Coke

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***THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS WILL BE IN FIRST PERSON 🙃🙃***

He didn't pull out of me as soon as he'd finished the last time. He stayed in me, claiming afterwards it was because he was exhausted. I knew that wasn't true, because I was feeling what I thought he felt. I didn't want it to be over yet. When he did finally pull out, though, he got off his bed. I watched him walk over to a corner in his room and pick up a towel to throw at me. We made eye contact for a painfully awkward moment before he excused himself from the room, after grabbing another towel to wrap around his waist.

After he was out of the room, all I could do was think. About how much different it had been than I'd imagined, and that Malachi my fucking BULLY had been my first time. I also kept thinking about the things we had said to each other and how confusing everything was then. I also had no idea if it would happen again.

I sat up, putting the towel underneath myself. I was still stuck in my thoughts when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror against Mal's closet. He had left bruises, hickeys, and bite marks over my entire body. I suddenly felt sick as a realization washed over me. I'd never told my mother I wasn't coming home, and when my father saw me like this.. Suddenly, my mind was replacing the images of Malachi's hands around my throat with my father's. I could think of the countless times he would end up hitting me with the end of that belt. Or maybe with his fist if he was particularly upset.

I couldn't look away from the bruises on my body as everything went quiet. I couldn't hear the front door open as I felt tears drip down my cheeks, and I couldn't hear Mal's bedroom door open as my body started to shake. I was only brought out of whatever trance I was in with the feeling of a blanket being wrapped around me. I looked up, expecting to see the man I'd just slept with. Hoping to see him.

The face I saw; I didn't recognize at first. "Zach? What are you doing here? What's wrong??" The words didn't make sense to me, but finally I realized who it was. Maverick. I don't know how I'd forgotten about Mal's brother. They could've passed as twins. "Can I help?" He sounded just like him, but so much more gentle.

"Dad's gonna hurt me for this.." I mumbled, making him shake his head. I felt his arm wrap around my shoulders.

"Hey, no. I don't know what's going on, but you're gonna be ok, man." It was now my turn to shake my head.

"I don't even know how it happened.. He called me a faggot, and I just..."

"You fought my brother??" He asked, sounding even more confused.

"No." It was quiet for a second before I stood up, quickly. "I need to go." He mimicked my movements, but said nothing. I knew he felt uncomfortable now that he had figured out what had happened. That was ok, because I could just pretend like he wasn't there while I gathered up my clothes and quickly put them on. I didn't think about it when I grabbed my backpack and shoved Mal's cigarettes in it. I hurried out towards the front of the house, thankful I didn't see Malachi anywhere.

I stopped at the front door to make sure I was covering as many of the marks on my body as possible. I slipped outside as quickly and quietly as I could, hoping Mal wouldn't even know I left. When I realized his car wasn't even in the driveway anymore, I scoffed. I felt so stupid and sad I didn't feel like keeping myself from sitting on his steps and letting my tears out. He knew I would leave, and he wanted to make sure he didn't have to see me. I didn't know what I had thought I'd felt when we were fucking, but I knew then that I'd been wrong about it.

I only let myself be sad about it for a few minutes. After that, I got up, brushed myself off, and started walking away from his house. I looked like a mess. My lips were swollen and purple, my eyes were puffy, my hair was messy, and I had those few visible hickeys and the finger bruises around my throat showing. I pulled one of the cigarettes out of my backpack while I was walking, and lit it up. I didn't know where I was going, but I knew that I couldn't go home that night. So I kept walking and smoking his cigarettes.

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