I glare as a horrible image flashes through my head. Of some model fucking Daisy. Of her hands on his back, nails digging into his flesh as he pounds against her. It’s wrong. It looks wrong, even if she’s getting off. Because she’s not getting off by me. I want to rip the guy from her body. I want to fucking punch him in the face for separating her from me.
Really—I should be fucking punching myself, shouldn’t I? Why would you ever tell her to go fuck another man? I can’t fucking be with her. I can’t. That’s why I’m here with Emilia. That’s why I have to date again, even if it kills me inside.
But that fucking picture—of her being intimate with someone else—it’s so fucking painful. Someone is drowning me, my throat burning with salt water and rage.
“Ryke,” Emilia coos. “You okay?” She sits up, her legs dangling off the bed and she touches my hand. No I’m losing my fucking mind. I need to go outside, run eight miles and then go climbing. But if I told you that, you’d want to come with me or you’d say I was crazy.
I didn’t screw Emilia last night. She fell asleep right here, too tired to go home, and I crashed on my couch in the living room. She woke up about a half hour ago, appearing buck naked, and then she pulled me into the bedroom.
My cock didn’t even harden.
Even now, there’s nothing. This has never fucking happened to me before. I’m so knee-ass deep in my fucking head that I can’t enjoy this.
She looks confused, and a wave of insecurity starts coating her face.
My gaze hardens, and I lean forward and stroke her hair. “Hey,” I tell her. “It’s not you, I fucking promise.” I even kiss her cheek so she understands that she did nothing wrong. It’s just me. For however fucking cliché it sounds, it’s true.
“We can take it slow,” she says. “I really don’t mind, Ryke.”
“No.” I shake my head at her. “I’m not in the fucking mood for slow.” Just fuck her.
She bites her lip, and then she slides one of my fingers in her mouth, sucking on it. I unconsciously imagine those lips as pale pink, that hair as blonde, that smile as bright, and that laugh as energetic and full of fucking life as Daisy’s.
I harden. Fuck me.
I feel like utter shit, and Emilia is grinning from ear to ear, my finger between her teeth. She lets go. I’m still hesitating, which is so unnatural for me.
“What do you want me to do?” she asks.
Just fuck her. “Lie on your back,” I say with edge.
She scoots towards the headboard. My laptop slides down towards me as she accidentally yanks the sheet. She said she was checking her email this morning, but she should have fucking closed the computer before we started fooling around.
I pick up my laptop, about to set it on my dresser. I glance at the screen—
What the… Daisy. I see Daisy in a Skype window, but she closes out the moment our eyes lock.
What the fuck.
Did she…
How much did she fucking watch? I almost chuck the fucking laptop at the wall, angry at this situation that I’m in, angry at myself. What the fuck is going on? Why the fuck does this shit have to happen? The one day that I try to preoccupy my mind with something other than Daisy’s wellbeing and it backfires. I just don’t understand what I’m supposed to do anymore.
I don’t understand why bad shit has to happen to people with good intentions. I feel like I’m serving an eternal sentence of bad karma for not meeting my brother as a teenager.
“What’s wrong?” Emilia says.
“I need to fucking call someone. Rain check?”
“What is it?” she asks.
“It’s too fucking hard to explain.” I point to the living room. “I have to call a friend. You can take a shower, and then I’ll drive you home.”
She wavers before she says, “Fine.” She leans in for a kiss, but I end up planting one on her forehead. I don’t wait to contemplate whether or not I’ve hurt her fucking feelings; I just shut the door behind me and sit on my couch, the computer on my lap.
I Skype Daisy back, waiting for her to answer my call.
She doesn’t.
I dial her again and then take out my phone. I text: Fucking answer me. The reply comes almost immediately.
I’ll call you on the phone. – Daisy
No. I need to see your face.
She rejects my third Skype session, so I’m forced to fucking call her by cell. She answers. “I’m sorry,” she immediately says. “You called me on Skype like three minutes ago. I thought you wanted to talk. I didn’t see much at all, I promise. Just…go back to doing what you were doing—”
“I can’t. We need to fucking talk about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she says quickly.
I rub my eyes. “Daisy…” What do I say? I’m sorry for going down on another girl? Daisy isn’t my girlfriend. I also warned her that I would be dating again. If this is the right path, then why the fuck do I feel like I need to explain myself?
The answer is there, I just don’t want to fucking accept it. It can’t be my reality.
“Look, I’m sorry you had to see that. Believe me, this is the last fucking thing I wanted to happen.”
“It’s okay. It’s just the cherry on top of a really, really weird night. So weird, that I think it’s going to take years to scrub it all from my brain.”
I frown, my eyes narrowing at the floor. “No one broke into your room, right…” Fuck, Ryke. I run my hand through my hair. I can’t suggest shit like that. “I didn’t think they would.” I don’t want her to think that someone can get in.
“Not weird like that,” she says, her voice high-pitched. Her paranoia practically ekes through the phone line. Her breathing shallows for a second.
“Hey,” I snap. “Have you taken Ambien tonight?”
She clears her throat to calm down. “I will after I get off the phone.”
“Fucking promise me.”
“I fucking promise you,” she says. I hear the smile in her voice.
There’s a soft knock on the door frame to my bedroom. I look up. Emilia stands there, wearing one of my T-shirts. It barely covers her thighs. “Towels?” she whispers.
I point to the hall closet, and she tiptoes there, my shirt riding up to her waist. I don’t look at her bare ass. Mostly because it feels like I’m cheating on Daisy. The guilt just keeps on coming.
I wait for Emilia to return to my room so she can’t hear my conversation. I’ve been in the media long enough to know that friends can fuck you over quickly. Strangers even faster. Eavesdropping on one of my conversations and selling whatever the fuck I said to a magazine was the easiest paycheck five of my old college friends have ever made.
I don’t necessarily hate them. I just don’t go on snowboarding trips and to birthday fucking parties when I’m invited anymore. Two years ago, when the Calloway girls, my brother and Connor were swept up into this publicity mess, I realized we had to band together to survive. From that moment, I knew it was going to be hard trusting anyone beyond the six of us. How can you when a simple fact like I hate Justin Bieber could be worth a grand to a magazine?
The phone line is quiet.
“You still there?” I ask Daisy.
“Yeah.” She pauses. “I don’t want to ruin your time with your…date. We’ll talk later.”
“Fuck that,” I tell her. I haven’t been able to get Daisy on the phone in days. She won’t even let me look at her face. I have no idea the amount of sleep she’s been actually getting. I just want to make sure she’s okay. “What was weird about tonight?”