Page 15 of Filthy Little Secret

I wrap my arm around him. “Come on, drunkie.”

I guide him to my bike.

Greg starts into a jog toward us.

“If you want out of this, you’re going to have to be faster than that.”

Mark stumbles as he attempts to jog with me. We’re a lot slower than Greg.

I fish the keys out of my pocket as we approach the bike. We hop on, Mark mounting behind me and clinging to me as I rev the engine.

Greg approaches quickly, so quickly I think he might catch up with us, but soon, we’re off, and I’m speeding through the neighborhood, wondering why the fuck I let myself get roped into this mess. Don’t I have enough shit to worry about without adding Mark to the mix?

7

MARK

Icling to Tim. I don’t want to, but I’ve never been on a motorcycle before, so I’m scared as fuck that if I don’t, I’ll fall off.

Why did I drink so much? Why didn’t I just leave? Or tell Greg and Morgan to fuck off? Or do anything other than ask this asshole for a ride?

I was desperate, and it was nice of him to help me out of the jam, but I can’t forget what he did to Keith. He was nice to him. They hung out. He led him on. And Keith isn’t the only guy he’s done that to.

Is that what he wants to do with me?

I won’t fall for it. And it seems that in my wasted state, I’m more determined than usual not to fall for his more charming qualities—like the heroism he just displayed. I see it for what it is: an opportunity to fuck me again. And any guy who would fuck me in this state is a bastard.

About ten minutes pass before we pull into a driveway and park beside a minivan.

His parents’ place?

He hops off the bike and helps me dismount.

I’m even worse than at the house party. I stumble as he guides me along the walkway to the house. Everything appears to be shaking around me. I keep muttering a slurred, “I’m fine,” as though I don’t need his help, even though I clearly do.

He helps me to the front door of the one-story house. What I can see in the streetlight reveals weeds growing in the front yard and bushes with gaps in their branches running alongside the walls. This isn’t like the Governor’s Mansion, with a small fleet of staff constantly working to keep the yard looking pristine.

Tim retrieves a key and opens the front door.

“Watch this first step,” he says, which I still stumble over. I can’t tell if it’s because I hit it or because I’m hardly able to walk straight.

He flips on a light and guides me through a living room into a kitchen.

He turns on another light. Bright fluorescents.

His plan’s working. He brought me here for sex, I know it. Although, at this point, I don’t care. Better to end up fucking him again than staying back at Brody’s place with those douchebags.

I rest my hands on a counter that runs around the kitchen, taking deep breaths, trying to steady my vision, which wobbles all around me.

Tim pulls a glass out of a nearby cabinet and fills it with water at the sink.

He hands it to me. “Drink up. You’re gonna need it.”

I start to drink, but then the glass slips out of my hand and crashes on the linoleum floor.

“Fuck,” I say.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

---