Nine seconds.
I stand and look away. I should meet his gaze, but now I can’t. I raise my panties and lower my skirt. I swallow, still tasting the seed of a man I barely know.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Why the fuck did I do that?
I look at Caspian. I’d almost welcome his smirk, but he strikes me as almost incredulous. The way he looks now, it’s like he wasn’t involved. I just knelt to suck his cock, but he seems to be judging me for touching it.
Ten seconds.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. There’s a blob on my cheek. And some on my dress. My hair is a mess, and I’m not sure why. My makeup seems in place, but inside my head it’s running black from my eyes, smeared around my whore’s mouth.
A wave of emotion hits.
What did I just do?
And why did I do it?
I didn’t just flirt or kiss him. We didn’t make out. No. I got down on my knees and sucked his cock until he came down my throat.
Tears stream.
Regret percolates.
I try to seem casual, like this happens all the time. No big deal, like it wouldn’t be for Jasmine. Like it wasn’t earlier, when she and James sneaked off to …
To what?
What if Jasmine and James did nothing? What if I only assumed they ran off to have sex, but instead they got coffee? Why did I let it affect my behavior — my morals, my sense of right and wrong? What claimed me on the dance floor, and then even more in here? I’m tipsy but not truly drunk. I decided this, but why — and what was I trying to prove?
The moment has passed, and now everything’s fuzzy. I remember the sense of impulse, of rightness, gnarling me up in the moment. But it was all my choice, and I felt so strong, like this was right. But I did what I did, sure as anything. And Caspian didn’t even have to ask.
I look up to see him still watching.
My vision blurs. I don’t know what to do with my hands or how to position my body. I feel like he’s watching every little thing I do. He looks like he’s holding my key. It’s not that I tried to resist and failed. No. I gave up what he never had to ask for.
Caspian zips up. I think he’ll say something caustic, or maybe touch me. Instead he composes himself, washes his hands in the sink, and leaves without a glance or a word.
He’s out the door, and then I’m sobbing.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AURORA
“AURORA?”
I’M RUSHING PAST JASMINE, past James, past the nice little nest they seem to have made for themselves in the darkened room. They’re sitting and amiably chatting, no sign of drunkenness or debauchery. Seen through my jaded, moist eyes, they might as well be sitting in a meadow filled with sun and buttercups. Nothing depraved here, folks — unless I happen to look in a mirror.
“Aurora? Where are you going?” Jasmine calls.
Past them without turning. Not running, not even rushing, but moving briskly, eyes forward. Not turning, thinking, or hearing Jasmine as she grabs her bag, takes James by the wrist, and follows me with her raised antennae.
“Aurora!”
Like I can’t hear her. Like this is only an oversight.
“Aurora! Wait up!”
She’s scampering behind me. In the lull between songs, I hear her heels on the floor and the clack of another pair of shoes beside her. She didn’t go too far, and he’s still at her side.
Jasmine gets hold of my arm and turns me to face her. I thought I cleaned myself up in the bathroom, but based on the way she’s looking at me, I didn’t finish the job. It was the ladies room after all, and someone had left a travel pack of makeup remover wipes beside the sink. I don’t know why Caspian was there, or why it didn’t immediately strike me that he was zipping up by a toilet instead of a urinal. I only know that I had to erase every bit of evidence. I removed all of my errant mascara, and scrubbed my skin pink. But still, I must be a mess, because Jasmine looks even more concerned than when she thought I was drunk and out of control. Now she looks ready to save me from something that’s already over and done.
“A?” she says.
I feel a tear drip from my eye and slide down my cheek. Traitor. I swipe at it, angrily.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Do you feel okay?”
I offer her the world’s most artificial smile. I know it’s not fooling anyone. My lips won’t work right; the smile becomes something distorted, halfway between counterfeit mirth and ugly sobbing.
“I feel great,” I lie.
Jasmine’s head cocks to the side, and her lips make a serious, businesslike frown. She says nothing, leading me outside into the fresh air. James is still with us. Even if I felt like speaking plainly — which I very much don’t — I couldn’t say it in front of James.