Page 14 of One Reckless Summer

I wanted to kiss him. I wanted him to kiss me. I smile remembering him telling me to drink water, that I’d had enough alcohol. Bossy. A bossy, strong, safe man and—good God.

There were blow job shots.

Then, a blow job and I don’t even know his name.

I try to open my eyes, but the world is a horrible mix brightness, discomfort and disbelief.

“Ow, my head,” I complain, flattening a hand over my face in an attempt to block out the sun that’s decided to be up so damned early…

Early.

“Shit. Shit, shit, SHIT.” I throw off the comforter, as I turn to see the red glowing numbers of the digital clock on the bedside table. “Shit!”

Kicking away the sheet that’s wrapped itself around my feet, I half fall out of bed. The floor feels like it’s moving under my feet, throwing me off balance. My clothes from last night are scattered like confetti, and with no time to find clean ones I scramble for anything within reach.

Where the hell is my shirt?

As I frantically search, I spot the note, folded neatly so that it stands like a tent on the dresser. Little Sister, is written in black ink, in rough, thick letters.

He could have done anything to me. I wonder if he did… And if he did, whether I’d mind. Maybe, but only because I want to remember it.

I open the paper, lay it on the table next to my bag, reading as I grab at the closest pair of shorts and shimmy myself into them.

First, I want you to know that I didn’t touch you after you passed out.

You didn’t make it easy though. You were teasing me even in your sleep.

Your cherry is still 100% intact.

There’s a bottle of water here, I want you to drink all of it as soon as you’re awake. And I’ve also left you a carabiner. It might not seem like much, but it almost killed me once, and I don’t know… I just always kept it close as a reminder of how quickly things can change. It’s all I have to give you, to let you know I think you’re special. One of a kind.

Sorry, I have to go. Drink your water.

Your Big Brother

I re-read the note as I secure my bralette and the plaid shirt from last night onto my torso, working the buttons closed, leaving the tails to hang down instead of retying the inappropriate boob-enhancing knot Dolly insisted on last night, and let it fall to cover my belly.

I stuff my feet into socks and my new hiking boots with embroidered flowers on the leather and I know I look ridiculous but there’s no time for primping.

I stuff any of my remaining belongings into my pink Vera Bradley suitcase and tug the zipper around the edge, pulling the handle out until it clicks in place.

My heart is aching more than my head. It’s ridiculous to imagine that I have some sort of connection to the surly, well-endowed man from last night, right? Still, I trace the curling lines of his handwriting with a fingertip.

Tequila really does make you crazy.

I drink down the water, hopping on one foot as I work my socks and boots on, thankful for the cool water washing away the remnants of my hangover mouth.

I’m heading toward the door with one quick look back at the flower garden of a room where I gave my first blow job, taking one last side step, picking up the chipped green aluminum clip thing from the nightstand, and securing it on the belt loop of my shorts with a melancholy ache in my chest as I head out the door.

It’s an unusual gift I suppose, especially for a girl that has no idea really what a carabiner is or does, but somehow it feels personal. Almost intimate, like he left me the most valuable thing he had. A part of him.

Shit. I’m so late…get it together, girl.

My hair is frizzed and half stuck to my face. I stink of booze. And I have no time to do anything about it.

Perfect first impressions.

I find my phone in my bag, which stinks of the spilled beer and whiskey, the screen filled with texts and calls from Dolly.

---