Page 27 of Psycho

I’d skip classes for a day or two, maybe three, but then I’d go. Whether Travis or Declan accompanied me to my classes, waited outside in the halls for me, was up to them. They clearly didn’t want me to be alone, which made sense. Me threatening to kill myself might just push Ray off the deep end.

You know, because my serial killer ex wasn’t already off the deep end before.

I walked into the first full bathroom, not expecting to see the renter of this house bent over the toilet, throwing up, but alas, that’s exactly what I saw as my feet met the bathroom tile: Sawyer, throwing up. A wonderful sight. Really, I’d never seen anything better.

No, wait, you know what? I did see something better, and that was him piledriving my best friend.

Was I bitter about it? Maybe.

Okay, definitely.

Even though the bathroom was a huge one, I still smelled the vomit in the air…and, I realized as Sawyer reached for the handle to flush away his puke, it smelled so bad because Sawyer hadn’t quite made it in the toilet. Not all the way.

Ugh. Gag me. There were other bathrooms in this house, other showers I could use. I was about to turn to leave to find one of those bathrooms when I watched Sawyer wipe his lower lip with a shaky hand.

He looked…pale. Like shit, actually. Sawyer Salvatore looked like he’d just rolled in trash, with his shirt stained in vomit and his hair still greasy from the Halloween party. Thick stubble lined his face, and his green eyes had a difficult time focusing on me.

I must’ve had a questioning look on my face, for he muttered, “I’m fine.” His voice broke as he spoke the two words; he certainly didn’t sound fine, and he didn’t look it, either. If I had to guess, I’d say he felt like shit. Travis was making him quit whatever drug he was on and alcohol cold turkey. That was bound to be tough.

Sawyer deserved every bit of hardship, I believed that, but as I stared at him, as the smell of his vomit permeated through the air, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

Fuck. Why did I feel sorry for him? I shouldn’t. He was a fuck-up, but…so was I. If I was born into a rich family like Sawyer, I’d probably be a fucktard, too. He’d lost his sister, pushed his friends away. He’d alienated himself from everyone.

“When’s the last time you took a shower? When’s the last time you bathed or changed clothes?” I shouldn’t care, I shouldn’t help him, but…I wanted to. I went into the bathroom, breathing through my mouth as I limped around him, yanking open the shower curtain. “Come on,” I said. “Get off your ass and get in that shower.”

“Fuck off,” Sawyer muttered, struggling to get up.

It was…almost heartbreaking to see a man the size of Sawyer having trouble doing the tiniest of things, like standing. Seeing his body shake and beads of sweat pool along his hairline. He hardly looked like a person right now. He was just a mess.

Once he got up, he started to sway, and I caught his large body, nearly falling back because my injured feet couldn’t hold the added weight of his large frame. He just had to be a bodybuilder, huh?

“Come on,” I said again, struggling to guide us back. I lifted one of my feet over the edge of the tub, and Sawyer followed suit, though I heard him mumbling under his breath that he didn’t need any help. I rolled my eyes at that, because clearly the asshole needed more help than he realized.

I might’ve gotten some of his puke smeared on my chin, which was fucking nasty, but soon the showerhead would be running and hopefully it would all wash down the drain.

“You smell awful,” I told him, turning us so that he’d get the brunt of the water first. “You need to bathe, Sawyer.” I released his large frame, figuring he was steady now, and went to turn on the water, making the temperature warm but not too hot. His skin had felt clammy and cold; I didn’t want to shock his senses too much.

“I don’t need your help,” Sawyer muttered, the water hitting the top of his head.

I said nothing as I reached for the shampoo bottle and flicked the lid open. It smelled good, its fragrance musky and manly. It’d be a start to masking the odor coming off him. “You can take your clothes off or not. I don’t care,” I said. My clothes, which were technically his, were getting wetter by the minute. His were already soaked through. “But you are going to wash that hair and get that vomit off you.”

Sawyer must’ve realized I meant business, because he then struggled to take off his shirt. It was the same shirt he’d worn to the party, the same pants, too. He hadn’t gone inside his dresser or closet for new clothes, just keeping the same shit on. His feet were bare; he must’ve kicked off his socks at some point.

Even though it was dumb, my eyes still scanned the six-pack once it was free. Those well-defined squares called out to me, made me warm up in a place I shouldn’t notice. Not when it came to Sawyer. Fuck this guy. Fuck this guy for being so hot and making me feel these stupid things.

I hated him, I really did.

Except…I didn’t.

I tore my eyes off his stomach, shoving the bottle in his direction. By the look of him, he wasn’t going to take his pants off, which was fine. I did not need to see Sawyer’s dick right now. I was liable to cut it clean off after where it was. He dropped the shirt outside the tub, and it landed in a seeping wet mess on the tile. He grabbed the bottle from me and worked to lather up his hair. The bottle was roughly handed back to me.

The Halloween grease, the bodily oil from not washing his hair for days, went down the drain. Or, well, into his wet jeans and then into the drain. After his hair was rinsed, I reached for a bar of soap next. His face, his armpits, everything needed a good scrubbing.

Technically, his dick needed a good scrubbing too…which I should not be around for. Again, kind of felt like cutting it off, but maybe that was just my psycho ex talking through me.

Once he took the soap from me, once his face was washed, I made moves to get out. The shower was larger than the one in my dorm room, so it wasn’t exactly cramped, but watching Sawyer rub his soapy hands on himself was not what I would call a fun time. Maybe I’d call it fun if I didn’t just see him fucking my friend, but eh. That was the state of my life. I’d find a different bathroom to wash my own hair.

I was about to walk out, to leave Sawyer to his own devices—because surely he’d feel like shit for quite a while longer, and I wouldn’t be there to baby him through it all—but he grabbed my wrist as I went for the curtain.

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