“You can want me,” she says.
“I do.”
“You can bleed for me.”
“I will.”
“You can love me.”
“I do.”
Her mouth brushes mine.
“But you cannot lie to me again.”
I wake up reaching for her. Morning cuts through the blinds like a punishment.
My hand hits skin.
For one half-second, drunk and stupid and half lost in the dream, I think she came back.
Then the smell hits me.
Wrong perfume.
Wrong hair.
Wrong woman.
My eyes snap open.
Cherry is in my bed.
Naked.
Her red hair spills over one shoulder, and her phone is lifted high, angled down at us. My jeans are open. Her hand iswhere it has no right to be. Her bare thigh is thrown over mine like a staged confession.
Cold horror burns the alcohol out of me in a single breath.
I jerk away so hard I hit the floor.
“What the fuck?”
Cherry flinches, but the phone stays up.
Click.
Another photo.
I shove to my feet, grabbing my jeans closed with one hand. My stomach turns so violently I nearly puke.
She ain’t supposed to be here.
She ain’t supposed to be in Vice Ink.
She ain’t supposed to be in my room.
She ain’t supposed to be touching me while I’m unconscious.
