Wonderfully So (EDITING)

CHAPTER 32: Ghost of You

Windows were sealed shut and lights were off.

Unable to process the hastiness of the situation, I stared emptily at nothing while focusing mainly on the heaviness from my chest. A round, inanimate object made of delicate strings moved rapidly in circles. The more I ignored it, the more it grew bigger and heavier and even harder to avoid.

Cheeks turned redder. Breaths became shorter. Hands continued to shudder. Tongue tasted the bleeding lips from all the nervous biting. My body refused to cooperate with any attempt of throwing away the guilt. It was unshakeable, inevitable. It could not be put away.

Then I grabbed the pillow and sunk my face hard to it, screaming bloody hell. As loud as I could. Ahhhh! How could I have said that to him while we were making out? My thoughts caught up to me and I had no idea why I did that. A morbid idea came to mind, but I found it unnecessary to do it to myself intentionally. The guilt was already doing a fantastic job, drilling and piercing against my heart, in and out, endlessly.

Frankly, it was the first time Eric and I kissed, but it didn't feel like it was. A twenty-year-old married couple claiming to be happy by relationship length but had forgotten the feeling of young love or the butterflies and sparks flying around your stomach on a first date. Yearning for the warmth of a bonfire but all you had was a flitting flame on a broken match. That was how his lips felt.

I wasn't even thinking about him while we were in bed. My imagination drew the face whose lips I kissed, not the face whose lips I missed.

Or maybe it was both.

Regardless, anger lingered; I was mad at myself, mad at my low alcohol tolerance, mad at my stupid lips, mad at my stupid mind — everything about me I hated. Kicking the bedsheets, I covered myself with the blanket. "Why am I so stupid?" I groaned, hitting my head violently, "What am I gonna tell Eric?"

The door opened. The annoying clicking of stilettos entered and distracted me from pounding my head. I paused, listening closely to the sexy voices inside the room. A sound of a zipper pulled down piqued my interest but the woman's laugh echoed in the room.

Gross. I'd say get a room, or in this case, get another room. I tried to peak through the blankets but they weren't sheer enough to recognize the faces. Drunk exchanges of dirty pick-up lines were said. Seriously, who were these people?

The elaborate, french kissing and moaning made me all the more eager to know them. I turned my head towards the left where the disturbing sounds came from. Eyes squinted at two shadows— a tall man and a long-haired woman in his chest level.

I stopped this foolishness and removed the blanket. It was Audrey and Dr. Martin, canoodling like college students. Believe me, when I said, I was not surprised by what I saw. Not even a bit.

The couple was all over one another. They didn't notice me at all. I got to watch a porno in the front-row.

"It's feeling a little funny down here. Why don't you take a look, doctor?" She said like a country movie star from the '50s, hands all over his chest. "Oh, I'll do more than just take a look," the man replied with an accent matching to hers.

"Oh, yes," she purred, "I would —"

"Ahem..." I interrupted.