I'm nervous as I head for the doorway, hoping he doesn't mind if I go elsewhere in his house. He's not in the living room, not in the kitchen. I ascend the stairs, straining my ears, listening for sounds, but I hear nothing. I creep down the dark hallway, toward the bathroom, past closed doors. There aren't any lights on, no sign of him anywhere up here. Pausing in the hallway, I sigh and start to turn around when movement startles me. I yelp, jumping, when someone grabs me from behind.
Breath fans against my cheek as the soft chuckle rings in my ear. "Did I scare you?"
I can't even answer. I swallow thickly, grasping my chest, as Naz swings me around to him. Through the darkness, I can somewhat make out his face, his body a mere shadow in the hallway. He changed clothes, shirtless and barefoot, wearing nothing more than a pair of dark sweatpants.
"Uh, yeah," I stammer, my eyes drawn to his bare chest. "I woke up and you were gone, and it's getting late, so I thought… uh, I thought…"
Jesus, I can hardly think looking at him. Now that I know they're there, my eyes are drawn to his sprinkling of scars, only faintly visible, scattered and veiled like stars in an overcast sky.
He grabs my belt loops, hooking his thumbs in them, as he tugs me toward him, pulling me to his bedroom. "You thought we should head to bed?"
"I thought, uh…" I glance at his face, seeing the serious expression. "I thought I should go."
"You should," he says, pulling me flush against him, so close I can feel the heat from his body warming my skin, "but do you want to?"
No.
No, I don't.
His cocky smirk tells me I don't even have to verbalize that answer. I offer no resistance as he pulls me through his bedroom, his hands quickly and smoothly shedding me of my clothes, leaving me even more naked than him by the time he gets me to his bed.
Yelping, I let out a laugh as he picks me up and places me in the center of his bed, wasting no time before settling on top of me. He kisses my mouth, my cheek, my jaw, his lips trailing down my neck and to my chest. I gasp, my hands running through his soft hair when his mouth finds my breasts, his lips wrapping around a nipple and sucking on it. His teeth graze the sensitive flesh as my back arches from the sensation.
His hands grasp my hips, pinning me onto the bed as he makes his way down my stomach, nipping and licking, small stinging jabs ricocheting across my skin when he sucks so hard I'm sure he's going to leave a mark.
I don't mind if he does.
A part of me hopes he will.
Happiness is a human condition in which...
...what happens when people decide...
...a state of mind if we just...
...bullshit.
Happiness is bullshit.
Just like this stupid essay.
Sighing, I scratch out the line and tear the paper from the notebook, crumbling it and tossing it aside. I've been working on the essay for the good part of an hour, trying to get it written since it's due tomorrow afternoon¸ but that's the best I can come up with.
And I don't even believe it.
It's half past one, and I'm still wearing yesterday's clothes, having just got here sometime around noon. I should shower, and change, but the thought of washing away Naz's scent doesn't appeal to me. I'm exhausted from broken sleep and sore from rough sex, and I want nothing more than to rewind a few hours and go back to the darkness and relive those moments again and again.
That was happiness.
Happiness is being fucked so rough you can hardly breathe, can hardly speak, can do nothing but squeal like a pig as he nails you over and over, pushing inside of you so hard, so deep, that you can feel the man not only with your body, but also with your soul. Happiness is waking up the next morning, barely able to recall your own name, because the only one that mattered in hours was his, screamed so loud your throat is painfully raw, like the name had bled from your lips.
Something tells me Santino won't like that too much.
I rip out that page, too, and toss it in the trashcan, along with the half dozen others I scribbled nonsense on. My eyes drift to the clock, not because I don't know the time, but because I'm wishing it would slow down, each tick leading me closer to Melody coming home from class.
Melody, who texted me all night and all morning, worried despite me telling her not to worry. Melody, who is most definitely going to give me the fifth degree like she is the Gestapo and I'm guilty of treason.
I was worried about it earlier, when Naz drove me home. He asked what was wrong, somehow being able to tell. I said I was worried how I was going to explain myself to Melody, and he merely shrugged and said 'tell her or don't tell her, whatever you want'. I don't have much choice, honestly. He didn't give me much choice.
The love bite on my throat sort of gives it all away.
Happiness is having your very first hickey, put there by a set of soft lips that speak the smoothest words that sound like music to your ears and whispers to your soul.
Yeah, happiness makes you speak in ridiculous riddles and create poetry worse than William McGonagall.
I toss the notebook aside and lay back on the bed, letting out an exaggerated sigh. No sooner do I close my eyes and the door flings open. Melody walks in as I glance that way, her expression full of alarm as she regards me warily. "Jesus, Kissimmee, where the hell have you been?"
"I was… out."
"No shit," she says, dropping her bag before flopping down beside me on my bed. "I figured that much when you weren't here."
"I told you not to worry."
"Yeah, well, you can't disappear all night without me worrying. You didn't even make it back in time for your eight o'clock class!"
"How do you know?" I ask. "Your lazy ass doesn't wake up until I'm back from that one, anyway."
She rolls her eyes, nudging me as I laugh. Her expression shows her amusement for a second before it falls away, her eyes widening. "Is that a hickey on your neck? Oh my God, it is!"
She tries to get a better look but I block her, pushing her prying hands away. "So what if it is?"
"What did you do last night?" she asks. "No, scratch that. Who did you do?"
"It's nothing," I say, the words a bitter lie on my tongue. "He's just a guy."
"Just a guy?" She gapes at me. "A guy you didn't tell me about!"
"Actually, I did tell you about him. You remember that guy from that night at Timbers? The one I went home with?"
Her eyes widen. "So you did sleep with him?"
"No." I hesitate. "Well, yes, but not that night."
"But after that night."