Chapter 13 #6
"That’s normal. Did you explain that you are just a little traumatized from being kidnapped when you were younger, and beaten, stripped naked, and tortured half to death by Eastern European gangsters hired by your psycho father, because he was trying to steal your inheritance, and leave you for dead, and it turned into a total bloodbath, and the vision of your own mom getting assaulted and cut to pieces is permanently etched into your brain, and we literally killed a bunch of people? ”
“I was saving that for the second date.”
He snorts with laughter. “You should try it. They never believe it, and it’s nice to get it off your chest, you know? Just don’t tell them about the chopping block. That’s a bit too icky. Totally kills the mood.”
“I did kinda explain what might happen, kinda.”
“And being branded on your chest, like cattle?”
“No, I kept my top on.” I scratch my head. “It’s just... I don’t know... I felt really gross walking back here.”
“Classic hallmark of a walk of shame, Baby. I always want to puke and cry after sex. That’s normal too. You’ll get used to it. You just have to power through. Which girl did you...?”
Oh God.
“I don’t want to kiss and tell...”
“I don’t want to accidentally go there if you have. I’ve had a few of these girls already.”
I’m feeling the pressure now. “God, what was her name?”
“Was it Brittany?”
“No.”
“Stefanie?”
“Who’s that?”
“Hannah? Emily? Jessica? Kristen? Maddison? Taylor B? Taylor L? Vicky? Becca?”
“I think it was... Aim... Aimee...?”
His eyes shoot up. “Amelia?”
“That’s it.”
He pulls a change of clothes out of his bags. “Ah good I’ll stay away. But isn’t she from the Lake District?”
“I don’t know, but she’s British, yeah.”
He frowns. “So she knows some shit went down?”
“She probably knows a little, yeah.”
“It seems like she hasn’t said anything to the others.”
“No,” I agree.
“She’s a keeper then,” he smiles. “I’ll get her a gift; something nice.”
“No,” I say firmly, not wanting this lie to fall apart. “That’s my responsibility.”
“Alright.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I need a hug.”
He hugs me and pats me on the back, and the spot he touches hurts a little.
“You’re doing good, Baby,” he tousles my hair. “I’m proud of you,” he throws a towel at me, “but you need to shower right now. It’ll help you feel better, and you’re kinda gross right now.”
In the shower block Mischa is—of course—there. Grabbing soap from the sinks because he probably forgot to bring anything like that or it didn’t fit in his bag with all the dry ice and nonsense in there.
He freezes as I enter. I stop too, thoughts swelling inside me thinking of last night.
“You know, maybe we could...” he starts.
“The answer is no.”
“You didn’t even let me finish...”
“You can’t shower with me.”
“But...”
“Absolutely not.”
I turn and he inhales sharply, like he’s shocked at what he sees.
“Oh shit,” Mischa gasps.
I check myself in the mirror and turn to see a large black spot just above my singlet, between my shoulder blades. He has left the world’s most psychotic hickey on my back. Billy didn't see it, I’m pretty sure I backed out of the tent the way I came.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “We are never doing that again.”
I lock the door to my shower and turn it on.
I hear the one beside me turn on too. The water is soothing.
It makes the dry semen on me slick again.
I wash my hair, then I lather myself inch by inch.
My brother was right about the shower. I now fully understand his obsession with bathing.
I’m so happy to get clean, I let out a satisfied sigh, and hear another one from the shower next to me.
Mischa is next door, abusing himself again.
I press my forehead into the side of the shower and fight the urge to bang it.
I turn off the water and dress in the cubicle.
Mischa finishes and emerges about the same time as me, only he’s naked.
I must look so weary, trying not to see him, so he faces me and I look him up and down.
He has cool tattoos. Very sexy. His limp cock is still half inflated, and pink from the night’s activity. I need to look away.
“I’m tired,” I say.
“Same,” he agrees. “We should sleep together.”
I laugh, and he smiles. Then we both turn silently and brush our teeth in separate sinks. He puts on some boxers and flip flops, kisses me on the cheek, and heads out.
On the bus, William sits with Kane and so I sit nearby.
Mischa comes over in shorts and a singlet and sits next to me.
I ignore him until we’re on the long stretch of highway and he gets drowsy.
His head leans more and more towards my shoulder.
When the two finally connect I push him off and he rouses a little, only to make his way back to my shoulder even faster.
After a while I leave him there. He puts his arm around my waist and falls into a heavy sleep.
I’m in a deep funk when William turns around and sees me.
He chortles with glee at the sight. He laughs again when he sees my face an hour later.
By then Mischa’s drooling over my shirt and I look miserable.
By the time we reach the Olgas, there’s a large wet patch from his mouth down my shoulder.
Mischa wakes up and drinks water.
I look at my polo shirt. “Second time I’ve got drool on me today and this isn’t even mine.”
“Yes,” Mischa smiles, “but at least this time it’s really drool.”