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I wash my hands and splash water on my face before I shuffle back into the bedroom; awake, head throbbing. Still feel like absolute ass. Mouth drier than a nun’s cunt. But my sense of humor is back on track. Hello, sweet confidence and positivity.
I’m mid-way through scratching my balls when the covers on the bed move. I almost scream like a little bitch before I realize it’s a human and not some exotic animal I curled up to in my sleep. Wouldn’t be the first time I came back to a surprise waiting for me amongst the sheets.
My eyes are wide open now. There’s a fucking girl in my bed. A real live human girl. And I have no memory of coming home, let alone… climbing into bed with her. “What the fucking what?”
All I can see is the back of her head. Dark hair falling all around. Dark hair and a creamy shoulder as the blanket slips. My gaze darts to the nightstand. Where Ivy leaves her glasses when she takes them off before bed. Did I drunk dial like an asshole… and if so, God, what did I say?
No glasses. No guarantee. A niggle at the back of my mind. Feel it in my chest. This uncomfortable sensation. Can’t draw it out. I drank too much. Drank with purpose. Drank to not think. What if… what if it isn’t Ivy in my bed?
Of course it’s Ivy. Of course it’s my pretty girl. I called her while I was off my face. That has to be it. Only I’d been so cut up, my mood so black. I’d made Rebel promise. He’d sworn black and blue that she wouldn’t see me like that. She needs me to give her time and space. I would have blown it all last night. He confiscated my phone. Didn’t he?
My heart sinks. Gets twisted up. I didn’t handle it well, seeing mom like she was. What she said to me, but dear God, please tell me I didn’t completely fuck everything up because I was throwing a damn pity party.
The girl rolls onto her side. Smacks her lips. All that hair is still in the way. There’s nothing for it but to tear away at the what ifs. I pad quietly around the bed until I’m in front of her. Pale pink lips and dark hair all in her face, but those freckles I fucking find adorable across her nose peek out.
My chest eases. Lets me breathe again. Thank fuck for small mercies. I don’t know what I would have done… how I would have coped.
I don’t wake her. Don’t want to disturb her. Who knows what time we got in? Or what state she found me in? Not good. Any which way it wasn’t good. What did I say to her? I don’t have to remember to make assumptions that I was an asshole. I was so screwed up about everything. Just hope I was slurring so badly we couldn’t actually manage conversation. Or anything else. Fuck.
I move silently around the room. Pull on a pair of gray sweats. Tie them off. Head to the kitchen for aspirin and Gatorade. Fucking hell. I cup the back of my neck while I drink the electrolytes. What did I say last night? What did I do?
She’s still here though. Still in my bed. That has to be good, right? I can make it up to her. Whatever I said or did. Maybe seeing her was all I needed to put things back in perspective. Maybe we’re fine. Yeah, we must be. We’re perfect. That little niggle at the top of my spine, it’s nothing.
My phone announces its hiding spot in the potted palm in the foyer. Missed the long, narrow table by a mile. I pick up the device and dust off the dirt and plant fertilizer balls that cling to it. Turn it over and light up the screen.
Holy shit, that’s an impressive number of notifications. What did I do last night? Blow them all off and go find Ivy? Please tell me that’s it. That’s gotta be it. Because this sinking sensation I’m dealing with is so not okay. I choose Rebel’s text first. Press on it to open it.
You have to see this. You have to know. I didn’t want to tell you. But it’s everywhere.
There’s a link and I press it. Wait for it to open up. A video that has to load. From last night.
A girl who isn’t Ivy.
A girl I don’t even remember.
She’s kissing me. Or I’m kissing her. It’s the weirdest thing. It’s like watching myself in a movie. Or more like…watching Rebel play me in a movie about my life. That fuckfaced wanker is me…no doubt about it. He has my tattoos and clothes and fills the space the same way I do, but I have no recollection. No connection to the viral video.
I could feel that something was off. Inside me. Couldn’t obliterate enough brain cells to block it out completely.
My legs turn to rubber. I sink to my haunches on the floor, my back against the wall. The next text he sends makes no sense.
You tell her about this message. I won’t give up Emmy.
Does it even matter when I clearly fucked up so royally last night? I watch the clip over and over. I watch it like it’s my business to punish myself with it, waiting for it to remind me of being there, but it doesn’t.
“Rogue?” Ivy’s gentle voice follows her quiet footsteps. She’s wearing one of my shirts. Not the one I was wearing yesterday. A clean one. And panties. I can see the color of them through the thin white cotton. Big brown irises full of worry stare down at me.
“It’s everywhere.” I tip my phone screen in her direction so she can see. “It’s everywhere and I don’t remember. I don’t—”
She crouches in front of me. Her hands press to my cheeks. “Look at me.”
“I can’t.” I don’t want to see the hurt in her eyes. I don’t want to see her leave me. She should leave me for this. I knew I’d screw up. Love doesn’t last. “I am so sorry, baby.”
“I know.” She grips my chin and forces my focus to her. “You told me last night. You told me over and over again.”
“And you’re still here?”
“You weren’t okay last night. What happened—”
