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The longer I look, the more concerned I become. Do I actually think they’ll get themselves in real trouble? Kind of? Streaking is not out of the question for Brendon, and if he does it, Jeremy will probably join in. Pass out in a corner somewhere? Definitely. But I don’t think they’ll break windows or anything like that.
But with as drunk as they both are, I can easily see Brendon making out with some random person. That thought flares jealousy in my gut. He’s mine. I’m not sharing him. Watching him flirt is one thing, but actually touching? Kissing? No, dammit.
I’ve made a round, weaving in and out of partiers and stepping around vomit, and don’t see either of them.
I don’t think he would actually hook up with anyone, but it’s always a fear. I trust him, but I don’t trust that I’m enough.
Not being enough is a theme in my life. I wasn’t enough to make my dad stay present after Mom died. My girlfriend in high school bounced the day before senior year started because she found someone else. I’ve lost more friends than I can count over the years. It will kill me if Brendon decides to walk away too.
I start checking the backyards, getting frustrated when I can’t find either of them and stomp my way to the next one. Rounding a corner, I finally find Brendon being pulled into a house by a girl in a pink wig.
What the fuck?
My heart sinks as the door closes and he disappears inside. Do I follow them inside and see for sure what is happening or let my imagination play out? If he fucks her or gets his dick sucked, is that a mental image I really want? Would he really do that, though? Even drunk, it’s hard to imagine.
I want to know the truth.
With a weight on my shoulders, I make my way to the back door and enter. It’s dark in here, of course, but it doesn’t take me long to find the back of Brendon’s red head in the kitchen. He’s leaned his ass against the counter, and I can just make out the top of the girl’s head as she bobs on his dick.
Fuck this.
Anger and betrayal have me spinning on my heel to leave the house, slamming the door on my way out. Tears prickle the backs of my eyes, and there’s a sharp pain in my chest that I can’t rub away. It’s piercing like a spear straight into my heart and electrified. Even though I saw it, I can’t wrap my head around it. I thought I meant more to him than this.
It’s agony, being disposable. Especially when you love someone with everything you are. How am I supposed to go back to just being friends? Bury my feelings in a lead-lined coffin? Pretend like I didn’t see anything and see what he does? I can’t.
My chest and shoulders are tight with the urge to cry, but I refuse to let myself out here in public. Once I’m safe in my dorm room, all bets are off, but for now I have to keep it together.
Why can’t you just let me love you the way you deserve? Are you as scared of this as I am?
I’m back around the front of the house when I stop and lean against it. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and hold it, forcing my mind to clear.
If someone asked me if I thought Brendon would cheat on me, the answer would be a resounding no. Did I see Brendon, my Brendon, or someone who looks like him in the dark?
Spinning back around, I run back to the kitchen, barging through the back door, yelling his name. The girl screams and jumps, grabbing onto the man’s legs for balance.
“Get the fuck off him!” I demand, pushing her back when she stands up. Turning to him, I grab his costume and realize it’s not Brendon.
My eyes track over this man’s face, like I can’t believe what I’m seeing. From the back, he looks exactly like Brendon, even from the side, but the relief coursing through me almost takes my knees out.
The guy shoves me back, and I mumble an apology before leaving the house and replaying the scene over and over in my head.
Blindly, I stumble across campus and somehow make it back to the dorm where I strip out of my clothes and hiss at the pain in my shoulder from the movement. That’s going to be a bitch tomorrow. I find the bottle of pain reliever and swallow them, then drop onto my bed.
Where the fuck is my husband?
27
Brendon
Ifeel like shit. My costume is soaked down the front from trying to bob for dicks, since they ran out of boobs, and it’s cold. Jeremy also dunked me in the bucket, which led to a dick squishy war. There are dicks everywhere.
My head is spinning, and I keep running into shit. I don’t know where Jeremy or Paul went, and I have vomit on my shoes, I think. Is it mine?
I taste my mouth, and I don’t think I’ve thrown up . . .
The noise has died down, but is that because I left the party zone or because the party is over?
Where’s my phone?
