"What the fuck happened to you Saturday?" Cam asked during their next shift together. "One minute we were smoking, and the next, you looked like you were going to hurl."
After the girl left him in the bedroom, Nick texted Pete to let him know that he was leaving. Even in his fucked up state, he felt disgusting and needed a shower.
"I puked. Way too many shots before we got there," he lies. "I went home. Sorry, dude."
Cam chuckles, "Don't worry about me. I had a fucking blast. But, remember that girl we were smoking with? After you left, I couldn't find her anywhere. I thought maybe you two were together."
Nick can't look at him. "Nope, not a clue." He hates that he has to ask this next question. "What was her name?"
Cam thinks for a second. "Um...Eva? Maybe?"
It was Eva. He remembers her telling him that when she offered him the Jell-O shot. A girl gave him head, and he didn't even remember her name. It's unbelievable. That's not who he is. He may have been a player at one point, but he had never done anything like that.
That might be the case, however, because the only girls he hooked up with went to the same school, and Nick had known them since he was twelve. It still feels pretty fucked up that he didn't remember her name, though.
The one thing from the night that Nick can still remember vividly is the feeling he had when he got off. It gave him something that nothing else did—numbness. The alcohol, and the weed, and the social interactions didn't even touch his pain, and in fact, they made it worse.
Which is why he triple checked that Pete was not going to be home tonight. He's staying at Candace's for the first time since school started, and Nick can finally get some...alone time.
He turns the lights off and gets under his covers. He feels like a dumbass making all these arrangements just to jerk off. Fuck, he feels like he's thirteen years old in his bedroom, praying his mom doesn't walk in.
Time to clear his mind. Well not clear it completely. He needs to think of something. He picks his favorite memory. Bailey giving him a lap dance at the party after prom.
The words she was saying to him...
Sometimes, Nick, when I'm alone in bed, I think about...you.
Okay, that's working. Nick wraps his hand around his cock and closes his eyes, picturing Bailey in her bed, hand between her legs.
Your hands do it better than mine can.
Nick feels his heartbeat speed up, and begins stroking up...and down, slowly, trying to remember what her hand felt like during their game of hide and seek.
Could you pull my hair sometime?
Her soft, long hair, splayed across his lap while she was sucking him on the living room couch.
Then he sees her, on that same couch in the daylight, with tears rolling down her face, hate in her eyes.
Don't fucking touch me.
No, no, no. He tries to push the memory away.
Don't talk to me, or even fucking look in my direction for the rest of your miserable life.
He can taste bile in his throat. He rolls on to his side and reaches desperately for the trash can he keeps next to his bed. He forcefully empties his stomach until there is absolutely nothing left. Once he's done, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. What the fuck was that about?
He hears the doorknob rattling and quickly pulls his shorts back up. Candace charges into the room and flips the light on. "Pete?"
"Fuck!" Nick says and raises his arm over his eyes, dulling the harsh light.
"Nick?" He can hear the confusion in her voice. "Where's Pete? And what are you doing in here with all the lights off?"
Nick doesn't answer, he just flops back onto his bed.
She takes in the scene--trash can filled with vomit, his pale, sweaty skin, heavy breathing. "Oh no, are you sick? I'm so sorry. I'm just looking for Pete. He gave me a key..." she's rambling on as she walks to Nick. He tunes her out until she sits next to him and puts her hand on his forehead. He moves it, more forcefully than he intended.
"I'm fine, Candace. I must have just ate something bad."
She ignores his rudeness. "I'm the oldest of five kids. I can see that something is obviously wrong, Nick. Do you want some crackers? Or some ginger ale?"
Nick shakes his head. "No. Thank you. I didn't mean to snap at you. Pete said he was going to your place, by the way."
"I thought we were meeting here. I'm so sorry. I would have knocked, but I saw that the lights were off and didn't think anyone would be here."
Then why did you come in at all?
"It's fine. I don't care." About anything, really. Now he's to the point in his life when he can't even masturbate properly.
She wipes his damp hair off his forehead, like he imagines mothers do when their children are sick. "I'm going to get to the bottom of what your real problem is, someday. I'm very persistent."
No way. "We'll see. Now I think I'm just going to go to sleep."
She nods. "Okay. I'll make sure Pete checks on you in the morning."
She stands and walks out the door, turning the lights off as she goes.
He can't get himself off. There goes his Plan A. Now how the fuck is he supposed to get over Bailey?