Mysterious Skin - I Wish I Was (6/15)
Title: I Wish I Was (6/15)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Pairings/Characters: Neil, Brian, Eric, Wendy, WendyxOC
Rating: light R
Warnings:language, mentions of abuse, drug abuse, sexual situations
Summary: Brian's not through with Neil. Neil's not through destroying himself.
Read
Chapter 6
(Neil McCormick)
It was March, and I was back in the café, fighting off the chills and a headache, when I came to a horrifying realization that rattled me straight to the core.
That john… from Brighton Beach… What if he had some kind of STD… like herpes, or hepatitis, or HIV?
A second later I was in the bathroom, puking until I was sure I had puked all of my organs out, leaving me nothing but bones and regret. I leaned my forehead against the porcelain of the toilet, gasping and choking for air. I wiped at my nose and, while I didn't find blood there, I found that my cheeks were wet.
Someone was pounding on the door. It brought forth all sorts of panic in me that I couldn't swallow no matter how hard I tried. I found myself pressing my back up against the wall farthest from the door, just waiting for a knife to come through the lock and the door to bang open and for him to come barreling in to…
I felt bile rising in the back of my throat again, and I shut my eyes tight and tried to take in a few deep breaths to make it go away.
It wasn't fair… the coke had made these feelings go away… but now it wasn't working. It wasn't working. It wasn't working it wasn't working it wasn't working it wasn't
BAM BAM BAM. "Yo, buddy, you gonna take all day in there or what?"
I opened my mouth to tell whoever it was to fuck off, but all that came out was a pathetic gurgle. I swallowed and tried again, and it came out in a whimper, and my vision felt like it was dimming, and I was afraid I was going to pass out right there, sliding down that nasty wall, and then I thought maybe, just maybe I would die there.
I'm tired of it. I want to dream about something else for a change.
Here we go.
I opened my eyes, still listening to the man pound on the door. I slowly unfolded myself from the floor, flushed the toilet, and stumbled to the door. I opened it when I was sure he had pulled his fist away.
It was a young guy dressed in all black that seemed to think he was some sort of badass with the spiked hair. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Sid Vicious," I spat at him. It was hard to ignore the look on his face though… he was looking at me like he'd seen something… horrible.
"Hey, are you okay, dude?" he asked.
"Fuck off," I said. There it was.
(Brian Lackey)
We didn't stop driving down I-35 for hours except for once, around noon, when Eric had to go to the bathroom. He asked me to stand next to him, keep watch for cars and block him from view. I'd never peed on the side of the road before, so he laughed at the look on my face.
Eric had a nice laugh. It squeaked a little, and it didn't sound stilted like mine.
"Technically, you're not supposed to," he explained as we both got out of the car on the side of the highway. There weren't any trees or anything around, just long expanses of flat land that had been there for miles previous, "but when you gotta go, you gotta go, right?"
I nodded, unsure of what else to do and stared out at the road.
There weren't any cars around. I didn't really know why he needed me to keep lookout. I looked up at the sky, clear blue and endless, a lot like Neil McCormick's eyes. The grass hadn't quite grown back yet in the fields, and I wanted to think of spring as a rebirth and the hope of new beginnings, but all I could see was the death and bleakness of winter still rearing its ugly head… So, with nothing that didn't remind me of bitterness to look at, I shouldn't have been surprised when I realized I was looking at Eric.
Eric… who had his pants unzipped and his dick out…
I tried not to look, but I couldn't really help it. Once I saw it, I wasn't exactly able to un-see it. He didn't notice me staring over my shoulder at him at least, so that was a relief, but it was a little unnerving how I couldn't help but peek. I hadn't really seen any other boys like that before… except for Neil and for… him… and I was sure Neil probably didn't look the same down there as he did when I saw him. I knew I didn't…
It was weird, standing there unable to not look, unable to not compare. Eric was similar in size, but I found his a lot… and that was also weird… but a lot nicer to look at… Given, I had my own problems with my genitals, considering that during one of those choking, sobbing bad nights I'd actually considered mutilating them. I didn't feel threatened by Eric's, though.
He glanced, and I turned away. He wasn't like Neil at all, and that was why I didn't feel threatened. Where Neil would have smirked and asked me something along the lines of, "you like what you see?" (I knew he would, even though I didn't know him that well), Eric graciously pretended not to notice, even though he blushed sheepishly on the tips of his ears.
He zipped up and wiped his hands on his pants. "Let's go," he said, and his voice cracked just a little. I could tell he was nervous… Maybe he thought I was disgusted by him just for being a guy. Maybe I should have been… but I wasn't.
We got back into the car, and he cranked up the music, and I went back to my notebook. By that point, I had about three pages of scratched out material. The night I'd decided to go to New York, I'd been so sure about what I wanted him to know… Now, though… I wasn't so sure. I was less sure than ever. Neil was a hell of a complicated specimen, one that I'd wanted to make hurt as badly as I hurt, but the more and more I thought about it, the more I guess I chickened out. On some of my less nightmare-filled nights, I'd started to get the image of him in the front seat of that car on that night, staring me down with that expression like the ability to feel pain was so much worse than the actual pain itself, and it made me feel guilty. He didn't deserve my guilt, I kept telling myself, but I felt guilty all the same.
It wasn't like what had happened to me hadn't happened to him… It had happened to him an uncountable amount of times, like the amount of times mattered… and he had liked it anyway, or at least that was what he had said… As time had drawn on though, I began to wonder if that was the truth. Eric had told me that Neil was a king among liars, so why wouldn't he lie to me? Still…
Maybe that was why I couldn't come up with anything. I was too busy fighting with myself.
However, coming up with something to say to Neil, whether to crush him or to finally get him to open up to me, was not my only mission on this trip. I was determined to find some way to glue myself back together, imperfect or not, and finally start to recover from this. It seemed like an impossibility, but God damn it all, I had to try. If I didn't at least attempt to get better, I would surely put one of my mom's bullets in my head or drown myself in the bathtub or perhaps bleed to death after cutting off my privates.
I thought it was particularly morbid that I'd thought quite extensively of all three things, fantasizing of killing myself because I felt much worse fantasizing of anything remotely sexual.
I had to get better from this.
(Neil McCormick)
I had to get better from this.
I was so high at this point that I was sure my heart was bursting through my ribcage, and I was sure that someone was fucking following me, and I was sure that there just might have been fucking bugs underneath my skin, and I was sure that I had no idea of what I was sure of anymore. The euphoria had not lasted nearly long enough. I wanted to feel invincible and in control again, but it was quickly becoming apparent to me that I wasn't either of those things.
What was happening to me? I kept questioning. What had that guy in Brighton Beach done to me? Well… it wasn't like there wasn't a word for what had been done to me, but… No, no, that's not true. That was a word for girls. That didn't happen to guys like me, to hustlers. I was a prostitute. I liked sex (so why wasn't I hustling anymore?). I liked the way I felt when I was having sex (then why did I panic last time?). I liked everything about sex (then why was it making me sick now?). I wasn't raped. I couldn't be raped because I was a hustler, and I couldn't be raped because I was a boy.
No, that's not true.
Brian had been raped.
Shit, I was sick again. I was sick whenever I thought of him. Why? Fuck, why? Everything was in sheer and utter pieces, and all I could do was clutch at them, letting them cut sharply into my hands, and wish that my blood could put them back in the right spot.
God damn it, who was following me? I looked over my shoulder, searching the crowds, but I didn't see anyone. I scratched at my arm and found that I was drawing blood there. How many times had I scratched? Wait, what time was it?
I chewed on my bottom lip, sucking on the blood that had formed where it had cracked open. I felt like I was bleeding everywhere, especially on the inside, and it had just started seeping out of my arm and my lip and my nose.
What was happening to me?
I stopped in front of a reflective building, realizing that I didn't know where I was, and I caught sight of myself in the glass… at least, it must have been me, though I didn't really recognize me. I was so skinny, scrawnier than I had ever been, and my clothes were just barely hanging on me. I was gray-skinned, except where there were red spots from scratches that had been rubbed raw from my fingernails. My fingernails were a combination of brown and red underneath them. My hair had gotten really long and scraggly, and I remembered I hadn't had a haircut in an extremely long time. In fact, I couldn't really remember when I'd washed my hair, and a quick touch revealed how greasy it was. My teeth were more yellowed than I remembered them being, and my pupils were big and distant looking, and I just looked so fucking… lost.
I'd lost myself. Maybe I'd left it back in Hutchinson… back in Coach's house, curled up underneath the couch, waiting for his ghost to descend and tell me that what we had was real… or maybe I'd left it in that bathtub in Brighton Beach, swirling down the drain like the water and blood.
Maybe I needed to go home. I hadn't been to the apartment in a while, though I'd lost track of time, so maybe it hadn't been. Maybe I needed to smoke some weed and come down off of this high and get some sleep because Jesus Christ, look at those dark circles under my eyes, and maybe take a shower, but… where was I?
And who the hell was following me?
I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans, feeling them slip down my hips some when I did so and trudged on, hoping to find the subway and from there a way away from where I was… Physically and emotionally.
Of course, by the time I'd gotten back home, I'd gotten over that moment of weakness and shut down my emotions, the way I liked myself to be. My high was slowly subsiding, my heart rate slowing and my paranoia dying down, and I wasn't thinking about Brian or Coach or Brighton Beach anymore (if I could help it).
"Hey," I greeted Wendy when I came in, trying to look smiley and chipper and not sick or on drugs or troubled.
"Your job called," she said, and I realized she was sitting on the couch with her arms crossed. She was prepared to lecture or yell or both.
Oh, yeah, I thought idly, I was supposed to go to work today. I'd managed to make it in for the last few shifts, but I'd forgotten again today. Oops.
"Yeah?" I said, playing nonchalant while I lit up a cigarette.
"Yeah," she said, glaring, pursing her lips. "You are aware that you missed again today, right?"
"Um… my mistake," I said. I didn't really care.
"Well, your boss so kindly explained to me that if you couldn't be there when he needed you, then he didn't need you."
I smirked a little. "What does that mean?"
"You've been fired, you fucker."
She was pissed. It was hard for me to think of a time when she wasn't pissed at me now.
"Okay," I said, shrugging.
She exhaled through her nose in the way that told me things were about to get much worse. Maybe I shouldn't have come home, I thought.
"Are you even listening to yourself? You just got fired, Neil. You're jobless. Oh, and may I remind you that you were supposed to pay the water bill last week? The water's been turned off."
I put the cigarette in my mouth and tried to feel guiltier, but I was coming down, and I was tired and agitated and just feeling all around shitty. "Okay," I said again.
"Okay. Okay? That's really all you're going to say?"
I blinked. "I'm sorry." I wasn't… at least, I didn't think I was.
Her jaw was set, and she thinned her lips and blinked up at the ceiling, and I realized that she was trying not to cry. There was the guilt I'd been trying to muster.
"Neil. I can't keep doing this. I can't afford to keep doing this. I've been sitting back and letting you do whatever the fuck you want, hoping that you'd realize what a fucking idiot you've been and get with the program, but I can't wait around forever for you to figure it out."
I didn't like this. She was pissed off, but she wasn't yelling. That was a bad sign.
She stood up, pressing a palm to her forehead. "This is serious, Neil. I let you live with me, but I can't afford to keep this place up on my own. I'm tired of you taking my money and running off to dick around in the city all the time. I can't take it anymore. If you want to keep living here, then you're gonna have to start straightening the hell up!"
There was the yelling… but it was strained and hoarse, not like usual.
"Fuck… I care about you, Neil, I really do, but if you don't get off your ass and start putting a little give in your take, then you can't stay here anymore! I don't know what's come over you, but if you aren't going to get any help, and you're not going to let me help you, then there's nothing that can fucking be done. I can only let you use me for so long, Neil, and I hate to say it, but I think I'm done. I'm pretty sure that I'm just fucking done."
I opened my mouth but couldn't think of anything to say. My hands were shaking.
She sighed. "Look, I'm gonna give you a little time to think this over. I'm going over to Jay's to take a shower."
"What?" I asked, and my voice had jumped an octave unexpectedly.
She raised an eyebrow. "I'm going over to Jay's to take a shower," she repeated.
"I'll go with you," I said.
"Um… why?"
I opened my mouth again and realized that, once again, I didn't have an explanation. "Uh… well… I need a shower too…" It wasn't really a lie.
"Then I guess you should have paid the water bill," she spat back. There was a falter in her gaze though, looking me up and down and at how dirty I was, and then she looked over at my room for some reason.
"You shouldn't go by yourself," I said. Fuck, I just couldn't shut up, could I?
"Why? I've been there something like three times now. It's only four blocks away."
"Yeah, but I mean, how well do you even know this Jay guy, right? He might…"
He might bend you over the tub and slam his dick into you until you're knocked unconscious. He might beat you over the head with a shampoo bottle and call you a slut and make you bleed…
"He might what?" she asked, but she seemed to notice a shift in my demeanor, and frankly, it wasn't that hard to.
I grabbed her harshly by the shoulders, and my voice cracked pathetically, and all I could say was, "please, don't go by yourself!"
She took me with her.
Author: osaki_nana_707
Pairings/Characters: Neil, Brian, Eric, Wendy, WendyxOC
Rating: light R
Warnings:language, mentions of abuse, drug abuse, sexual situations
Summary: Brian's not through with Neil. Neil's not through destroying himself.
Read
Chapter 6
(Neil McCormick)
It was March, and I was back in the café, fighting off the chills and a headache, when I came to a horrifying realization that rattled me straight to the core.
That john… from Brighton Beach… What if he had some kind of STD… like herpes, or hepatitis, or HIV?
A second later I was in the bathroom, puking until I was sure I had puked all of my organs out, leaving me nothing but bones and regret. I leaned my forehead against the porcelain of the toilet, gasping and choking for air. I wiped at my nose and, while I didn't find blood there, I found that my cheeks were wet.
Someone was pounding on the door. It brought forth all sorts of panic in me that I couldn't swallow no matter how hard I tried. I found myself pressing my back up against the wall farthest from the door, just waiting for a knife to come through the lock and the door to bang open and for him to come barreling in to…
I felt bile rising in the back of my throat again, and I shut my eyes tight and tried to take in a few deep breaths to make it go away.
It wasn't fair… the coke had made these feelings go away… but now it wasn't working. It wasn't working. It wasn't working it wasn't working it wasn't working it wasn't
BAM BAM BAM. "Yo, buddy, you gonna take all day in there or what?"
I opened my mouth to tell whoever it was to fuck off, but all that came out was a pathetic gurgle. I swallowed and tried again, and it came out in a whimper, and my vision felt like it was dimming, and I was afraid I was going to pass out right there, sliding down that nasty wall, and then I thought maybe, just maybe I would die there.
I'm tired of it. I want to dream about something else for a change.
Here we go.
I opened my eyes, still listening to the man pound on the door. I slowly unfolded myself from the floor, flushed the toilet, and stumbled to the door. I opened it when I was sure he had pulled his fist away.
It was a young guy dressed in all black that seemed to think he was some sort of badass with the spiked hair. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Sid Vicious," I spat at him. It was hard to ignore the look on his face though… he was looking at me like he'd seen something… horrible.
"Hey, are you okay, dude?" he asked.
"Fuck off," I said. There it was.
(Brian Lackey)
We didn't stop driving down I-35 for hours except for once, around noon, when Eric had to go to the bathroom. He asked me to stand next to him, keep watch for cars and block him from view. I'd never peed on the side of the road before, so he laughed at the look on my face.
Eric had a nice laugh. It squeaked a little, and it didn't sound stilted like mine.
"Technically, you're not supposed to," he explained as we both got out of the car on the side of the highway. There weren't any trees or anything around, just long expanses of flat land that had been there for miles previous, "but when you gotta go, you gotta go, right?"
I nodded, unsure of what else to do and stared out at the road.
There weren't any cars around. I didn't really know why he needed me to keep lookout. I looked up at the sky, clear blue and endless, a lot like Neil McCormick's eyes. The grass hadn't quite grown back yet in the fields, and I wanted to think of spring as a rebirth and the hope of new beginnings, but all I could see was the death and bleakness of winter still rearing its ugly head… So, with nothing that didn't remind me of bitterness to look at, I shouldn't have been surprised when I realized I was looking at Eric.
Eric… who had his pants unzipped and his dick out…
I tried not to look, but I couldn't really help it. Once I saw it, I wasn't exactly able to un-see it. He didn't notice me staring over my shoulder at him at least, so that was a relief, but it was a little unnerving how I couldn't help but peek. I hadn't really seen any other boys like that before… except for Neil and for… him… and I was sure Neil probably didn't look the same down there as he did when I saw him. I knew I didn't…
It was weird, standing there unable to not look, unable to not compare. Eric was similar in size, but I found his a lot… and that was also weird… but a lot nicer to look at… Given, I had my own problems with my genitals, considering that during one of those choking, sobbing bad nights I'd actually considered mutilating them. I didn't feel threatened by Eric's, though.
He glanced, and I turned away. He wasn't like Neil at all, and that was why I didn't feel threatened. Where Neil would have smirked and asked me something along the lines of, "you like what you see?" (I knew he would, even though I didn't know him that well), Eric graciously pretended not to notice, even though he blushed sheepishly on the tips of his ears.
He zipped up and wiped his hands on his pants. "Let's go," he said, and his voice cracked just a little. I could tell he was nervous… Maybe he thought I was disgusted by him just for being a guy. Maybe I should have been… but I wasn't.
We got back into the car, and he cranked up the music, and I went back to my notebook. By that point, I had about three pages of scratched out material. The night I'd decided to go to New York, I'd been so sure about what I wanted him to know… Now, though… I wasn't so sure. I was less sure than ever. Neil was a hell of a complicated specimen, one that I'd wanted to make hurt as badly as I hurt, but the more and more I thought about it, the more I guess I chickened out. On some of my less nightmare-filled nights, I'd started to get the image of him in the front seat of that car on that night, staring me down with that expression like the ability to feel pain was so much worse than the actual pain itself, and it made me feel guilty. He didn't deserve my guilt, I kept telling myself, but I felt guilty all the same.
It wasn't like what had happened to me hadn't happened to him… It had happened to him an uncountable amount of times, like the amount of times mattered… and he had liked it anyway, or at least that was what he had said… As time had drawn on though, I began to wonder if that was the truth. Eric had told me that Neil was a king among liars, so why wouldn't he lie to me? Still…
Maybe that was why I couldn't come up with anything. I was too busy fighting with myself.
However, coming up with something to say to Neil, whether to crush him or to finally get him to open up to me, was not my only mission on this trip. I was determined to find some way to glue myself back together, imperfect or not, and finally start to recover from this. It seemed like an impossibility, but God damn it all, I had to try. If I didn't at least attempt to get better, I would surely put one of my mom's bullets in my head or drown myself in the bathtub or perhaps bleed to death after cutting off my privates.
I thought it was particularly morbid that I'd thought quite extensively of all three things, fantasizing of killing myself because I felt much worse fantasizing of anything remotely sexual.
I had to get better from this.
(Neil McCormick)
I had to get better from this.
I was so high at this point that I was sure my heart was bursting through my ribcage, and I was sure that someone was fucking following me, and I was sure that there just might have been fucking bugs underneath my skin, and I was sure that I had no idea of what I was sure of anymore. The euphoria had not lasted nearly long enough. I wanted to feel invincible and in control again, but it was quickly becoming apparent to me that I wasn't either of those things.
What was happening to me? I kept questioning. What had that guy in Brighton Beach done to me? Well… it wasn't like there wasn't a word for what had been done to me, but… No, no, that's not true. That was a word for girls. That didn't happen to guys like me, to hustlers. I was a prostitute. I liked sex (so why wasn't I hustling anymore?). I liked the way I felt when I was having sex (then why did I panic last time?). I liked everything about sex (then why was it making me sick now?). I wasn't raped. I couldn't be raped because I was a hustler, and I couldn't be raped because I was a boy.
No, that's not true.
Brian had been raped.
Shit, I was sick again. I was sick whenever I thought of him. Why? Fuck, why? Everything was in sheer and utter pieces, and all I could do was clutch at them, letting them cut sharply into my hands, and wish that my blood could put them back in the right spot.
God damn it, who was following me? I looked over my shoulder, searching the crowds, but I didn't see anyone. I scratched at my arm and found that I was drawing blood there. How many times had I scratched? Wait, what time was it?
I chewed on my bottom lip, sucking on the blood that had formed where it had cracked open. I felt like I was bleeding everywhere, especially on the inside, and it had just started seeping out of my arm and my lip and my nose.
What was happening to me?
I stopped in front of a reflective building, realizing that I didn't know where I was, and I caught sight of myself in the glass… at least, it must have been me, though I didn't really recognize me. I was so skinny, scrawnier than I had ever been, and my clothes were just barely hanging on me. I was gray-skinned, except where there were red spots from scratches that had been rubbed raw from my fingernails. My fingernails were a combination of brown and red underneath them. My hair had gotten really long and scraggly, and I remembered I hadn't had a haircut in an extremely long time. In fact, I couldn't really remember when I'd washed my hair, and a quick touch revealed how greasy it was. My teeth were more yellowed than I remembered them being, and my pupils were big and distant looking, and I just looked so fucking… lost.
I'd lost myself. Maybe I'd left it back in Hutchinson… back in Coach's house, curled up underneath the couch, waiting for his ghost to descend and tell me that what we had was real… or maybe I'd left it in that bathtub in Brighton Beach, swirling down the drain like the water and blood.
Maybe I needed to go home. I hadn't been to the apartment in a while, though I'd lost track of time, so maybe it hadn't been. Maybe I needed to smoke some weed and come down off of this high and get some sleep because Jesus Christ, look at those dark circles under my eyes, and maybe take a shower, but… where was I?
And who the hell was following me?
I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans, feeling them slip down my hips some when I did so and trudged on, hoping to find the subway and from there a way away from where I was… Physically and emotionally.
Of course, by the time I'd gotten back home, I'd gotten over that moment of weakness and shut down my emotions, the way I liked myself to be. My high was slowly subsiding, my heart rate slowing and my paranoia dying down, and I wasn't thinking about Brian or Coach or Brighton Beach anymore (if I could help it).
"Hey," I greeted Wendy when I came in, trying to look smiley and chipper and not sick or on drugs or troubled.
"Your job called," she said, and I realized she was sitting on the couch with her arms crossed. She was prepared to lecture or yell or both.
Oh, yeah, I thought idly, I was supposed to go to work today. I'd managed to make it in for the last few shifts, but I'd forgotten again today. Oops.
"Yeah?" I said, playing nonchalant while I lit up a cigarette.
"Yeah," she said, glaring, pursing her lips. "You are aware that you missed again today, right?"
"Um… my mistake," I said. I didn't really care.
"Well, your boss so kindly explained to me that if you couldn't be there when he needed you, then he didn't need you."
I smirked a little. "What does that mean?"
"You've been fired, you fucker."
She was pissed. It was hard for me to think of a time when she wasn't pissed at me now.
"Okay," I said, shrugging.
She exhaled through her nose in the way that told me things were about to get much worse. Maybe I shouldn't have come home, I thought.
"Are you even listening to yourself? You just got fired, Neil. You're jobless. Oh, and may I remind you that you were supposed to pay the water bill last week? The water's been turned off."
I put the cigarette in my mouth and tried to feel guiltier, but I was coming down, and I was tired and agitated and just feeling all around shitty. "Okay," I said again.
"Okay. Okay? That's really all you're going to say?"
I blinked. "I'm sorry." I wasn't… at least, I didn't think I was.
Her jaw was set, and she thinned her lips and blinked up at the ceiling, and I realized that she was trying not to cry. There was the guilt I'd been trying to muster.
"Neil. I can't keep doing this. I can't afford to keep doing this. I've been sitting back and letting you do whatever the fuck you want, hoping that you'd realize what a fucking idiot you've been and get with the program, but I can't wait around forever for you to figure it out."
I didn't like this. She was pissed off, but she wasn't yelling. That was a bad sign.
She stood up, pressing a palm to her forehead. "This is serious, Neil. I let you live with me, but I can't afford to keep this place up on my own. I'm tired of you taking my money and running off to dick around in the city all the time. I can't take it anymore. If you want to keep living here, then you're gonna have to start straightening the hell up!"
There was the yelling… but it was strained and hoarse, not like usual.
"Fuck… I care about you, Neil, I really do, but if you don't get off your ass and start putting a little give in your take, then you can't stay here anymore! I don't know what's come over you, but if you aren't going to get any help, and you're not going to let me help you, then there's nothing that can fucking be done. I can only let you use me for so long, Neil, and I hate to say it, but I think I'm done. I'm pretty sure that I'm just fucking done."
I opened my mouth but couldn't think of anything to say. My hands were shaking.
She sighed. "Look, I'm gonna give you a little time to think this over. I'm going over to Jay's to take a shower."
"What?" I asked, and my voice had jumped an octave unexpectedly.
She raised an eyebrow. "I'm going over to Jay's to take a shower," she repeated.
"I'll go with you," I said.
"Um… why?"
I opened my mouth again and realized that, once again, I didn't have an explanation. "Uh… well… I need a shower too…" It wasn't really a lie.
"Then I guess you should have paid the water bill," she spat back. There was a falter in her gaze though, looking me up and down and at how dirty I was, and then she looked over at my room for some reason.
"You shouldn't go by yourself," I said. Fuck, I just couldn't shut up, could I?
"Why? I've been there something like three times now. It's only four blocks away."
"Yeah, but I mean, how well do you even know this Jay guy, right? He might…"
He might bend you over the tub and slam his dick into you until you're knocked unconscious. He might beat you over the head with a shampoo bottle and call you a slut and make you bleed…
"He might what?" she asked, but she seemed to notice a shift in my demeanor, and frankly, it wasn't that hard to.
I grabbed her harshly by the shoulders, and my voice cracked pathetically, and all I could say was, "please, don't go by yourself!"
She took me with her.