I shouldn’t have touched her. I walked to the sink and spit, still tasting her and spit again. I turned on the water, filled my hands, and splashed my face to try to cool down. I did it again and again, wiping my face on my sleeve.
I stared at myself in the mirror as I ran my hand through my hair, dragging my nails over my scalp and down my neck. Down my neck, digging in, deeper and deeper.
Come sleep with me, my sweet. And the memory of climbing in her big bed with the thick comforter as she held me to her naked body.
I let my eyes close and my forehead fall into the mirror as I breathed. “I should have fucked her,” I mumbled to myself. “I should’ve taped her mouth, turned her over, and fucked her.”
Everything turned black behind my eyelids, and I was sinking into a black hole. I felt the needles prick at the back of my throat.
I dug out my phone and hit all the buttons without even looking. It started to ring, and I held it up to my ear.
“Damon?” Banks answered.
I paused, breathing hard. “Banks...”
“Do you need me?”
I blinked my eyes open, checking the door to make sure no one was coming in. “There’s no time.”
We had to do this over the phone.
But she started to argue. “Damon—”
“Fuck, what good are you?” I squeezed the phone so hard I heard it crack.
She fell silent, and I pictured her in my room where she was cleaning or reading or taking care of my snakes, and I wished she was here, because this would be so much quicker.
Do it. Just do it.
I heard her clear her throat and let
out a sigh. “You know…” She gave me her best annoyed tone. “I got shit to do. Is this all you’re calling me for? Jesus, you’re such a fucking baby.”
My fingers twitched with the urge to fist. Good. Keep going. I slid into a stall and locked the door. “Go ahead,” I egged her on. “Say that again?”
“Or what?” she shot back. “What will you do? You’re so goddamn weak, you have to call me because someone hurt your feelings? Someone stepped on your toe, baby, is that it? Michael, Kai, and Will must be doing Jesus a favor to even consider breathing the same air as you.”
My jaw locked.
“The only reason I stick around here is for the money, but I don’t even care about that anymore,” she continued, “because I want to fucking vomit every time I have to look at your stupid face. Jesus, I really am sick of this shit.”
My chest shook, and I balled my fist over and over again. She’s lying. She’s doing what she’s supposed to do. I need her to hurt me, because pain covers up pain, and if I feel one, I won’t feel the other. I need her to push back down what tries to crop back up.
“What?” She smarted off. “What are you going to say? Nothing, that’s what. You can’t even manage an hour away from me before you’re having a Malibu-fucking-Barbie panic attack. No wonder Daddy likes me best. I’m the son he always wanted.”
And I feel a slice inside my stomach. That one cut.
Because I thought she might be right. My father wouldn’t even acknowledge her as his kid, but he trusted her. He entrusted her.
Her. A bastard gutter rat who would be turning tricks just like her junkie mother if I hadn’t literally bought her ass when she was twelve. She lived in a mansion, because of me. She had three meals a day, because of me. She was safe, because of me.
“What did you say?” I gritted out.
I could hear her breathing shake. She was losing the nerve. “Damon, please…”
“Say it again!”
She gasped, choking down her tears and forcing the words out. “We laugh about you every day while you’re gone.” Her voice grew harder. “He can’t trust you to grow up. He can’t give you any responsibility. Everyone laughs about you. Especially the guy doing me in your bed right now.”