you
," she interrupts.
I stare at her. She's right. She did kiss
me. But that's not the fucking point, is it? She's drunk, and I
almost took serious advantage of her. Shame floods my chest,
pounding me with well-deserved guilt.
"Rory, you're
drunk
," I remind her.
"Whether you kissed me first or not, I shouldn't have let that
happen, you're my friend." And if she wasn't drunk, she never would
have kissed me.
She slides off of the desk and saunters over
to me, and I wonder if she has any idea how fucking sexy she is,
how dangerous her proximity is right now.
"Please, Sam. So, I'm
drunk. So
what?
Half the girls in Miami hookin' up with strangers tonight are
drunk. And you ain't a stranger, you're my friend. I trust you."
Her voice is breathy and seductive, and she slides her hands up my
shirt, shaking my resolve beyond my capacity for
restraint.
But how doesn't she get
that she's
not
half the girls in Miami? She's
Rory
. And the same rules don't
apply.
"It's not like I'm a
virgin. You don't need to worry. I've never felt this way before,
please, I just wanna know what it feels like to do it
because
I
wanna
do it. Because it makes
me
feel good. Please, Sam."
She's fucking killing me.
She leans up and kisses me again, and in my
head I'm pulling away, being responsible. But in reality, it takes
too long to send the message from my brain to my lips, and I kiss
her back for long torturous seconds before I stop her hands from
exploring any further, and wrench my mouth from hers.
Because I've finally registered her words,
and they don't make sense. I'd assumed she wasn't a virgin, though
I hadn't known for sure. But considering she'd been in what was
presumably a serious relationship with that bastard ex of hers, I
figured they'd had sex. Not that I like hearing it confirmed,
though.
And I don't want her
sleeping with me because she wants to try a casual hookup and she
happens to trust me, because there's nothing casual about this for
me. But it's that last thing she said about doing it because
she
wants to that's got
my hackles up. Is there another reason to do it? I don't
understand.
She stumbles a step, and
I'm reminded of how drunk she is – how fucked up it is that I let
this go as far as it did.
"What do you mean you want
to do it because
you
want to do it? What other reason is there? I ask
her.
She shrugs, and she's starting to look a
little out of it, like she's even drunker than I realized, and I
feel like an even bigger piece of shit.
"You know,
because
. Because I had
to. It ain't like I always got a choice," she murmurs almost
absentmindedly, like she's still just trying to get to the part
where we hook up, and I'm not sure she even realizes what the fuck
she just said. "But now I
want
to. I've never wanted—“
"What do you mean you had to? That you
didn't have a choice?" I cut her off. Is she saying what I fucking
think she's saying?
She blinks in
consternation, as if she's trying to work out what I'm asking her,
but they were
her
words. I curse the alcohol in her system, because this is
fucking serious, and I need her to focus right now. Because if
she's telling me she was forced to have sex with her ex,
then...
fuck
.
Fuck, fucking fuck!
I take deep breaths and try to focus myself.
"Rory. What did you mean?" I ask her slowly, carefully.
But she doesn't answer, instead, her eyes
roll and she sways on her feet.
"I just meant… that right
now, drunk or not, I know what I want, and I want—“ but she gags,
and even though I know she's backtracking, that she's trying to
cover her confession with bullshit, I'm now worried she's going to
be sick and that becomes my first priority. I ignore the fact that
my whole world is spinning. That Rory unwittingly just told me her
ex didn't just hit her, that he fucking
raped
her.
Motherfucking
fuck!
"Ror? Ror, are you okay?"
Her eyes roll back and she squeaks out
"sick" and then she's fucking stumbling to the ground, and I grab
her just in time to
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