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I grab a robe and some toiletries. “The governor’s kid probably had his own fucking bathroom,” I snap out, shaking my head for no reason, but I start to shake a little bit. Shit, I know I need to tell somebody, but right now I desperately need to shower.
I know I just saw somebody hurt or possibly killed and that person most likely saw me. I take a huge pull of the whiskey. I should be scared, fucking terrified.
I spendway too long under the soothing hot water. It feels as though it flushed and washed off everything from this day away.
I swipe my whiskey bottle off of the ledge in the shower that holds my shampoos and soap. I take a hearty hit before I dry myself off and wrap myself in the fluffy robe that I have. I got it for Christmas a couple years ago, it’s awesome. I’ve fallen asleep in this bitch so many times.
The room is still eerily dark and vacant as I return. All the people haven’t made it up to the sixth floor yet, so I shut the door and promptly lock it behind me. There’s always a chanceof a straggler that could also be on one of the top floors making their way down, thinking their room is mine. I don’t want to be bothered by any of that shit tonight. One drunk is enough.
I dance over to my closet, still feeling the music that’s pumping through the top floor.
The belt holding my robe closed is untied as I push the robe off the back of my shoulders letting it drop, leaving me completely nude. The closet light is the only light source in this room, as my hands rest on top of my head trying to get my brain to work to pick out an easy outfit to sleep in. Something comfortable, not leaving me naked.
I want to jump into bed and get rid of this fucking night. I know I need to be sober when I figure out what the hell I’m going to do, my brain is a jumbled mess, and I’m not thinking clearly. Part of me thinks everything I saw was a dream or my insane imagination at play.
As fast as I have those thoughts, I’m grabbed from behind. My mouth is covered with a slightly callused, clean smelling hand. Who washes their hands before they attack somebody? A metal blade is placed right up to my neck showing me exactly what they can do.
I’m stark fucking naked and there is a man behind me. I can tell by the build of his muscles pressing against mine, that he’s built.
He readjusts his weak hold on me as he maneuvers my back firmly against his chest. I’m more like dead weight, I’m drunk and very slow.
I notice the alcohol in my hand right before the shock has it crashing to the ground, slightly pissing me off because I really wanted to finish that.
Fuck, I need to get my freaking head clear and focus on my situation. I’m fucking naked and it could end up being the guy from earlier that I saw, or some very drunk college kid thatdecided to hook up with anybody he could find, willing or not. My planned ending to this night of passing out drunk and alone in my bed is not going very well.
Either way though, thankfully I’m a Quinn from Queens. My dad has taught me how to fucking fight. In the deep recesses of my mind, I envision my training even though I’m drunk. You just don’t forget that shit, it might come out a little bit slower and take longer, but I’m gonna fucking fight.
His breathing turns heavier and harder as my body relaxes, no longer rigid. It feels as though we perfectly mold together. My soft curves fit perfectly against his hard ones.
I relax my weight, not completely dead weight. It always throws whoever is manhandling you off, they don’t know what to expect, so they’re wary, their hold is too tight.
I brace for the pain but the sadistic smile on my face is something I’m gonna remember forever as I rear back fucking hard.
The guy groans, not expecting that, and dropping the blade that was held violently against my neck. I feel a slight warm sensation of one or two drops of blood on my neck.
It’s nothing compared to the splatter of warm sticky goo all over the back of my head. I turn around, recognizing the man is the guy that did something to the governor’s kid earlier. I have a bad feeling about Chris, hoping that he only had the shit beat out of him. This guy needs to know that that’s not acceptable, you can’t just go around killing people.
I shake my head at him as he drops down to my bed, holding his bloodied and very damaged face. I have a sudden urge to give him a lecture. This is not very good etiquette but instead I find the perfect opening as soon as he growls and jumps back up.
The shock of getting his face smashed has definitely overcome him. I smile, give a little wave, then looking downat my whiskey, seeing the contents spilled all over the floor, I growl, “bastard.”
I watch as the wheels are turning in his head and he gets ready to pounce right the fuck on me. I don’t have that much time left before my opening has past. I will always look back at this day, remembering how I fucking nailed him dead on.
I squat and I kick him directly in the balls. The way my foot was angled, I know I got a bit of a dick hit in there, too.
He howls in pain, his beautiful features all merge into a tight ugly grimace as he lies back down on my bed, trying to figure out if he should grab his balls or his face.
Personally, I would’ve picked my balls. Those suckers are now deeply embedded inside his body cavity, poor guys are no longer hanging loose and free. I laugh because I know this by the expression on his face, plus the howling pain he’s in.
Neither one of us move. All he can do is lay there opening his mouth but nothing but silence comes out as he groans and leans back. His face is fiery red.
“That’ll teach you, fucker,” I hiss out, more angry now as I pick up my bottle of whiskey noticing that there’s a couple sips in there.
I greedily drink the rest of it as I move back, mesmerized at this beautiful figure laying on my bed for all the wrong fucking reasons. I should be trying to figure out what I should do, especially before shit gets even more out of hand, but I can’t stop staring. I’ve never seen a more beautiful and mesmerizing man.
“You’re a bad man,” I say, aiming my empty whiskey bottle at him. “You’ve attacked two students so far that I know of, for no reason at all.” This angers me as I get up and I kick his kneecap that’s hanging off the side of my bed. Of course it’s not hard because I’m barefoot. “You should get in trouble for this, totally.”
Exactly, why haven’t I called the cops yet? Instead I’m entertaining myself by watching this beautiful specimen writhing in pain on my bed.
