Page 99 of Finding Delaware

“Swallow,” he snaps, and I drink him down, the texture foreign but not unpleasant.

When he’s completely drained, he pulls out and lets me go, stepping back as I collapse onto the ground. My arms have gone numb, not strong enough to catch my fall when I crumple into a ball. The fireplace has long grown cold, and I’m shaking, shivering so fucking hard that I can see my breath as my teeth chatter. There’s a dampness running down my chin, on my chest, and a wet spot on my crotch from my own cum.

“Look at you,” Huckslee muses, that cruel smile on his lips, “a fucking mess. Now you know what I felt like that night at prom, lying on the bathroom floor, broken and alone.”

I already knewI want to say, but my throat is so damn raw; each breath islike a shard of glass.

Like the shard of glass I pulled out of his arm that night, putting pressure on the wound as I begged him not to bleed out.

After tucking himself away, he grabs his bag off the floor and swipes Logan’s keys from where they hang near the door. Yanking it open, he pauses in the doorway, his head turned as if he wants to look back but can’t bring himself to do it.

Wait, don’t leave me here.

My stomach churns with nausea, threatening to make me puke. Just like when I made him vomit that night, pushing my fingers down his throat to get the pills to come back up.

Huck’s shoulders lift with a deep breath, and then he steps out onto the porch without a backward glance. The door snicks softly shut, leaving me curled up on the floor, half-naked and freezing. Heart bleeding.

Broken and alone.

Huckslee

March

Shades of green flash before my eyes, different hues ranging from dark to neon.

Twinkling string lights in the shape of little shamrocks are draped over the bar’s low ceilings, and green and gold streamers are hanging down low enough that I have to dodge them. An Irish band stands on a small stage in the corner, stomping their feet to the fiddles they play while people dance and swing about. I’ve never been to this place before, but the owners of the Prospector sure know how to throw a St. Patty's Day party.

“What can I get you, love?” asks the bartender, a tag on her green dress displaying the name ‘Juanita’ and salt-and-pepper curls falling over her shoulders.

“Is there a special?” Giving her a relaxed smile, I follow her finger when she points to a chalkboard above the mirror behind her.

“Midori Sour,” she says with a wink, green eyeshadow glittering. “It’s got Midori liqueur, vodka, lemon juice, lime juice, and seltzer.”

I already know what’s in it, but I grin in response. “Sounds delicious, I’ll take two.”

Chuckling, she goes about making the drinks while I watch the Jazz game on a flatscreen hanging from the wall. March Madness is in full swing. Basketball was never my thing, but I know enough to get by, thanks to Dad making me watch every game as a teen.

“Never seen you in here before.” Juanita pushes two drinks over to me in green plastic cups, ‘I’mFeeling Lucky’ emblazoned on them.

I take a sip as I hand her some cash. “I’m meeting a friend.”

And I’m nervous as hell. I don’t know why; I have no reason to be. Though I haven’t seen him since I left, we’ve kept in touch. It’s not like he’s a stranger. Far from it. So why am I sweating?

Probably because he thinks this is a booty call.

Well, it’s not. At least, I’m pretty sure it’s not. Just because this last month has been the loneliest, most depressing month of my life doesn’t mean I have to fuck him. I won’t.

Honestly, Logan’s desolate mood has started worsening my own. Even the fact that I now have my own room is overshadowed by the knowledge that it used to be Salem’s darkroom for her photography. Seriously, I’ve never seen my best friend cry harder than when he was helping me move my stuff in, and I felt so bad for him.

As upset as I am at Salem for breaking his heart, I can’t help but also feel like he deserved it. The idiot proposed toher on Valentine’s Day. If that’s not cliche enough, he also did it knowing her views on marriage fully well, and I mean...what else was he expecting? Still, though. Harsh deal, man.

“Who is it?” The bartender’s voice drags me out of my thoughts, and I blink at her in confusion.

“Who’s who?”

She laughs softly. “This friend you’re meeting. We get a lot of regulars here, maybe I know them.”

Doubtful because he said he’s never been here before, but I open my mouth to say his name right as I catch him walking through the door.

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