recuperate from my shock. Why do I pick up all the weirdos? I’m blaming tequila for this one. “A piece of advice, Willy boy, maybe keep that to yourself the next time you decide to have sex. That is something you should unpack in therapy,” I mumble the last part to myself.
Hell, I think I’ll need therapy after this.
I shudder and push up from the bed.Mierda.The dizziness hits me badly this time, and little white dots swim in my vision. It’s getting worse and worse with each day that passes. I blink a few times and grip the bed frame, waiting for the universe to stop twirling.
“I’m going to take a shower, and I don’t expect to find you here when I’m done. Please don’t leave the condom on the floor; toss it in the trash can on your way out,” I say as I put on my robe and amble toward the bathroom.
“What? Wait! We can go again.”
I snort a very unladylike laugh as I stop in my tracks and turn around to face him. “Yeah, no, thank you. I think I had enough for tonight.”
His nostrils flare as he gets up from the bed, kicking my bedside table. Luckily, he didn’t do any damage, but he does look at me like he wishes it was me he kicked instead. So he has anger issues on top of mommy issues.
I really know how to pick them…
“You’re a fat bitch,” he grumbles, then throws the condom to the hardwood floor and starts getting dressed. “I only fuck models. You should consider yourself lucky that I chose to pity fuck you.”
I arch an unimpressed eyebrow. “Oh, Willy boy, it’s funny how you think anyone would want to fuck you with that micro penis. Don’t let the door hit you on your way out,” I fire back as I spinon my heel and stalk into the bathroom, locking the door, hoping he will leave without any more incidents because he’s starting to scare me.
Ugh, I can’t wait to wash his disgusting sweat off my body.
“To finally findinga guy that knows how to fuck,” Chloe, my best friend, toasts as she clinks her shot glass with mine.
“Hopefully, I can find him before I croak,” I reply and throw my head back, downing the shot of tequila. It burns my insides as it travels to the bottom of my stomach. I bite into the lime wedge and shudder. The first shot is always the hardest to stomach, and this tequila is so strong I think I just grew a few hairs on my chest.
She throws me a dirty look that’s distorted because her face is all scrunched up from the awful taste. But her eyes are glassy, more from my words than from the burning spirit. “Fuck, Ava. Stop saying shit like that. You’re going to make me cry.” She takes the beer bottle from the floor and passes it to me.
I take a big swig, wipe at my mouth with the back of my hand, and give it back to her. “Well, I’m going to die, Chlo. There’s not much I can do about it.” Shrugging, I take the tiny hand-held mirror from my lap and resume doing my makeup.
We are both sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floor of my small bedroom, resting our backs on the bed frame. Simba, my orange tabby cat, is a tiny purring ball between us as we get ready for tonight. Chloe won VIP tickets to a rock concert of a famous band, Deadly Sins. We even have backstage access to meet the members.
“I don’t need a reminder every single time we see each other that you’re going to die,” she mutters and starts painting her nails a deep purple to match the top she is going to wear.
“I know you don’t like to talk about it, but it’s my reality, and eventually, you will have to come to terms with it.” I line my waterline with a black waterproof pencil and start applying eyeshadow. I’m doing a deep black smokey eye to bring out my pale seafoam-green irises. Hopefully, I won’t end up with panda eyes.
“I also wanted to talk to you about Simba. Will you take him after I die? Mom’s allergic, and I don’t want to give him back to the shelter.” The chances of older cats getting adopted are low, and he was already eight years old when I brought him home from the shelter two years ago. I can’t stand the fact that he might end up never being adopted again and spend his last years in a crate.
“Oh my God. You might get that heart transplant; you never know,” she exasperates, a muscle feathering in her taut jaw.
“Please, Chlo—”
“Fine. I’ll take him. You know I love this little monster.” She uses her baby voice as she pets Simba’s head carefully to not ruin her freshly painted nails. “Who’s the best boy in the whole world? You wanna come live with Auntie Chloe, you sweet orange angel?”
He lets out a cute little meow and turns belly up so he can receive more pets. It’s a trap; the little shit is going to bite her the minute she touches his belly.
I throw my arms around her neck, her peach scent enveloping me. Simba lets out a disgruntledmeowwhen he ends up squished between us. “Thanks. It means the world to me.” I pull back when my phone starts vibrating on the floor.
Taking a deep breath, I mentally prepare myself before I tap my finger on the screen to accept my mother’s call.
“Are you insane, Ava?!” her bellowing scream almost makes me deaf in my right ear. Chloe cringes and throws me a knowing look when I put my mother on speaker so I can still have an intact eardrum at the end of this conversation.
