Page 59 of Tulips and Lost Time

And when I peel my eyes open, narrowing them again in defense of the brutal daylight, I groan as my body aches and rejects… life. It rejects the living.

“Fuckkkk.” My stomach rebels, acid rolling along my throat and threatening to make a mess of the already filthy floor. “Kill me.”

“Shh…” Britt moans, lying on her belly so her bare back and plenty of ink I know her family doesn’t know about, flashes back at me. Like the universe wants to remind me exactly who the hell is here with me.

Like it’s not done punishing me.

“I want to die.” I slam my eyes shut again and wait for the reaper to take me. “Make it painful. I don’t even care. Nothing is as bad as this moment.”

“You’re being exceptionally dramatic.” Slowly, she clings to the paltry blankets we’ve left here over the years and turns over, gripping the fabric to retain her modesty. Though I’m not sure it matters at this point. “You’re not dying, Luc. And this never happened.”

“You fucking think?” I force my eyes open and stare up at the popcorn ceilings of the old, dilapidated house. “I slept with my friend’s little sister.”

“No, you didn’t.” She drags the blanket all the way up and covers her face with it. “I don’t remember it. Therefore, nothing happened.”

Vomit teases the base of my throat. The burn of acid, the first layer of punishment coming my way. “You don’t remember because we drank enough brandy to have your stomach pumped. Jesus,” I grunt. “I’m probably going to prison.”

“You’re not going to prison.” She fusses under the blanket, pulling clothes on and making sounds akin to a dying boar. “It happened, Luc. It was Hennessy’s fault. We never speak of it again.”

“Yeah? Real mature.” I drag my hands to my eyes and press down until I see stars. “I slept with my best friend’s sister.”

She laughs. Actual, out loud, barking laughter as she pushes the blanket off her face. “You slept with Sam and Alex’s sister. I assure you, you didn’t sleep with Marc’s sister. That would be way worse.”

Way worse.

Nausea rolls through my belly as I snag my boxers and hurriedly slide them on. Then scrambling from my uncomfortable, make-do bed on the floor of a derelict home, I stumble toward the door that hangs off one hinge and into the yard out back. The instant my feet touch dirt, I toss a gut-full of brown liquor onto the ground, the dirt so hard-packed, it’s almost like spewing onto concrete. It doesn’t absorb. It merely splashes back and coats my feet.

“Ugh. That’s nasty.” Britt stumbles through the door behind me. Her black hair, wild, and the black makeup she wears around her eyes, smudged. She’s still in her emo phase, punk rocker, and pretty enough to tempt a guy.

All guys.

But not me. “It’s like I woke up beside my sister.”

I throw up again, groaning as my chest retches and my stomach empties. “Fuck.” And again. “Britt…”

“Don’t say my name.” She plops her ass onto the wooden step, risking splinters in her thighs and frostbite on her toes. “Just…” She drops her face in her hands. “Don’t say my name. Ever.”

“We fucked up.”

“We hung out.” She keeps her face in one hand but uses the other to stop-sign me. “We are grown-ups who drank way too much alcohol. Then we did some stuff.” She heaves, but locks it in and whimpers. “We are consenting adults. And we used protection.”

She pauses and looks up with her panda-smudged eyes. “We used protection?”

I rest my hands on my knees and simply… wish for death. But I nod. “Yes, we used protection. Condom wrapper on the floor inside. I saw it.”

“Thank god.” She dangles her hand and breathes, heavy and noisy. “We’re not in a relationship now, are we?”

“Fuck no.” But of course, my harsh words have guilt rearing up and eating at my soul. “I mean… not that you’re not worth a relationship, Brat. You’re a good, nice girl and I?—”

“There’s no shotgun pointed at your back. Don’t worry. My feelings aren’t gonna be hurt, and your obligatory marriage proposal is unnecessary.” She rolls her face in her hand and whimpers. “People have sex. You’ve done it. I’ve done it.”

“Wait…” I lift my head and study the woman who shouldn’t be that experienced in all this. “You’ve had sex before?”

“You did not take my virginity. We’re okay.”

“And you’re…” Am I her one-night stand? Or am I her quasi-big brother? Fuck. “You’re being safe and stuff, right? These guys are treating you right?”

“Better than my current experience,” she jokes. But that turns into a growl of anguish. “Why am I smelling purple? What the fuck is that?”

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