three's a crowd | jenna ortega x reader, emma myers x reader

four

You don't sleep. Again.

Jenna's kiss. Her lips. The way she'd tasted. The way she'd begged you to come home with her. Her Whiskey covered mouth. Her hands, wild, roaming as they gripped you.

You lay in bed, stare at the ceiling trying to will it out of your brain.

You think of Emma. Her smile. Her sweet, good-natured disposition. The way you're going to break her heart in two when you tell her what you've done.

When the sun comes up, you're on auto-pilot.

You pour yourself a coffee - a large one - and sit at your kitchen table, head in your hands.

You're an asshole. If you're sure of anything it's that.

Through all your good intentions you just can't shake Jenna out of your brain. It's like she's tattooed there, ever present. Morning, noon and night. But Emma's there too. It's like the two of them are tugging at you, trying to pull you in either direction. Like the devil and the angel. Only they're both angels and you're the asshole devil who can't decide.

And you're going to have to tell Emma at some point what you did last night. It will be all over your face, you know it.

Asshole? Definitely. Cheater? Sort of. Liar? No.

Not to her. You take another sip of your coffee hoping it will quell some of the nausea at the thought. It doesn't.

And then you hear a knock at the door.

It's Jenna. You look surprised to see her. You figured she do what she always does; drop a bomb on you and then try to pretend like it never happened the next day. You blink at her, hands fall limp at your side. You have no idea what to say.

"Hi." She says. She looks rough, hungover, hair a little messy. Not a shred of makeup on her face. There are a pair of dark circles under her eyes, indicating her similar lack of sleep.

"Can I come in?"

She notices as you hesitate.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to kiss you again."

Your stomach flips with something - maybe disappointment.

Asshole, you curse yourself.

You let her in, hover awkwardly in the hallway, door still half open. You'd offer her a drink - but you've suddenly forgotten how to speak. She looks beautiful - even like this, dressed in last night's clothes. Her lips, red, still swollen from yours. Your eyes dip down to them before you can help yourself.

"I'm... sorry," She says, unaware of the effect she's having on you, "For my behavior last night. I was really drunk."

It draws you out of your reverie. Last night. Walking Emma home. Kissing Jenna in the parking lot. Your stomach churns with guilt.

"We both were." You say, chewing your lip. It feels unfair for her to take the blame, "You don't have to apologize-"

"I do." She says, "I wasn't thinking. It always happens when I drink. I should stop doing that."

She trails off. Avoids your eyes.

"Do you want to sit down?" You offer, but she shakes her head. Leans slightly more towards the open door like it's her escape plan.

"No. This will be quick."

Ouch.

It's not hard to tell where she's going with this. She's about to break up your non-existent situationship again. You lean slightly against the wall, brace yourself for the blow.