Chapter 22
My heartbeat thuds against my skull. How much did I drink?
Bits and pieces from last night drift back in hazy fragments. Playing flip cup with Johnny. Dancing with Nik and Axel. Dancing with Johnny... making out with Johnny. And more. That kiss will haunt me forever. Pretty sure he ruined me for anyone else.
Groaning at my questionable life choices, I roll over.
When I finally crack my eyes open, I spot a full glass of water and pain relievers waiting on my nightstand. Whoever put them there is a saint. I don’t even care who. I down the pills and the entire glass like my life depends on it.
Dragging myself into the bathroom, I twist my hair up in a clip and force myself into the shower. The water helps clear the fog, but it can’t rinse away the reality of what I did.
I danced flirtatiously with three guys. In front of most of the senior class. And then I devoured my stepbrother.
The worst part? I liked it.
Jesus.
What do I do now? Bring it up? Try to clear the air? Pretend it never happened? Two of them live under the same roof. I need peace. I need stability. I need... a time machine. Yes, that’s it.
Once I’m clean and dressed, I make my way downstairs, thankful I don’t run into anyone. In the kitchen, I spot a covered pan on the stove and a note beside it:
Breakfast for anyone who needs it. There’s Gatorade in the fridge. – Maryanne
God bless Maryanne.
I pile eggs, bacon, and toast onto a plate, grab a couple bottles of Gatorade, and escape back upstairs to eat in solitude. Call me immature, but I’m not above hiding from my problems. Especially when those problems are six-foot-plus with hypnotizing eyes and dangerous hands.
Out of the gutter, Lina. Out. Of. The. Gutter.
The food settles my stomach, and I spend the rest of the morning lounging in bed, sipping electrolytes and watching reruns on my phone. My setup is elite, with a hands-free holder stretched across my bed. My only real regret is not having a bell to summon snacks.
My eyes are just starting to drift closed when the adjoining bathroom door creaks open. I crack one eye. Axel pads in quietly, hair wild, eyes sleepy. He climbs into bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world and groans, clearly as hungover as I am.
“Morning, Sunshine,” I greet in a deadpan voice.
He groans louder and yanks the covers over his head.
“Who made me drink that much?”
“You did that all on your own, Pumpkin.”
“Don’t remind me,” he mumbles. After a beat, his face resurfaces from beneath the blanket, hair hanging across his eyes. I gently brush it aside so he can see.
“Thanks,” he says quietly. “What are we watching?”
“I’m,” I emphasize, “watching Gossip Girl.”
“Cool.” He snuggles closer, resting his head on my shoulder so he can see the screen.
“Where’s Nik?” I ask, not sure if I should expect the blonde god to wander in at any moment.
“Johnny just left to take him home,” Axel mumbles.
“Cool.” I close my eyes again. Listening to Chuck and Blair argue always seems to weirdly help me relax.
∞∞∞
The next time I wake, a hand is gently running through my hair.
“Sorry, honey, didn’t mean to wake you.” Johnny’s voice is soft. “I turned off your show. Go back to sleep.”
He kisses the top of my head. Feeling Axel’s warmth still beside me, I cuddle closer, letting myself drift again.
∞∞∞
When I wake for real, I’m alone. I stretch like a cat and blink at the clock on my phone. It’s just after five. Wow, I slept the day away.
Note to self: hangovers are time-consuming.
My stomach growls, nudging me out of bed. I freshen up in the bathroom and follow the voices I hear downstairs. Everyone’s gathered around the kitchen table.
“Hey, sweetie,” Maryanne greets me with a knowing smile. “How’re you feeling?”
“Better. But I’m starving.”
“There’s leftover pizza in the fridge. Help yourself.”
I grab a plate, stack it with slices of pepperoni, and toss it in the microwave.
While it reheats, I scan the table. Ben and Maryanne look totally unbothered that two of their three underage kids are clearly battling hangovers.
Axel, looking far more alive than this morning, sips coffee like a recovering professional. Johnny looks mostly fine, though tired.
What time did we even get home?
The microwave dings. I grab my food and take the open seat beside Axel. Johnny doesn’t look at me. Not once. And that tells me everything I need to know. He regrets it.
I steel myself. Shut it all down. Rebuild my walls. If he wants to pretend it didn’t happen, fine. I can pretend, too. I finish my food quickly and stand.
“I’m gonna head back upstairs.”
Nobody protests. Perfect.
Back in my room, I throw Gossip Girl on again and burrow under the covers, determined to avoid everyone for the rest of the night. I get so lost in my show and my thoughts that I don’t hear the door open. When a figure shifts in my peripheral vision, I jolt.
“Jesus, you scared me,” I say, pressing a hand to my chest.
“Sorry,” Johnny says from the foot of my bed. “I wasn’t exactly quiet.”
“No, I just wasn’t paying attention.” I pause. “What’s up?”
He fidgets. Doesn’t meet my eyes. The way he shifts, the way he won’t look at me… it pisses me off.
“Just spit it out. You’re not going to break my poor, little heart,” I say, voice flat. “It was just a kiss.”
It wasn’t. It was everything. But I lie, because that’s what he wants to hear.
His jaw tightens. His nostrils flare, making the silver hoop in his nose catch the light. Then his eyes finally find mine.
“Fine,” he snaps. “I just wanted to clear the air. Last night was a mistake. It won’t happen again. Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” I say coolly. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m trying to watch snobby rich kids ruin each other’s lives.”
His fists clench at his sides, but he doesn’t say another word. He storms out, slamming the door behind him.
I stare hard at the screen, pretending I’m not shaking. I don’t move when the tears come. I let them fall until they sting, then I wipe them away like they’re poison. If he can kiss me like that, touch me like that, and then dismiss it like it meant nothing… then he doesn’t deserve me.
I press pause. The screen goes dark. I silently make a promise that I won’t let him in that deep again.
After all, we’re family. Nothing more.