With one hand on the edge of the couch, the other on Bethany’s hip, I let her lean back and roll on the condom she dug from her purse. My dick’s guarded with the way her dress is bunched up around her waist but if someone walked by the couch we’re on, they’d know. It would be fairly obvious but there’s also four other couples doing the same thing in the house, against walls, on the lawn, where ever there’s a flat surface.
Madison knows what we’re doing. Her eyes penetrate me.
Fucking take it. You stole my heart. You destroy my beats. You’ve done that. Take this shit.
Pushing her panties to the side, or maybe she’s not wearing any? I don’t know. Bethany lets out a moan when she raises up on her knees and then slides down on me.
It feels wrong. My stomach tightens and not in a good way. Though I’m hard, nothing about this feels good to me.
I’m an idiot and just like every other fucking football player here fucking in the hall, on counters, on couches, or in the hot tub.
I’m not like them though. This isn’t me.
I’m sweating, my face feels like it’s a hundred degrees in here and I can’t focus. Bethany wraps her arms around me tighter, grinding against me, rocking her pelvis into mine trying to move faster.
I see the tears stream down Madison’s face and I shouldn’t care.
I shouldn’t.
I’m disgusted with myself. I feel the burn rising, the bile, the beat, it’s back and looking to destroy.
My fingers dig into Bethany’s hip bones as I rock my hips against hers moving inside of her trying like hell to forget. I can’t take this.
“I can’t.” I say but she doesn’t hear me. Bethany just keeps moving, her tits bouncing in my face. “Stop…”
She doesn’t hear me.
I grab her hips when I hear a door slam shut and flinch at the sound because it feels like my fucking head was slammed in it. I stare at the door over Bethany’s shoulder, my head pressed against the side of hers. That door. It’s the one Madison is now behind.
I stare because I’m not her.
This isn’t me. It never will be.
“I can’t.” I say louder, in her ear. Bethany hears me now and opens her eyes, staring down at me like I’ve lost my mind. I have. She has no idea. “You need to get off me. I can’t do this!”
I swallow trying not to vomit but it’s coming, I can feel my throat get tight and dry. I practically throw Bethany off me and run for the door pulling my pants up as I do so. I make it to the door and I’m puking just outside of it.
I’m burning, rising, and falling. Forever failing.
I can’t.
I just… can’t.
I go back to my dorm with the beer and drink despite just vomiting. And then when that’s not enough I take the bottle I know Saylor keeps under his bed for special occasions.
This was a special occasion. It’s fuck you day.
When I wake up in the morning, Saylor is hovering over me shaking his head. “Dude,” he kicks me in the stomach. Not hard, but enough that I’m sitting up. “You puked on my bed last night.”
I steady myself against the wall when I sit up, my hands in my hair as I try to regain some sort of composure. “Sorry, man.”
Saylor looks at my face, the marks covering it and the stitches above my eye. I don’t look like a star football player or someone who maintains a solid GPA all year long. I look like a goddamn train wreck. “Word on campus is Jay’s been asking around about you.” I say nothing, he raises an eyebrow. “I’m not about to start a war with a drug dealer over her.”
I know what he’s referring to. He’d protect me, should I need it but he’d refuse to do it for someone like Madison. A girl he’s never trusted.
“Then don’t.”
He looks at me, and then walks out the door. After last night I can honestly say I gotta give props to Saylor for still talking to me. I remember bits and pieces of it and I did puke on his bed. While he was in it.
November 30, 2013
I can’t forget what I’m see that morning. Cash Bryant is fucking a girl in front of me at three AM. He wants me to see that.
My heart wrenches in pain, lingering in despair and melancholy, only nothing makes that feeling go away. Usually I can get it to ease. Find a way to pull myself from it.
Not anymore.
The Cash I know has always been a happy guy. That’s what I love about him. Not only does his smile get you, he’s fucking pure down to his soul. He’s not mean. Ever. What he said to me, what I see him doing, I deserve all that and then some. I’ve taken this happy boy and destroyed him. I’ve made him hate me in ways I never thought was possible. I made him believe he hated me, when really, he doesn’t. He’s lying to himself. He wanted to but he can’t. A soul as pure as his can’t.