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My eyes returned to the chair in the living room. A coat was lying on the back of it; bags were sitting behind it. Denny’s coat. Denny’s bags. Denny was home. He was here, in my house, screwing the girl I’d just made love to. My girl. No…his girl.
She’d always been his. She was upset last night because of him. She’d let herself get drunk because of him. She’d screwed me to forget about him. Everything was all about Denny. I was nothing to her. Absolutely nothing. She’d used me, just like every other bitch had used me.
I could still hear them fucking upstairs. There was no way in hell I was staying here, listening to that. Not after I’d had her. Not after I’d figured out how much I loved her. Fuck. Pain tightened around my chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to do anything. I loved her so much, and she didn’t give a shit about me at all. She didn’t want me. No one wanted me.
I needed to get out of here. I needed to stop my head from spinning. I needed to stop thinking. Heading for the kitchen, I tore open the cabinet above the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. I needed to get rid of this pain in my chest. I needed to lose consciousness, and this would help me do it.
I left the house, wondering if I could ever return to it. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to ever see her again. Especially since her lips, her body, the moans she’d made for me were so fresh in my mind. Damn, she’d really fooled me. I had actually believed, for just one small minute, that I’d meant something to her. How stupid of me.
I kept picturing her and Denny together while I drove. I pictured their mouths pressed together, their hands on each other. I visualized him thrusting into her over and over again. And because I was a sick son of a bitch, I even pictured the looks on their faces when they climaxed together. Fuck. Denny could be coming inside her right now. My pain transformed into jealousy as I thought of his seed covering mine. By the time I arrived at my destination, Sam’s house, my jealousy had shifted into anger.
That fucking bitch, whore, slut.
Grabbing my whiskey, I got out of my car and slammed the door shut. Then I reopened it and slammed it again. That little fucking cunt. She teased me for months, finally got me to fuck her, then went right back to him like it was nothing. Like we were nothing. She was the biggest fucking whore I knew. And I knew a lot of whores.
I paced Sam’s walkway and started taking long pulls, two- or three-gulpers. I was going to finish this fucking bottle and slip into fucking oblivion. The rage would end. Then the jealousy would dissipate. Then the pain would stop. I gagged a couple of times but kept forcing the whiskey down. I couldn’t take this ache in my chest. I couldn’t handle the way every muscle in my body felt tight. I was shaking, and I felt like I might throw up. Why did I have to care about her? Why did she have to do this to me? Why couldn’t she just love me the way I loved her?
I kept drinking until eventually my body rejected the alcohol. While I lay there, inhaling and exhaling deep, controlled breaths, I heard a voice say, “What the fuck is this?” Sam was home. He kicked my boot. “Kellan? That you? What the hell are you doing here? And…did you throw up on my roses? Goddammit.”
Sam sighed and then helped me to his car. Not being overly gentle, he shoved me inside. I kept my eyes glued on his glove box. If I didn’t move, I didn’t feel quite so sick. Sam got in on his side, and I wanted to tell him not to take me home. Take me to Evan’s, take me to Matt’s, just don’t take me home. I was wrong about her. I was wrong about everything.
He didn’t listen to my unspoken request though, and back home is where I ended up. Sam opened my door, then helped me out. My legs felt like rubber; he had to prop me up to keep me standing. We made it to the door and Sam started pounding on it. I wondered which one of my roommates would answer. The girl I’d just fucked, or the guy she’d just fucked? Either way, I was fucked.
As fate would have it, Kiera opened the door. I wasn’t looking at her, but I could tell it was her by her feet. And her legs. And her hips. Such luscious, sexy hips. Too bad they welcomed the whole entire world. Slut.
“I think this belongs to you,” Sam stated as he started moving us inside. I wanted to protest his words. I didn’t belong to her. I didn’t mean anything to her. That was the problem. Sam led me to the living room, then unceremoniously dumped me into the chair. I slouched over, because it was all I could do…
I slept like shit. I tossed, turned, my stomach heaved, and I swear my body was vibrating. None of the physical pain compared to the images that flashed through my brain though. I saw Kiera and Denny in all their I-love-you-forever glory. I watched them make love a thousand times, over and over. I saw her face when he brought her to the brink. I heard them whisper their feelings for each other. It was torture, but it was worse when I replayed Kiera and me together. My head ran through the entire encounter, trying to find one moment that was blatantly fake or forced. I couldn’t find a second where Kiera wasn’t fully and completely into it though. There was nothing about the moment that didn’t feel genuine, but I knew in my heart it wasn’t. She hadn’t been having sex with me; she’d been putting a Band-Aid on a wound.
Giving up on the sleep that wasn’t happening, I sat up in bed. My head was pounding, and my throat was completely dry. The last thing I clearly remembered was Sam driving me home…and Kiera. She’d been awake, she’d opened the door. I couldn’t remember much after Sam dumped me onto my chair, but she must have helped me get upstairs and into bed. Why the fuck would she do that?
My head almost hurt too much to use it. Glancing at my floor, I saw my damp shirt, and I recalled walking into the shower fully clothed. Shit…she’d helped me shower. She’d cleaned me up, helped me to my room…Why?
I had one crystal clear memory then, of saying, “Don’t worry. I won’t tell him.”
Even wasted I’d known she was just being nice to make sure I stayed silent. Well, I didn’t need her fake sympathies. I wasn’t going to tell him, because I had no desire to hurt him. I was inconsequential anyway. I was a tool she’d used when she’d needed something fixed. Nothing more. The hammer doesn’t complain when it’s put away after all the nails are driven. And the hammer doesn’t squeal to the screwdriver.
I stared at my dresser, but it was much too far away, so I leaned over to grab my dirty shirt off the floor. I thought I was going to lose my stomach bending over, but that was nothing compared to straightening back up. My damp shirt clenched in my fingers, I inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. I needed water. And coffee.
I pulled the fabric over my head; it was cold, and stuck to my body, making me shiver. I glanced at my jeans, but there was no way in hell I could get those back on. I was staying in my boxers, and my roommates would just have to deal with it. They had bigger issues than my outfit anyway. I wasn’t going to tell Denny anything, but I wondered if Kiera would. If she confessed, it would change things between Denny and me. He’d hate me. And he should hate me. I’d done exactly what he hadn’t wanted me to do. I’d just thought…I was sure Kiera…
It didn’t matter what I’d thought. Nothing mattered.
I slowly straightened. Each inch I moved brought a new ache, pain, or discomfort. I wasn’t sure how I was going to make it downstairs, but what I needed was down there, so I had to try. Each step I took was slow and methodical. If I concentrated on my toes, everything else wasn’t so bad. I glanced at Denny and Kiera’s closed door, then returned my focus to my feet. My feet were all that existed right now. My feet would get me through the morning.
I shuffled to the kitchen, spied the table, and ached with the need to rest on it. Just for a minute. Just until the pain went away and my stomach settled. I carefully sat on a chair; I’d seen ninety-year-olds sit faster than I did, but there was a brief truce going on between my stomach and my head, and I didn’t want to disrupt the alliance by moving too fast.
When I was finally down, I hunched over the table, my head in my hands, and worked on breathing. In. Out. Repeat. Coffee was on my mind, but I didn’t want to move again. Not yet. Just a minute.
I wasn’t sure how long I sat at the table, taking long, careful breaths, but eventually Kiera stepped into the room. Perfect.
“Are you okay?” she whispered.
Why was she shouting? “Yes,” I replied. I’m peachy.
“Coffee?” she asked.
I flinched, then nodded. Yes, please. Coffee was the whole reason I’d come down here.
She started making the pot, and I had to close my eyes. Everything she did was so loud. When she was done tormenting me, she asked, “How did you know Denny was back?”
I sank my head to the table and groaned. My brain was throbbing against my skull. Everything hurt. Even her question. How did I know? Because I heard you. I heard you having sex with him, right after having sex with me. “Saw his coat,” I mumbled.
“Oh.” I felt my heart drop. That’s all she has to say to me? “Oh”? Apparently it wasn’t, for she quickly added, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I snapped my eyes to hers. You fucked me, then my best friend. I love you. Nothing about this is okay, so quit fucking asking me that. “I’m fine,” I stated, my voice cold.
