from his lungs, "just say shit like that when I've got something in my mouth."
I bite my lip to hold back my laugh.
"Sorry," I say, shrugging, 'cause I really ain't all that sorry.
"Yeah, you sound real sincere," he retorts.
"That shit was so funny," I admit, finally able to release my laughter.
"Only for you," he grumbles.
"That's all that really matters," I start to slur and slouch down into the couch.
"You're fucking crazy," he says, taking a swig from his bottle.
I take one from mine, and respond, "Boys do that to girls."
"What?" he asks, lolling his head toward me.
"Make girls crazy," I whisper, staring but not seeing the wall. "They lie, cheat, destroy you, and when that's not enough, they break into your apartment."
My heartbeat increases. The feeling of suffocation starts to build in my chest, the telltale signs of a panic attack rearing its ugly face.
"That fucker did what?" Xavier sounds pissed, but I'm on the edge.
Closing my eyes, I try to focus on breathing. When it doesn't work, I try to focus on something else.
Turning to Xavier, I ask, "Are your girls okay?"
"Did that asshole break in while you've been here?" he asks again, pressing on the topic I need to avoid.
"Please," I cry, closing my eyes, "tell me about your girls."
The silence that forms is almost unbearable.
"Are you okay?" His large hand comes to my face.
"The girls," I whisper, "I heard you say something about them."
"They're fine."
His other hand lifts to my face.
"Sid, look at me."
My lids flutter open and focus on his worry-filled eyes.
Reaching up, I wrap my right hand around his wrist.
"I'll be fine, just keep talking. Take my mind off…" I let the words die away.
"It's their mother. She's sick," he confides.
"I'm sorry," I say, my chest starting to release the tension.
"She had a heart transplant and her body is rejecting it. Yesterday, she had a bad reaction and had to go back into surgery. She's in an induced coma right now because her blood flow to her brain isn't good," he discloses in a rush.
It takes my mind off the remaining panic.
"Shit, I'm so sorry." I don't know what else to say.
"Me, too. You seem better."
"I'm good, thank you." I nod, pulling my face from his hands.
"Sid, I won't ask anything else, but tell me, did he—?"
"Yeah, right after I talked to my mom on the phone. My parents had to handle it and now my dad is fucking pissed."
That's all he's getting from me. I can't think, let alone talk about it. Bringing the bottle back to my lips, I drain the remaining liquid.
"It's a good night to get shit-faced," Xavier says, taking my empty bottle and handing me the one he just opened.
"I don't want to feel anything," I let the words slip out before taking another drink.
The ping of another bottle cap bounces around the room and misses the trash can again.
"Fuck, I could really go for seeing tits right now, too," he says with mock disappointment.
Bursting into laughter, I sink further into the couch, letting the alcohol numb everything.
Chapter Eight
Xavier
The couch is so fucking soft, warm, and, fuck, it smells amazing. I'm never sleeping anywhere else again.
"Xavier," a familiar voice drifts into my comfortable cocoon.
Why is the couch moving?
"Uh, uh, stop moving," I mumble, burying my face deeper into the softness.
"My God," the voice complains and the couch shifts, trying to move me, "do all lumberjacks weigh this much? Is it the extra hair?"
Sidra .
Opening my eyes, I yawn, evaluating our position on the couch.
Sid lies on her back, beneath me. My body is between her thighs, my head just below her breasts, my left hand lying on one large, round globe, my right arm stretched up her left side. Lifting my head, I rest my chin on her stomach.
"Wanna get off me?" she asks, looking down her body to meet my eyes.
"Not really," I admit, brushing my thumb over her breast.
She slaps my hand away.
"Get up, sleeper molester," she insults, wiggling under me.
"The only thing you're
I bite my lip to hold back my laugh.
"Sorry," I say, shrugging, 'cause I really ain't all that sorry.
"Yeah, you sound real sincere," he retorts.
"That shit was so funny," I admit, finally able to release my laughter.
"Only for you," he grumbles.
"That's all that really matters," I start to slur and slouch down into the couch.
"You're fucking crazy," he says, taking a swig from his bottle.
I take one from mine, and respond, "Boys do that to girls."
"What?" he asks, lolling his head toward me.
"Make girls crazy," I whisper, staring but not seeing the wall. "They lie, cheat, destroy you, and when that's not enough, they break into your apartment."
My heartbeat increases. The feeling of suffocation starts to build in my chest, the telltale signs of a panic attack rearing its ugly face.
"That fucker did what?" Xavier sounds pissed, but I'm on the edge.
Closing my eyes, I try to focus on breathing. When it doesn't work, I try to focus on something else.
Turning to Xavier, I ask, "Are your girls okay?"
"Did that asshole break in while you've been here?" he asks again, pressing on the topic I need to avoid.
"Please," I cry, closing my eyes, "tell me about your girls."
The silence that forms is almost unbearable.
"Are you okay?" His large hand comes to my face.
"The girls," I whisper, "I heard you say something about them."
"They're fine."
His other hand lifts to my face.
"Sid, look at me."
My lids flutter open and focus on his worry-filled eyes.
Reaching up, I wrap my right hand around his wrist.
"I'll be fine, just keep talking. Take my mind off…" I let the words die away.
"It's their mother. She's sick," he confides.
"I'm sorry," I say, my chest starting to release the tension.
"She had a heart transplant and her body is rejecting it. Yesterday, she had a bad reaction and had to go back into surgery. She's in an induced coma right now because her blood flow to her brain isn't good," he discloses in a rush.
It takes my mind off the remaining panic.
"Shit, I'm so sorry." I don't know what else to say.
"Me, too. You seem better."
"I'm good, thank you." I nod, pulling my face from his hands.
"Sid, I won't ask anything else, but tell me, did he—?"
"Yeah, right after I talked to my mom on the phone. My parents had to handle it and now my dad is fucking pissed."
That's all he's getting from me. I can't think, let alone talk about it. Bringing the bottle back to my lips, I drain the remaining liquid.
"It's a good night to get shit-faced," Xavier says, taking my empty bottle and handing me the one he just opened.
"I don't want to feel anything," I let the words slip out before taking another drink.
The ping of another bottle cap bounces around the room and misses the trash can again.
"Fuck, I could really go for seeing tits right now, too," he says with mock disappointment.
Bursting into laughter, I sink further into the couch, letting the alcohol numb everything.
Chapter Eight
Xavier
The couch is so fucking soft, warm, and, fuck, it smells amazing. I'm never sleeping anywhere else again.
"Xavier," a familiar voice drifts into my comfortable cocoon.
Why is the couch moving?
"Uh, uh, stop moving," I mumble, burying my face deeper into the softness.
"My God," the voice complains and the couch shifts, trying to move me, "do all lumberjacks weigh this much? Is it the extra hair?"
Sidra .
Opening my eyes, I yawn, evaluating our position on the couch.
Sid lies on her back, beneath me. My body is between her thighs, my head just below her breasts, my left hand lying on one large, round globe, my right arm stretched up her left side. Lifting my head, I rest my chin on her stomach.
"Wanna get off me?" she asks, looking down her body to meet my eyes.
"Not really," I admit, brushing my thumb over her breast.
She slaps my hand away.
"Get up, sleeper molester," she insults, wiggling under me.
"The only thing you're
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