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I remain on my back for seconds after, mentally talking myself out of the bad mood I know I’m going to be in. I need to fuck something. When I pull back up on my elbows and stand to my feet, my swollen cock throbbing in the palm of my hand through my jeans, I fall back onto my bed. “Out, Saint.”
“What? I can, you know—”
I look up to find her staring at my dick. It doesn’t fucking help.
“Just get out.”
I was wrong, I was going to regret it, but not for the reasons I thought I would. She doesn’t reply, and the sound of my door clicking shut triggers the rest of the nightmares that I have that night.
Click.
Saint
I half contemplated leaving the dogs home today. I needed space and time. Time to figure out what went wrong last night. Shame curtains my vision as I take a left onto the trail in the woods. “C’MON” by Amy Shark and Travis Barker plays loudly in my ears, the sound of her vocals almost enough to make me forget about everything last night. But just as I forget, I taste him. My blood and his mouth. I feel his hands on my body, so rough and dominating, his mouth in other places… but the poisonous aftertaste of the words he said after leave the strongest tang. “Just get out,” and then the look that came with it. My heart stung so bad I almost thought the pain was physical. I’d never experienced that emotion before. The wound was in my heart, but the pain bled down to my gut and spun it around and around like a washing machine.
My feet gain speed, sweat pelting off me as the early morning sun slowly reveals itself behind the curtain of clouds. Bright orange hues inflame the dark sky as another day arrives. I’m passing the graveyard and entering the property through the back when I finally stop, tearing out my earbuds and leaning over, my hands on my knees. The truth is, I went into that room for one thing and one thing only. And it was all because of that damn dream. I didn’t like it.
He wore nothing but a dark hoodie and a scarf around his face. Either that or I couldn’t see. I reached for his face, but nothing touched my fingers.
Weird.
I knew I was dreaming. I almost always knew when I was dreaming while I was having them. His body was over the top of mine, heavy. So heavy that he pushed mine into the mattress. My stomach churned. Something wasn’t right.
He reached between my legs, his fingers grazing over my most private area, and just when I thought he was going to push away, his fingers dove inside of me forcefully. I screamed so loud fire burned out of my chest, but that didn’t stop him. I throbbed below. It stung. It hurt. He did something with his fingers before I felt my skin tear and liquid seep over my upper thighs. He tore my virginity from my body like it was his to take.
I woke after that. My pulse was racing so fast I thought I might actually die. Harder than what it is now after running for two hours straight. After waking, I checked under the blankets, cupping myself and wincing while the feel and sound of that tear vibrated through my ears. Tears spread down my cheeks, and I didn’t know why. I needed something—anything to take away the memory the dream left on my skin. I hated that it was the last thing I felt. Then I heard Brantley yell, and it was my name that came out.
Now I wish I didn’t go in there. I should have gone back to sleep, or at the very least tried. I went to him without knowing, for comfort, and I left with more pain in my heart than I could cope with.
I unlatch the dogs from their leads so they can go to their water fountain, gazing up at the gym that’s on the top floor. I find Brantley instantly, his back turned to me. He’s leaning on the glass, his phone to his ear.
Had I always felt this way about him? I’m starting to think maybe yes. It didn’t matter, though, because he made it abundantly clear last night that he did not think that about me. Or maybe he just wasn’t attracted to me like that, which was why he pushed me away.
This emotion must be rejection.
After the dogs have fed and drank, I head into the kitchen and pull out the ingredients for bacon and eggs. That run was what my mind needed, but now my body is deprived and hungry. I heat up the heavy skillet, pouring coconut oil in and waiting for it to warm before cracking my eggs in. While that’s cooking, I line the tray with bacon strips and slide it beneath the grill. I’m dropping bagels into the toaster when the front door echoes closed and footsteps come down to the kitchen. I hold my breath, hoping it’s not Brantley.
