35. “I Think I’m Okay” - Machine Gun Kelly
“I Think I’m Okay” - Machine Gun Kelly
Heath
I’ve never been one to sit around and wallow in pain. It’s not my style. Why dwell on it when you know it will only make you feel like shit? I prefer drowning the pain, and I’m not picky about the method.
Or the flavor.
I toss back my fourth shot of whiskey. It burns going down and has a particular pungent taste that tells me this was a bad batch. Good thing I’m too wasted emotionally to give a damn.
“Maybe you should slow down, mate.” Pierce claps me on the shoulder.
I shrug him off and motion to the bartender for another. “I’m fine.”
“If he wants to get pissed tonight, let him,” Rhett says from my other side. “He deserves it.”
I hold my refilled glass up in agreement and clink it against his before throwing it back.
“You want to tell us what happened?” Pierce says. “With Walker?”
I slam the glass back onto the bar. The only thing they know is that she and I had a falling out. It’s easy to read between the lines, but I have no desire or intention of clearing up any misconceptions tonight. “ No,” I say.
Never before has my heart shattered the way it did when she threw me out. I deserved it. The evidence on my phone is proof of that. If anybody else did that to her, I’d rip their fucking throat right out of their body.
But knowing I had it coming and wanting it to happen are two different things. She deserves so much better than me, but I can’t stand the thought of her being with anyone else.
She belongs with me. Anyone with eyes in their head can see that.
It takes a fucker like me to fuck up something that good.
I wave at the bartender, but he gives me a wary look that suggests he thinks I may have reached my limit. Little does he know, my limit tonight is passed out on the floor. I still have a long ways to go before that happens.
“Let’s blow this joint.” I climb off the barstool, and the room sways.
“Careful, mate.” Pierce grabs my arm before I can take a nosedive to the floor.
I stagger to the door. The fresh air helps clear my head, and while that means I can once again make out the cracks in the pavement and step over them, it also means I’m reminded of how shitty I feel.
From the way he’s steering me toward his car, I can tell Pierce plans to take me home and tuck me into bed like I’m a fucking child who needs to be coddled. But I’m not cutting the night short.
Loud music spills out of another club halfway down the block. I lurch toward it, forcing Pierce and Rhett to follow. The doorman gives me a pointed look when we approach. I shove a large bill into his hand and tell him to keep the change.
The music is louder here than in the bar Pierce chose. This is one of the clubs I visit more frequently. I find that a booming bass leads to more drinks, which lead to more willing women. Win, win, win.
Within seconds, my head is throbbing. I lean against the bar and order a round of whiskeys.
When I turn back, Pierce has the disapproving look of a parent.
It’s a look I’m all too familiar with. I flip him off and turn back for the shots.
Instead of handing him his, I down it right after my own.
Rhett has disappeared, so I throw his back too.
I stumble toward the dance floor. Time for part two of my plan for tonight. A group of three girls are dancing together in the center, wearing tight dresses that reveal all but the top four inches of their thighs. They smile and flutter their fake eyelashes as I approach.
Score.
I join their threesome, and one of them immediately puts her hands in my hair.
“Oh my god, I love it,” she says. I strain to hear her over the music. “Long hair on guys is so hot.” She drags out the vowels in her words. “I’m Emma. This is Tiffany and Maddie.”
“What’s your name?” the one I think is Tiffany says.
I tell her, and she giggles like it’s hilarious.
“Are you a surfer?” another one asks, her high-pitched voice straddling the line between hiccup and giggle. It’s either Emma or Maddie—I can’t be sure anymore. “You look like a surfer.”
“I am.” I grin at them. They could pull my pants down right here in the middle of the club, and I’d be too blitzed to give a fuck.
“Oh my god, I love surfers,” one of them says. I’ve given up on keeping track of which one is which. There’s too much long hair, bare skin, and deep cleavage.
We continue dancing, and I try to remember that I am the envy of the room. I’ve got three beautiful women with their hands all over me. I could suggest the four of us get a room, and they’d probably be down with it.
Eventually another guy comes over, and one of the girls leaves us to dance with him. I’m now alone with the one who touched my hair. We’re near the edge of the dance floor.
“Do you want to go somewhere?” she says into my ear.
I expect my cock to surge at the suggestion, but it remains limp in my pants. I give her a half smile. “Lead the way.” If she realizes I’m too smashed to find my own way to the door, she doesn’t seem to mind.
She leads me by the hand down a dark corridor. “Wait here.” She darts into a restroom, reappearing several seconds later. “Okay, let’s go.” Pulling me into the bathroom after her, she locks the door.
When she said somewhere , I pictured a suite at the Carlton, or maybe her dorm room. Even the back of her car would have been preferable to the brightness of the restroom.
I squint at the lights. She laughs and tugs me toward her. The kiss is sloppy and wet. Even in my state, I can tell that it’s terrible. She pulls back with a giggle and wipes her mouth. “Maybe we should try something else.”
She grabs the waistband of my shorts. I’m still wearing the same pair I had on earlier. I never even bothered to change, despite the fact that they were drenched from the rain. They’re dry now, and she works to undo the button of my fly.
When she finally has my cock free, she looks at it hanging limply and bites her lip. I expect that action alone to cause blood to rush down, but nothing happens.
She strokes it with her fingers, and bile rises in my throat. “I’m going to be sick.” I make it to the rubbish bin right before a stream of mostly alcohol hits the inside of the can.
“Are you okay?” the girl asks. I’ll give her points for sticking around. Most girls would have fled the scene as soon as they saw the greenish tint to my skin. She’ll make someone a nice housewife someday.
I answer her by retching into the bin again. I momentarily register the sound of the door closing, but my insides are still clenching up.
Once the vomiting stops, I rest my head on my arms on top of the bin. What the fuck was that? I’ve thrown up from drinking before, but only after making it home. Of course, I’ve never had this many shots this close together before.
The fly of my shorts is still open, revealing my limp dick. I yank up the zipper. The last thing I need is another reminder of my own incompetence. I can’t even cheat on my heart when I want to.
Fucking pathetic wanker.
The bathroom door opens, and Pierce enters. Behind him is the worried face of the girl I came in with. She gives me a tiny wave and an apologetic smile before disappearing back down the corridor.
“What are you doing, man?” Pierce crouches beside me on the floor.
“What does it look like?” I slur.
“Come on.” He slips an arm under my shoulders. “Let’s go.”
He manages to track down Rhett, and the two of them help me outside. I spread out as best as I can in the backseat of a car that is approximately the size of a Lego model I once built.
Groaning, I hold my head as Pierce peels out of the parking space and into traffic.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he says.
I keep my eyes closed as I reply, “Where’s the fun in that?”
Neither of them responds. I run my fingers through my hair and picture Walker.
She’s probably asleep, sprawled out across the bed like it’ll run away if she doesn’t hold it down.
The linens all bunched up from her tossing, her tiny pajamas a crumpled mess, her head no longer on the pillow but hanging off the bed.
A searing pain starts in my chest and travels down to my stomach. I’d equate it to someone taking a hot poker and dragging it down my body, slicing open the skin and the organs with its searing tip, blood gushing out and pooling on the floor of Pierce’s Aston Martin.
If Walker had never seen my phone, I could be in the bed with her. She would be splayed across me instead of the sheets. I’d wake her in an hour, and we’d have sex again, and I wouldn’t have any trouble getting it up then.
If I’d never agreed to that stupid revenge plot, none of this would have happened.
Guess it’s a good thing she learned the truth before I could find an even better way to disappoint her.