Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 129881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 649(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 649(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Jake will fuck me and then dump me.
He’ll think I suck at this.
And then I’ll be responsible for ruining his first time with a guy.
“Um. Yeah. I guess that might be a weird thing to tell your niece or nephew. I don’t know why I said that.”
I pat the mattress nervously and stare at the ceiling and try so hard not to freak out any more than I already am.
“Very weird.”
“I’m not weird. It’s just my thoughts. My thoughts are weird. Not me.”
“I never said you were weird—”
“You’d want to have sex with me right now if the walls weren’t thin, right?” I ask, and I swear to god, my brain is vibrating. “Like, you’d want to do it with me and not just because I’m your boyfriend and you might feel obligated? Wait. Do you still want me to be your boyfriend? Or are we—this isn’t just—I mean, we’re not just going to be fucking around, right? You still want to date me?”
Jake is my boyfriend. He was my boyfriend five minutes ago. He still is.
I think.
Shit. Are we just best friends now?
Why the fuck did I make that sound more important than dating!
I blink hard when the light in the room becomes too bright, but it’s okay because maybe I’ll fall asleep now that my eyes are closed and when I wake up, I’ll be normal again.
I know this isn’t me. I’m not like this. I don’t think like this (all the time). Not anymore.
It’s the coke and the pill. The comedown. I know it is.
Fuck. I know it is.
The button is popped on my jeans, and when I’ve counted to ten in my head and Jake still hasn’t answered any of my questions or asked me any of his own, I finally open my eyes and look down.
And he’s just staring at me.
I whimper because I need him to speak and moan when my eyes begin to blur, and I can’t look at him anymore.
I’m too embarrassed and it hurts now, it actually hurts to see, so I close my eyes again and dig my fingers into my eye sockets and tell him “I’m sorry,” and “I’m kind of dizzy,” and “please don’t think I’m weird.”
“I’ll get you something. Hold on,” he says, and Jake doesn’t sound like he thinks I’m weird at all, but he could be hiding it from me.
I think he is.
He yanks at my pants, prompting me to lift my ass off the bed, and I kick my legs out to help with the rest of the removal as much as I can while trying not to move around too much.
And now I’m only wearing boxer briefs and I’m semi-hard and he can tell, and I’m sure he hates everything about it because he isn’t touching me.
And he would if he wanted to. Right?
The bed rocks when Jake scoots off, and a wave of nausea rolls through me.
I groan, rolling over onto my side.
“Are you going to be sick?” he asks at my back.
“I don’t think so.” I hug the other pillow against my chest. “I’m sorry my first time in your bed isn’t what you deserve.”
“Felix.” Jake sighs. “Shut up.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“Don’t say shit like that to me. You know I don’t feel that way.”
He pulls and wiggles the sheets, sliding them underneath my side until I’m no longer lying on top of them, then he covers me up.
“Sorry,” I grumble, mouth pressed against the pillow.
“Why are you sorry?”
“I’m not like this. I’m better than this.”
“I know. It’s fine.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be right back.”
I peek my eyes open sometime after Jake leaves the room, and I’m relieved when everything in front of me isn’t doubled anymore and I can actually focus.
My vision is clear, and I watch Jake walk around the bed, carrying a glass of water with a straw in it and a bottle of Tylenol.
“Do you want this?” he asks, holding up the bottle.
I lift my chin to speak clearly. “Please.”
He pops out two pills, and he holds the glass for me after I dry swallow the meds. I do that shit out of habit. (Am I a fucking junkie, or what.) I chase the pills with a long sip of water.
Jake sets everything on the small table beside the bed before reaching over his shoulder and gripping his shirt.
He peels it off, and I can’t even fucking enjoy the slow reveal he’s giving me. I can’t stare at him like I want to. I can’t look at him anymore.
I roll over and face the other wall.
Tears fill my eyes because I’m so fucking pathetic, Jake has to take care of me. We can’t just hang out and have fun, and I already forget what his laugh sounds like.
I bet he’s mad. Because we’ve been dating for like, two seconds, and he isn’t kissing me or touching me or fucking me, and I know it really isn’t because of the thin walls.