Chapter 4 #2
The fresh air does its thing and reacts with the alcohol in my system, making me realize I had a few too many cocktails tonight. Usually, I’ll drink until the light buzz makes me give zero fucks, but not enough that simply standing makes me feel seasick.
There’s a brief second where I want to go back inside to get my purse, but the long strap crushing my breasts means it’s hanging across my body. I already have it.
Not important.
Or is it?
I’m pulled from my mindless inner dialogue when the Tiny Dancer opens a car door for me and leads me into the back seat.
As I’m putting on my seatbelt, I chuckle to myself.
Tiny Dancer…I thought the nickname would be fun after the song we were just dancing to, but I’m now picturing this man on a table, as a miniature, doing a little jig while the giants all around him cheer him on, like that scene from Ella Enchanted.
He’s not actually tiny at all. He’s taller than me, but compared to my neighbor…he’s tiny.
Pfft. Tanner is too tall. Everyone is small compared to him. I should think of a new nickname for Tiny Dancer, or at least find out his real one.
Sitting next to me, his thick hand grasps my knee and slides upward as he leans in to kiss my neck, and I’ve got to be honest with myself: this feels all kinds of wrong. I’m wasted and acting like a fucking idiot with a guy that has displayed more than one red flag.
I pull away, lifting his hand from my thigh as though he’s a tiger that could pounce at any moment.
“I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ve had too much to drink. I can get my own cab.” My eyes at half-mast, I smile apologetically and reach for the handle. The car hasn’t begun moving yet, so I’m not about to die on the highway.
Faster than I can blink, he leans over and grabs my hand, stopping me from getting out.
“Are you telling me you’re a mother fucking cock-tease?” His features are all screwed up as he stares me down, practically over the top of me, and the driver of the cab just sits there, like I’m not being intimidated by what appears to be a psychopath in his back seat.
I’m too stunned to answer because technically, yes, I am a tease. But most of that is flirting, having fun, drunken, dull senses; none of that equates to a happy ending. His reaction is totally not cool.
The man forces himself on me, his lips pushing against mine so hard it hurts a little.
Then he bites my top lip, drawing blood and making me yell out, giving him the perfect opportunity to shove his huge tongue into my mouth.
Before I can return the bitey favor, he pulls away and slaps the side of my face.
“Go on then, cunt. Get the fuck out.” He opens my door himself and all but pushes me from the car, using his foot to kick me completely out, then slams the door behind me.
The car is moving by the time I’m fully standing, in shock and definitely ready to go home. I have a huge hole in the knee of my beautiful pants, and a bright red graze on the skin there, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to have a fat lip by morning.
Sobering up has never been so easy.
The car sits idle at the end of the street where there are less people and fewer streetlights, and I really don’t want to walk past it for fear of what I know will happen.
I search out the first available cab—they often trail the streets around here at this time of night for stragglers who don’t have the wherewithal to pre order—and I don’t hesitate getting inside and giving the driver my address.
I’ve seen the Tiny Dancer in the club before, meaning it’s now a regular haunt that I can’t use anymore.
There was something dangerously sexy about him that seemed to pull me in, but there was also the awful gut feeling that he was wrong somehow.
Could’ve just been the drunk-vomit bubbling in my stomach, but I wasn’t willing and am not willing to take that risk.
The porch light is on next door, and as though he has a monitor that tells him when I’m getting home, he’s outside. Sitting on the old wooden Adirondack chair that could do with a lick of paint, Asshole is drinking something that looks suspiciously like whisky and glaring in my direction.
I pay the driver and get out, furrowing my brow when I see the headlights of another car down the street. It’s unusual because our little part of town tends to be quiet, peaceful, and doesn’t see a lot of traffic. Especially not at two o'clock in the morning.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Asshole is up out of his seat as the cab pulls away, storming toward me like he’s on a mission.
He gets in my face, gripping my chin and lifting my head to inspect my mouth, then he steps back and scans my body, pausing on my knee before resting his eyes back on my lips.
“You look like shit.” He steps back and downs the rest of whatever it is he’s drinking.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious. Now, if you don’t mind, I want to go to bed.” I don’t even have it in me to argue with him properly tonight.
“Not until you tell me what happened.”
“And why the fuck is what I do have any of your business? Are we on Groundhog Day, destined to repeat the same dumb-as-fuck conversation over and over again?”
Okay, I suppose I can argue a little.
“You’re such a brat.” With a scowl that could kill all other scowls, he huffs like a toddler and stomps away into his house, slamming the door behind him.
Good riddance.
I check down the street and the headlights are gone, so it’s likely it was someone else coming home from a night out. Hope they had more fun than I did.
Tomorrow, I know my limbs are going to ache like a bitch after falling—being pushed—out of that car, and my head is going to try and rip me apart with a hangover from Hell. I know this because the nausea is climbing up my throat faster than I can walk to my door.
I won’t make it to my bathroom.
Quick decision…I rush over to the trashcans and lift the lid…or at least I try to. Fuck! Damn Tanner and his fucking fuck locks. Oh God, it’s too late…
The contents of my stomach eject rapidly, parts of my earlier sandwich flying from my mouth as I double over, using every ounce of my energy to not fall down and sleep right here.
It finally relents and I straighten up, realizing I’m not where I thought I was and these aren’t my trashcans.
Whoops?
Oh well, that’ll teach him to put stupid locks on the trash because my insides are now all over the top and dripping down the sides.
Ugh…I need to be sick again.
Same trashcan…same gross coming out of me.
If I just sit here for a few seconds to cool down…I’ll be fine. I’ll get up once the nausea passes and climb into bed. I can shower in the morning.
Yeah…
So comfortable…