Chapter 32 #2
Her hands snake around my waist, trailing up my chest as her cheek presses against my back, and I turn to face her.
I look at my friend and her body, which has welcomed mine time and time again, and I know that I shouldn’t do this.
I know that the line between friendship and something more has gotten blurred for her, and I know that it’s still firmly in place for me, clear as day.
I love her and I’d take a bullet for her without a second thought, but I don’t love her in the same way that I think she might start to love me if we keep doing this.
As her hands tangle in my hair and my tongue meets hers, I accept the fact that I’m about to use her, and I accept the fact that she’s about to let me.
And I feel like a piece of shit for it.
“Are you drunk?” I breathe while my hands work to slide her panties down her legs.
“A little,” she admits. “Are you?”
I nod. “A little.”
That doesn’t stop either of us. My hands move a mile a minute while I pull my belt away and shove my slacks to the floor before meeting her mouth once again with my own.
I press her body against the door as I lift her legs, wrapping them over my hips, and I offer her no warning before giving her every inch of my cock.
A loud whine flies from her mouth as I bury myself deep inside of her and I press my lips against hers to quiet the sound.
That stupid fucking song floods my ears no matter how I try to push it away.
I pull my mouth from Mariah’s and fuck her harder, this time hoping against everything that she’ll cry out or scream my name or do fucking anything that drowns out the noise.
Burying my face in the crook of her neck, I let out a whimper.
“Fuck.”
I’m desperate; I don’t think I can take one more note of this music.
The voice singing reminds me of Nash, of the things that he said to me, the way that he squeezed my throat as if he genuinely wanted me dead.
Alongside it plays the sound of his voice telling me to get out of his house and the image of the hatred that burned behind his eyes.
The only way that I can describe how this feels is… grief.
I’ve felt it before, when each of my grandparents died, but that was more like a low burn that ached for a while. This is sharp and stabbing and it comes in waves so vicious that it blinds me. It’s not a low burn, it’s fucking unbearable and it makes every inch of my body and soul scream.
“You’re crying,” Mariah pants at me, bringing a hand to wrap around the back of my neck.
“No I’m not.”
Yes, you are, idiot.
In as smooth a motion as I can, I withdraw from her and toss her over the desk next to us, forcing a yelp from her as I ball her dress in my hands and push back inside of her.
I try not to let my mind wander, but I can’t help it; it’s happened every time I’ve been with someone who wasn’t Nash.
His scent fills my nose, the feel of his body pressed against mine etches itself into my skin, and his words fill my ears – even as moans pour from Mariah’s mouth that should act as reminders that Nash isn’t here.
Except for the fact that he’s always fucking here.
Bracing a hand on the desk next to her, I hold Mariah’s leg over the edge of it with the other while I pound my hips into her until she cries out through her orgasm and I feel my body tense, spilling into her with the same empty pleasure that’s come to me for the past three months.
“Shit,” I pant as I realize what I’ve just done to her. “I’m so sorry.”
Looking over her shoulder, she lets out a laugh. “I have an IUD and there’s a Plan B in my dresser. It’s a fortress in here.”
“I’ll get tested in the morning.”
Turning to face me, she reaches up to squish my face between her hands and stares me in the eye. “Hon, shut up,” she laughs. “Get me a tissue and we’re even.”
I hesitate as I pull my slacks into place, stuffing my dick back into them, but I move to grab her a few tissues and hand them to her.
I wait while she wipes my cum from her thighs, and I take the tissues from her when she’s finished to toss them into the trash can behind the desk; it can be someone else’s problem now.
“Hey…do you have any party favors?”
“You want—” I cut her off with a nod. “Yeah, in my car.”
Grabbing her elbow, I tow her with me to the parking lot, where her little red coupe is waiting for us. We climb inside as if we’re doing some shady back alley drug deal or something, and she pops open the glove compartment.
“Wanna be warm and fuzzy or float around outside your body?”
“Uh,” I blow a breath out between pursed lips, “I dunno, surprise me, I guess.”
“You’ll like this,” she tells me as she picks up a bright purple pill and drops it into my hand. “It’s a good time.”
I barely wait for her to finish her sentence before placing the tablet onto my tongue and using my saliva to swallow it down with a grimace. “Is it fast?” She nods as she settles back into her seat. “Aren’t you gonna take one?”
“You need a babysitter your first time rolling,” she chuckles with a shake of her head.
Too many minutes pass and I don’t feel a goddamn thing.
I anxiously tap my fingers against my thigh, trying to focus on searching every corner of my body and mind in hopes that I’ll feel it working somewhere, but I don’t.
It’s hard not to be a little disappointed that the first time that I’ve taken anything stronger than weed, it’s doing absolutely nothing for me.
“I think I need another one.”
“No you don’t,” Mariah chortles. “Come on.”
I follow as she climbs out of the car, taking her arm in mine again as we make our way back toward the collective.
When I drape my free hand over hers, her skin feels like velvet.
I can feel the gentle crunch of snow beneath our feet and I could almost swear that it sounds a little bit different, too.
My grip tightens on Mariah’s hand for just a minute as we approach the entrance of the building and I reach to pull the door open.
“Whoa.”
“There it is,” she laughs, rubbing her hand against mine.
I pull my focus as we enter the building, letting every note and vibration of the music around me pour inside.
Several people are lined before us, each of them seated in front of an easel while they work on still life paintings.
Their brushes glide across the canvases as if they’re dancing with each other, swirling shades of vibrant color together into one big, beautiful mess as they take shape.
Every beat of music sounds like magic; it wraps itself around my mind like a warm hug that sends a flood of euphoria through every nerve in my body and I let out a laugh. I finally get why Davis does this stuff all the time.
After slipping off my suit jacket, I set it on an empty stool nearby and reach for Mariah’s hands. “Dance with me,” I tell her.
“It’s opera.”
“It’s perfect.”
“Here, watch this,” she tells me.
She pulls her hand from mine and holds it in front of my face, shaking it back and forth. Hypnotizing lines of motion trail behind each movement, forcing another laugh out of me that won’t stop.
“I’m so happy right now,” I tell Mariah as one hand cups her cheek and the other strokes through her hair. Each strand is so soft; it almost feels how I imagine a cloud would.
Her lips meet my cheek like pop rocks to the tongue. “Then let’s see if we can find some glitter and really get you going,” she laughs.
I follow behind her with my arms wrapped around her shoulders, dipping my head while we move to lick and suck at a spot on her neck that tastes like cotton candy. Every step leads us to a new area of the gala, past another class and the silent auction.
We don’t find any glitter, but we do find a tightly-packed group of freshly-filled champagne flutes, and I lower myself until they’re eye level with me so I can watch the streams of bubbles shoot up to the top and disappear. I can almost feel them bursting against my skin.
I pick up one of the glasses and drink the champagne down as if it’s a shot and every bubble pops against my tongue in a tiny explosion that makes my teeth tingle. Grabbing onto my friend’s hand, I pull her with me through the event, swaying and moving my shoulders to the flow of the music.
We maneuver through the event for almost two hours, taking in every detail in every art piece, absorbing every note of every song, and appreciating the texture of every fabric.
This is the first time in a long time that I’m smiling without it feeling forced.
The guilt and the shame that I felt in the office are nowhere to be found, no voices in my head telling me that I’ve screwed up again.
Nash and Anna are far from my mind, and it feels like my lungs can finally pull in a full breath of clean, fresh air.
As I reach for another glass of bubbly, tingly champagne, I smack into my dad.
“Hey, Dad!” I shout in greeting. I wrap my arms around him in a hug, only stopping to pat him on the head; which quickly turns more into petting his hair as if he’s a dog.
The texture of the pomade in it rolls against my palm and I find myself wanting to mold the neat style into a new shape.
He studies me for a long moment before grabbing my jaw and forcing me to make eye contact with him. “Emmett Reid Fowler, are you on drugs right now?”
“Just one,” I laugh, watching the color in his eyes move.
“What did you take?”
“Ecstasy,” Mariah blurts out from behind me. She’s wearing her ‘talking to my boss’ voice, and it’s fucking hilarious. “He’s on Ecstasy. I gave it to him, Mr. Fowler, I’m sorry.”
His narrowed gaze moves to Mariah and he pinches the bridge of his nose as he lets out a long breath. “I can’t leave here. Can I trust you to get him home if I get the two of you a driver?”
“Yes sir.”
“Aww, do we have to Van Goh?” I ask, following with a cackle as I point to my ear. “Okay, you would laugh really hard at that if I still had the thing on.”
Mariah delivers an elbow to my ribs in a not-so-subtle way of telling me to shut up and stay that way, and Dad’s hand comes down on my shoulder. “I love you,” he tells me, “and I’ll call you when I’m finished here.”
I wrap my arms around him to crush him in another hug, clapping him on the back before we part and Mariah drags me out toward the parking lot.
·
“Sorry,” I cringe as my friend grabs a soda from the fridge to wash down a small white pill.
“Stop,” she laughs. “If you were like, some rando, yeah I’d be miffed. But you’re Emmett. You’re like…ol’ reliable.”
“Eat me,” I cackle.
“No, I mean it.” Setting the can onto the counter, she adds, “Like, you stop if I ask you to and you do things like offer to get tested when you forget to pull out.”
“Wow, congratulations to me for doing the bare minimum,” I say with laugh and a roll of my eyes. I run a lighter under the blunt in my hand to seal it, careful not to let it burn. “You’re sure weed’s okay with this?”
She nods as she drops onto the couch next to me and rests her head on my shoulder. As I light the end of the blunt, she snatches it from my hand and pulls in the first lungful of smoke before passing it back to me.
I take it with me as I move around the table and lower myself to the floor, laying on my back with an arm behind my head. While Mariah makes her way over to take a spot on the ground next to me, I inhale the rich flavor and hold it in my lungs as long as I can stand, letting my mind wander.
Blowing a cloud of thick smoke from my lips, I muse, “What do you think happens to people when they die?”
“Oh, I’m not high enough for this,” she laughs.
She reaches for the blunt between my fingers and pulls it to her own mouth, filling her own lungs with the earthy smoke.
“I hope we get to choose, you know? Haunting people forever or going off to, like, the great beyond or something. I’d pick haunting, a hundred percent.
Do you know how many people I would totally screw with?
” She giggles, passing the blunt back to me.
I hold it to my lips, watching the ceiling fan spin and spin and spin above me, letting myself get lost just for a minute in the steady movement of its blades.
An image flashes through my mind of the fan dropping from the ceiling, crashing down onto my head and making the world finally disappear, but I send the thought away.
“I want the ‘great beyond,’” I tell her. “If we get to choose. I want to just…float away. No pain, no fear. Just peace.”
My friend moves to settle herself on top of me, her chest pressed against mine, and she tilts her head at me with her brow carved into concern. “Are you okay, hon?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” I smile. “I’m just talking hypotheticals.”
“Well don’t,” she says. “You’re freaking me out.”
“Sorry.” My lips meet hers and I slip my tongue into her mouth until she feeds me a quiet moan. “We need burritos,” I tell her with a firm smack to her ass.
It takes us twenty minutes to order some food, another half hour for it to be delivered, and a whopping six minutes to completely devour every bite, leaving a mess of bags and napkins behind. I ignore the phone when my dad calls, sending him to voicemail and hoping he’ll just think that I’m asleep.
I assume that it worked, at least until my phone buzzes with a text message.
Davis: Sign of life.
I respond by sending him a selfie, flipping my middle finger at the camera with the end of the blunt between my lips.
Davis: You wanna party like that again, you do it with me.
Davis: And call your old man, would ya? You’re gonna give him an aneurysm.
I pull open my calendar app and set an appointment to call Dad when I think I’m going to be up in the morning, and I follow with an asterisk: *avoid on Monday.
That can be Tomorrow Emmett’s problem.