Chapter 9 A Taste Of Your Own Medicine
Play Bitter by FLETCHER, Kito
I gag as the smell of the vodka assaults my nose. Who in their right mind could enjoy a drink that tastes like nail polish remover? A sad chuckle slips out of me as I tilt the bottle back and take another chug anyways.
Mom and I had gone to go see a movie, not that I could pay attention to any of it after what happened.
My mind was enraptured with Saint. His words obliterated my reality, turning everything I thought I knew onto its head.
I didn’t know what to think now, and it had been easier to think I wasn’t enough than to know that he cares about me-to some level anyways.
It shredded me. A mix of longing for him and guilt over the situation ate at me.
Slowly over the night they had consumed me entirely, leaving me nothing but the desire to drown them out.
So once mom called it an early night, I walked to the liquor store and now here I am.
Sad, drunk, and angry. Going through the motions the way I did finally made me see things from my father’s point of view.
The idea that I’m anything like him disgusts me, but maybe – at first – there was a method to his madness.
I wonder what he was trying to drown out.
I replay the day's events in my head one last time, just stabbing the knife further into my chest. Saint had once used the word ‘selfish’ to describe me. Me? I think to myself, feeling the alcohol slosh around in my empty stomach. “Look in the mirror, buddy,” I mumble with slurred words.
I double tap my phone screen, immediately having to close one eye to stop my vision from spinning out of control.
It’s slightly past midnight, or at least I think that’s the time I’m reading.
A short list of notifications pop up as I scroll down.
A few texts from Abby and one from Saint.
It’s the whole reason I started drinking to begin with.
Saint: please talk to me.
I angrily blow a strand of hair from my line of sight as I reread it for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.
I’m sure he’s perfectly fine, all snuggled up next to Abigail in their perfect little apartment.
I bet she’s wearing one of his shirts and they have a stupid rom-com on.
My self-condemnation beats me down every time she enters my thoughts.
I’m mad at him. Not her. I try to remind myself, knowing she’s done nothing wrong.
She’s a victim in all of this. I know that.
But it doesn’t make the pain any less. Because no matter how much I don’t want to point my feelings towards her, that’s hard to do when she has all I want.
It all happened. so quickly, I didn’t have a choice.
I didn’t want to want him. I didn’t want to hurt her.
The plastic rim of the bottle finds its way back to my lips and I down what was left of the half pint. The last drop that slides over my tongue tastes a whole lot like bad decisions. Still I frown at the emptiness of the bottle as I toss it off the side of my bed.
I flop onto my back, letting the light from my phone illuminate my face. As fast as my drunken mind is able to, I pull up my texts, searching for the only ‘unknown’ in the list. The call button practically screams out to me, begging for me to hit it.
I’m going to regret this. My chest rises with anticipation as I finally press the pad of my thumb against the screen. The soft rings fill the silence around me.
“Hello?” Luke’s voice dances through the speaker.
I bite onto my lip, giving myself one last opportunity to back out. I could hang up now and make some random excuse in the morning. But then another flash of Saint whispering to Abby flashes in my mind, and my mouth flies open. “How mad are you at Saint?”
“So you really always keep your house this clean?” I ask as Luke leads me into the kitchen.
Just like last time, everything is sparkling white, the only difference is that it’s not flooded with people and alcohol.
Now with spotless counters, I’m able to notice all the little details.
A small vase of dried roses sits beautifully by the sink, the dark red petals exposing their depths under the warm lighting.
There’s no pictures hung anywhere in here, but a spice rack that looks like it cost more than our entire trailer sure makes a nice eye-catcher as it hangs on the wall.
Everything here feels so articulated. I’m still not sure how Luke ended up with all this.
If I had to guess, he’s probably a secret nepo-baby.
I’ve never heard him talk about a job, and at our age, even with one this place would be more than impressive.
“So you really are always asking questions?” He bites back, though a hint of humor decorates his language. I slide into a stool and watch as he opens the fridge, pulling out two seltzers for us. He pops the top on both before sliding one over to me.
I raise the bottle as though I’m going to try to give him a cheer. “Touché” I finish off my gesture with a little wink.
He raises the eyebrow under his tattoo with amusement while a small chuckle parts his lips. “So what’s your plan, Miss ‘I’m mad at my boyfriend’?”
I glare at him slightly, taking a long sip from my beverage. The liquid courage slowly died off while I waited for him to pick me up. It’s practically gone now that we’re back to his place. I fidget with my fingers, trying to find the best way to word this. “Well I told you what he texted me.”
I look up at him, the intrigue on his face pushing me to go further. “And I figured we could maybe send him a picture of us.”
Luke rubs his hand down the bottom half of his face, pulling his eyebrows to the center in the process. “Like a selfie?”
I try to cover up my wince of embarrassment with another swig from the bottle. My cheeks burn so bright I’m sure it makes those petals pale in comparison.
“Not quite,” I start off, frowning down at the counter, trying to figure out how to get my point across. “I was thinking something a little more… intimate?”
I practically feel his shock bounce off of my skin, my worry causing me to be scared to look up.
“I’m not going to fuck you, Nova.” He states, still sounding taken back.
His words beat down my ego. Why had I done this?
I want to crumple up into a ball of the floor.
I close my eyes, welcoming the darkness as I pretend to just disappear for a second.
It’s not until I feel his hand on my shoulder, that I finally acknowledge his presence again.
“Hey, you’ve been drinking. A lot more than I have tonight.
I’m not comfortable having sex, but we could do other things.
” A devious grin spreads across his handsome face.
“Oh?” I squeak out, still trying to shake the embarrassment off my skin.
A dark chuckle leaves him in return. Luke grabs my hand, gently tugging onto I hop off the stool.
He leads me through the house and up the staircase once more.
The long strides we take going up now feel eerily quiet compared to last time.
It gives the voice in my head a chance to echo.
“Go home.” Saint’s voice bounces around in my skull.
The bitterness crawls up my spine, making a home at the base of my throat.
I swallow uncomfortably around it as we stand together in front of his bedroom door.
Play Chills- Dark Version by Mickey Valen, Joey Myron
His hand wraps around the doorknob before twisting it open.
I watch as the muscles in his arm contort, making my pulse quicken with anticipation.
The bedroom is much darker, with the large light on the ceiling turned off.
A soft glow comes off a lamp placed on the bedside table.
It gives the room a sultry look to it. Almost like the nice hotels couples get together in, in the movies.
The main comparison is while they all have sweet little blue collar or office worker man, I have a man who could put the devil to shame.
He’s deviant, dripping with lust without even meaning to.
“Are you ready?” Luke whispers into my ear from behind.
The sensation sends goosebumps racing down my arm.
He quickly nips at my ear before walking past me.
I watch as he tugs off his shirt, letting it fall to the carpet.
His muscular back is decorated in black ink, the sight alone sending pulses through my clit.
I let out a shuttered breath as I take a step forward. He’s so intimidating and obviously much more experienced than me. “I want those clothes off, Nova.” He demands as he finishes his descent over to the bed. He sits down on the edge, watching me with curiosity. “Please.”
I reach down, gripping the hem of my shirt in my hands before yanking it over my head.
My nipples harden under his glare, pushing roughly against the simple black bra clasped around my chest. My eyes don’t dare to meet his as I slip out of the leggings I had on.
They fall to the ground, surrounding my ankles.
I step out of them but the movements feel janky, awkward.
“Mmm,” Luke groans with pleasure, the sounds heating up my chest and cheeks with a warm blush.
I take another step towards him, just out of his arms grasp, before I slide my hands up my back and undo the clasp. The bra falls off me with ease, leaving me bare to him.
“What’s that?”
A sly smile yanks at my lip, I stare down at my breasts, taking in the outline of a black tattoo that outlines my left nipple. “It’s a star. I got it right after turning eighteen.” A sad laugh leaves me before I finish. “My mom always said I’d be a star, so I got it as a form of teenage rebellion.”