Kook King

Explosive

Waking up the next morning is much harder with the curtains drawn and my pounding head. My mouth is as dry as a desert, like I haven't drank water in a week. When my eyes open, the faint morning light that does spill into the room blinds me. It takes me a moment to remember the last two days and where the hell I am.

The space in the bed is empty beside me. The bathroom door across the room is open, and the light is off so I know Rafe isn't in there. For a moment, I panic, wondering if he somehow left or got kidnapped. But then I hear a deep voice on the other side of the front door. He must be on the phone.

Empty beer bottles clutter the bedside table and the carpeted floor around the bed. Rafe's bag of coke is closed tightly on his bedside table-- much of it gone now because we snorted several lines last night. I notice that the duvet is missing and find it on the floor at the end of the bed. Rafe and I obviously pushed it down there while having sex. I hadn't even noticed.

I push myself out of bed, my legs weak and sore from last night. After we ate our takeout, Rafe and I rented a movie, but we didn't really watch it. It was a shitty, cheap movie anyway. Instead, we got drunk and high, and had hot, rough sex over and over again. I'm sure everyone in the building knew it, too, but Rafe and I didn't care. For the first time, we could be as loud as we wanted, away from parents and siblings and the possibility that anyone of our friends could come over to visit at any moment. It led to crazy, rough sex where Rafe was pounding me so hard, we moved the mattress. I was always much more nervous than Rafe about one of our friends coming in, considering my friends absolutely despise. Rafe doesn't care about his friends' opinions of me, and they're all stuck-up kooks who think they're better just because they have a lot of money. I don't care about them.

I now have a bruise on my leg from last night. I don't remember how I got it, but it was probably from either sex or the coke, or both.

I open the door, the sun coating me in warmth. Rafe hangs up the phone, his back to me. I sneak up behind him with bare feet and wrap my arms around him. He's warm and solid. I love that he's so tall; my face smushes right into his back or his chest when I hug him.

He reaches back and tickles my side. I giggle, pulling away. His smile is warm, too, as he takes me by the hands and pulls me into him. I tilt my head up and he pecks me on the lips. "Good morning," he says, his voice raspy. He smells like a cigarette.

"Morning," I coo.

Rafe cups my face in the palm of his hands. "You're so beautiful."

My insides turn to mush as I think about last night; how after we had sex each time, he'd wrap me in his arms and legs. I never felt so safe and comfortable.

I kiss Rafe again. "I'm gonna take a shower."

He nods, smiling at me. "Okay. I'll be in, in a second." Then he slaps my butt before I vanish back inside our room.

The bathroom looks exactly like how a motel bathroom would look. The bathtub is stained, the floor tiles are broken, and only cold water comes from the sink faucet. I sigh, lying my towel down on the closed toilet since there are no wracks. Then I strip in front of the mirror, taking in the deep, purple hickeys all over my neck and chest and breasts. I turn to see my back and gasp. No wonder the skin under my arm hurts. Rafe bit it, and his teeth mark is still there. And then, of course, there are the bruises on my legs.

I'm only in the shower for ten minutes, but I feel much better when I get out. I wipe the fogged up mirror with my hand and brush my teeth. When I finish, I can hear movement in the next room.

I walk out in just a towel, my skin still wet and shiny with water. Droplets fall from the ends of my hair and create a trail behind me on the dirty, old carpet. Rafe stands beside the bed, his head hung over his cellphone. When he hears me, he looks up with a furrowed brow. "What's up?" I chirp.