Page 190 of Unleashed

Chapter 30

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I DON’T DREAM OFTEN, but when I do, it’s of two sumo wrestlers tap dancing on my skull.

Cracking a backlit eyelid, the sun scorches my muddled brain. I roll over, but the firm mattress is Bedrock hell. I run a hand over my side and notice a blanket covering me. I also realize I’m wearing no pants.

I squint as I view my surroundings. An empty lowball glass lies on the floor near my feet. An empty bottle of vodka gives me the finger up close and personal. What the fuck did I do?

And then memories of last night flash through my foggy, hungover brain. Shit, with a capital Holy Fuck.

Remembering I’m in Amos’s basement, I look around but see no one else here. I sit up and check my watch. It’s almost noon. I scrub my face with my hands. I’m pretty sure I did things with Ronnie. I lift the blanket and see a used condom still clinging to my limp dick. Motherfucker.

I yank it off with a snap, which wasn’t the brightest idea, as stale jizz splashes over my groin and legs. Some on the carpet, but who will know?

Holding the rubber, I throw it in the downstairs bathroom’s trash can and find my underwear and pants. I watch and listen for other people, but the apartment is silent, apart from my internal screaming and panicking.

I grab my phone off the bar and see tons of messages. I save a certain one for last because I don’t want to read what it has to say. So, I pick Amos’s.

Took Rhonda to her apartment. We leave at 1:00 if you’d like to...say goodbye. He includes the address, so I have no excuse not to show up. Awesome.

I skip messages from Hadley, Ferrera, and my mother, who hasn’t mastered the art of texting and writes an essay about nothing.

Going upstairs, I take a quick shower, change into clean jeans, and from my duffel bag, I grab the shirt I want to wear. It still smells like my deodorant and Chrome, at least. Yeah, I have clothes here at Amos’s, but this is the only shirt I want to wear today. I don’t bother towel-drying my hair since I don’t give a damn what I look like.

By the time I pull in front of Rhonda’s apartment, boxes fill their cars and they appear ready to hit the road. I park in front of Rhonda’s Kia and wonder if I should be here. Thank God I don’t have to bullshit parallel park today because I would’ve left. Twisting my head around is not a function I possess at the moment. I already feel a million shades of awkward saying goodbye to my friend, who is my boss’s secret niece and who I used for a drunken one-night stand. Sounds simple.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter as I check for traffic on North Vine Street before getting out of my car. I leave my sunglasses on since the Advil hasn’t kicked in yet. How can something that numbed my pain for a night kill me the next day? I’m circling the drain of pain, dreading the second grief yanks me under and tortures me as I drown in slow-mo.

My steps match the pounding beat in my head. Rhonda claims she blends in with the office furniture. Likewise, her apartment blends in with a row of doors slapped onto a gray-painted brick wall. When I reach the sidewalk, her door flies open, and Amos exits holding a suitcase. He does a double-take when he sees me and then squints. “Greg, I didn’t expect to see you here. You look...unwell. Brutal evening, perhaps?”

“Ha. Ha,” I sneer, peering past him into the mostly empty apartment. Rhonda’s perfume floats from the open door, and my stomach twists.

Amos sighs as he looks me up and down. “I came home this morning to make sure Rhonda was awake.”

I shift to watch cars passing us. “Uh, okay.” When he doesn’t say more, I shake my head without looking at him. “What?”

He clears his throat and sets down the suitcase. “Greg...”

I shove my hands into my pockets and bow my head with a sigh that passing cars stifle. “Nothing happened.”

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