eyes hunt me, calculating in the most disparaging way.
It wasn’t my intention to do anything other than follow my father’s underhanded demands and get a new job, using whatever he offered. I can’t even remember if I got the job.
I need that job.
Any job really.
The worst part is not many snippets of lingering memories flitter through. I drank way too much. It’s been a long time since I’ve had that much booze. Between studies and work, it wasn’t possible. Yet free booze makes me easy. Fuck. Who was that guy anyway?
“Going to ride my cock, Sous?” It’s a challenge, a bet without winnings.
Are the stakes worth the fun?
“Fuck you, old man.”
“Isn’t that the plan?” he bites my shoulder, gliding his teeth down slowly. “Fucking you until you coat my cock with your hatred...”
I shiver, thinking of how foggy that memory is. What did I do?
The moment leading up to this morning isn’t pretty, but it’s my life. Sometimes, that’s all you can do. Use what you have and not complain. Is Francis going to think differently of me for ending up with someone else? Do I care? Yes. I’m not sure why since we mean nothing to each other, and he probably just wants to sleep with me... but I care. It’s not even the situation of nowhere to stay that has me worried, it’s that he won’t like me anymore for it.
Then there’s Gray. She deserves more than my misguided feelings.
My head throbs as I walk to the lobby. “Excuse me,” I nearly groan with the words. Even my own voice has my head hurting. Closing my eyes, I try to remember anything.
“Miss?” a woman’s voice prickles my senses. Her voice is soft as though she knows I’m hungover. Why am I at this desk? My eyes fling open as nausea forces its way up my body. I search for a trash can and can’t find one nearby. The plant by the desk becomes my victim as my stomach sloshes, and I heave until my body breaks out in a sweat.
“Oh, God!” I hear the same voice exclaim. “Sweetie, are you okay?” she asks, worry laced in her tone. I look at her, feeling disgusting and stupid. The embarrassment of vomiting in public makes me want to cry. She probably thinks I’m a tramp or a hoodlum. It’s not like I’m wearing the expensive dress and pumps from last night, I don’t even know where they went. And my bag. Fuck, my bag. “Who can I call for you?” Her voice should soothe me and make me feel safe and less gross, but it doesn’t. It reminds me of Marsha and her need to involve herself in everything.
“I-I’m so sorry,” I start. Then his voice is sounding out from beside her.
“Can you get her a washcloth?” he demands even if he sounds nice. It wasn’t a question toward the nice lady. I stare at him. His perfect hair with his un-hungover face. How is he fine? How isn’t he puking? He must be a fucking alien. There’s not a single droplet of sweat on his perfect brows, and I feel like I’ve run a mile on an empty stomach.
Empty stomach. No wonder I’m a mess. I can’t recall eating a single thing since breakfast yesterday. And since I didn’t eat anything when I went to Dad’s... How am I alive?
“What do you want?” I hiss, hating that he’s seeing me fragile. I’m anything but fragile. He smirks at me, and again, I’m caught with the desire to slap his stupidly handsome face. No one has the right to look like he does after the night that we had—even if I can’t recall the events.
“Such an angry troll,” he taunts. “One would think you’d be grateful to the man who found your bag that you so rudely accused me of stealing.” He tsks at me like an adult would do to a child.
“Fucking Christ,” I mutter, peeved beyond ever before. There’s the need to kiss the stupid smugness off his face and hit it repeatedly. He’s not the only one wondering which I’ll do. “I’m not that short. It’s not my fault you’re a giant! And troll... really?”
“Your hair is red.”
“So is two percent of the world, and that’s not counting the people who dye their hair.”
He laughs at me as the lady comes back with a warm rag. I wipe my face, feeling nothing less than disgusting. “Can I have my bag?” I grumble, handing the rag back to