Chapter 28 Hole In My Soul #2
Behind me, I feel Andrew's tension wrapping hot around my skin. When I glance over my shoulder, he’s not looking at us.
“I swear—somebody’s beggin’ for a fuckin’ injury,” he says to no one, tossing the threat into the room—a cigarette into the street.
Meanwhile, we’re leaving, backs turned,
smirking at each other like the devils we are.
When we reach the side door, Mikey shoves it open with both hands, the cold wind slapping us in the face as we slip outside.
We pass a bouncer and round a pile of trash.
Mikey props a shoulder to the brick,
lighter flicking.
Then a cloud of smoke pools between us.
He offers it out. I shake my head.
"Did my fair share of mistakes tonight," I say.
He huffs a laugh, drags slow.
“Yeah, well—Harding’s runnin’ neck and neck with you.” Ash floats to the ground. “There’s shit between you two.”
"Define 'shit.'"
"Feelings," he says around the cigarette, grinning. Then he snatches it from his mouth and points it at me. "Like two strings bitchin' at each other, still tryna figure out what they wanna be."
I shove him in the shoulder,
a laugh scooped out of me—
"You're a smart-ass."
He shrugs, shoving his hand into his pocket,
shoulder bracing against the cold.
"Ay—your logic, not mine."
The wind whistles through the alley.
I breathe out—
Then the truth slips with it,
unexpected and honest.
"Don't know what I'm doing, if I'm being real. But if this is who he is—using girls to make me jealous when all it's doing is hurting me? Hard to come back from that." I pause, try on a hollow smile. "That wasn't part of the game."
Mikey studies me for a long second. Then—
"In his defense—I don't think he knows what he's doin' either." He flicks the cherry, and embers scattering. "C'mon. It's cold as fuck out here."
// 10:53 PM //
Redhead got benched while we were gone.
I guess she didn't accomplish what she was there for.
Now there's a blonde
with purple streaks and face piercings.
She's halfway in his lap,
wearing a cropped mesh tank
and a leather mini skirt,
a tattoo sleeve like a Lisa Frank meltdown.
Her fingers wind up in his hair when she sees me,
twisting at the nape,
grazing slow up into roots.
She's glaring so hard at me
the stare drips hot down the side of my face.
I freeze, heartbeat stuttering at the sight.
My brain's trying to talk me out of giving a fuck. But with every step, it's like I'm scrambling, picking up my stomach,
lungs,
heart off the floor,
carrying myself to the corner of the booth,
back to the wall,
arms heavy.
Mikey lifts his brows at Andrew when he approaches, then leans in on his way to sit down, slapping Andrew's knee with the back of his hand—“Bro… you’re fuckin’ slippin’ hard right now. The fuck’s wrong with you?”
He whispers it before sliding in beside me,
shaking his head.
Andrew's eyes slam into mine,
then bounce to Mikey,
then Nico as he leans back, fist clenching,
ignoring the tits and ass parked on top of him.
He’s not touching her.
In fact,
he’s trying to touch her as little as possible.
Until her lips brush the edge of his jaw.
My brows notch up,
eyes dropping to the floor,
dread filling the pit of my stomach.
“Aight, nah,” I hear Andrew mutter. “You gotta get off me.”
It’s too late.
Pick your poison, Allison—bile, blood, or bottle.
I’d do all three in one motion if my legs worked.
But I can’t move, so I’m sitting here, a fuckin’ corpse with good posture.
Yeah. This is fucking me up. But I’m fine.
In fact, I’m so fucking fine I could scream.
“Did anyone tell you?” she says to me with murderous eyes. “Booth’s for band only, babe. ‘Cept Mae. She and Jay basically share bones.”
But my eyes are busy drifting across the floor,
staying busy,
when I spot Romeo on the other side,
leaning an elbow on a hightop wrapped around a support beam, all smirk and slouch.
And when he catches me looking,
he tips his chin up at me.
Mouths it—‘Miss me already?’
His grin’s climbing, slow and cocky.
And when I glance around the booth,
everyone’s watching me.
I raise my brows. “Hm? Oh, I got distracted. Was someone talking to me?”
Mikey shakes his head, grinning.
“I love her,” he mutters into his drink.
Romeo mouths something else.
I shrug—can’t hear you.
He tries again, then laughs.
‘What?’ I mouth.
He cups his mouth,
louder for the whole floor to hear.
“YOU’RE THE PRETTIEST THING IN THIS ROOM.”
It pulls a smile out of me.
I try to shake it away.
Then Purple Streak’s voice bleeds into the circle again—“What—made your rounds? Neon Grey, Mikey, that guy. Booth-hopper of the night? Now you circled back, waitin’ on a turn with Andrew Harding?”
She’s mid-smirk when—
Andrew snaps his head, wind in its wake,
his voice slamming on the brakes.
“Talia—shut the fuck up,” he grinds out, fist clenching on the backrest close to my shoulder. “Respect the booth, or bounce. Crossin’ me ain’t a fuckin’ option.”
Nico claps once,
loud enough to make everyone jump.
“Ayo! Can everybody shut up for like one fuckin’ second?”
He scans the half-circle,
as if we’re being obnoxiously loud.
“I’m goin’ on in twenty-five, havin’ a breakdown, and nobody’s told me I’m gifted yet. So we’re gonna go ‘round the booth.” Snaps twice. “Mikey—we’ll start with you, baby. Gimme some validation. Now.”
Mikey rolls his eyes. “You’re fine. Shut up.”
Then a blonde’s marching this way—
red lips, fists forming, no smile.
Andrew sees her coming two strides out.
His eyes dart to me, then left to the exit route.
Then they hit the floor.
He scratches his brow, knowing why she’s coming and wants none of it.
“You deadass ignoring me the whole night?” Red Lips asks, eyes fuming. “Andrew, I’m literally waving at you, and you really gonna act like I’m invisible? Just show up with girls hanging all over you like I ain’t shit?”
Andrew exhales with no exit.
Either way, this doesn't end well.
Say the wrong thing, she explodes.
Say nothing, she explodes.
Talia—calm, cocky, and mocking—
“Because you ain’t.”
He lowers his head, rubs his temples,
mutters Italian under his breath.
Then he throws a glance at Red Lips. “Didn't fuckin' see you,” he says, bitter. “Even if I did? Don't owe you shit. And her? She sat herself down.”
Talia slides her fingers across his shoulder.
“Get over it, sweetheart.
“You got yours. You knew the deal.”
Red Lips steps forward,
ready to knock Talia's mouth off her face.
Nico swings in with a bullshit smile,
pulling a drumstick out like a barricade.
“Damn, back up, out of the booth.
“C’mon, bro’s allergic.”
Andrew glances at me,
checking to see what this is doing to me.
So I smile. Because I’m a fucking professional.
And professionals smile while their heart gets stabbed.
“Allergic?” Red Lips grins. “Allergic to what?”
“D-cups,” Nico blurts, trying to make light of it, trying to steer her in the opposite direction. “Yeah. Within five feet? His throat closes up. Face all swollen. Full anaphylaxis.”
She scoffs, turns away from Nico,
and tosses a glare at Andrew.
“Funny.” She steps closer, voice dripping poison. “You weren’t allergic when your mouth was buried between my thighs.” She shrugs. “Unless moaning into my clit with a death grip on my D-cup is how you go into shock.”
I freeze in the words.
Mid-breath.
Mid-thought.
Mid-blink.
Trapped with this image she just stuffed into my skull: her, red lips smudged on the wall he’s got her pinned to, dress bunched, panties looped around one heel.
And I can see him—on his knees, one hand gripping her thigh, the other squeezing her tit, face-first into her pussy, eating her from behind, starving for it.
Neck flexed. Shoulders tense. Moaning into her, wanting to drown there, fucking gone for her.
I stopped breathing.
And then the nausea hits again—
immediate, bright, burning.
My stomach’s about to spill onto the fucking floor.
Her words still hover in the air.
I can fucking taste them.
Each one soaked in acid.
I swallow, burying the sickness behind a breath so no one else sees, hoping my face doesn’t crack.
Maybe I have no right to care.
Maybe I have no business feeling sick at all.
Andrew belonged to House of Vice first.
They had him first. Maybe they still do.
Maybe I got it all wrong.
Maybe this is who he is.
I’m trying to stay cool.
I’m playing indifferent.
I say I don’t care who he fucks,
and I can pretend I don’t if I don’t know the details.
I can lie to myself.
But this? This is slaughter—
his past creeping up with blood on its boots,
dripping through the halls, proud of the mess.
I’m clenching my teeth so hard
to keep one fucking tear from slipping.
To keep my ass on the cushion
and pretend this isn’t getting to me.
Talia giggles into his neck.
“Don’t be mean, babe. She got attached.
“Just let her believe it was special.”
Andrew’s stare presses into me,
but I can’t face him yet.
Red Lips steps back,
her drink sloshing over the rim.
“Guess it’s true. Eat enough pussy,
“fuckboy starts actin’ like one.”
She shrugs, her smile tipsy against her straw.
I blink.
Just blink.
Then drop my head, biting the inside of my cheek so hard it might bleed.
Nico freezes. “Shit,” he mutters. “That came in hot.”
Jay pulls his hood lower.
Andrew’s smiling, arm stretched across the backrest like he's thinking—Universe really said: yeah, him. Fuck his life up. Right now.
Red Lips leaves, and I just sit here.
Unbreathing. Unblinking. Unwell… Un.
I don’t do anything but stare at the crowd,
wondering how the fuck I got here,
sitting in a booth full of strangers,
some chick with purple hair creeping her ass back on Andrew again,
and I’m over here playing mannequin.
I tilt my head—
Hold up.
Did I for real get hit by that bus?
Did I die? Is this my Hell?
I look around.
Talia’s nails skim Andrew’s collarbone.
Then she leans in close, breath at his ear.
“Tell me, baby… you go down on her?
“The same way you do me?”
It’s Hell. Definitely Hell.
And if it’s not,