Page 68 of Faking Forever 1
CAN’T STOP
that, I had to give him a smidge of credit for not being a pussy.
I’m pretty good at living up to my threats and even better at matching my words with my actions, but this time, I was one unlucky son of a bitch.
* * *
I couldn’t even see stars, just darkness. If I open my eyes, I’m afraid of what I might see, so keeping them closed sounds like the smartest idea. My head feels like it’s being knocked between two metal bins, and my face is soaking wet. Why is my face soaking wet?
“Spike!”
I can hear the other team screaming, sounding like they’re miles away from me, creeping in ever so slowly. When it all hit total volume, I couldn’t refrain from my eyes shooting open.
The warm, wet sensation, as was the hardcore knocking on my brain, was becoming worse. The more consciousness I regained, the more it hurt.
“Fuckme…” I moan, holding my hand to my face, wincing the minute my fingers connect.
My heart race picks up as I fully open my eyes, faced with an absurd amount of blood, puddled in my hand, now trickling down my neck as I sit up.
“Josh,” Paisley full-on teleports to my side, grabbing my wrists with a firm grip, “Oh my god—okay, don’t touch it!”
“It’s broken, it feels broken—” I attempt to give her a response, but unable to breathe out of my nose, I choke.
“You’re the biggest dickhead on Seaside, Nick!” Sierra storms past me, getting snatched up by Beau before she can even get to Nick.
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“C’mon, you need first aid—Beau, help me!” Pea tries pulling me up from the ground while Beau grabs my other arm, assisting her. “Let’s take him to my truck. I have better stuff there,” she adds, dragging me as her little legs move like caterpillars.
If I weren’t on the brink of possibly passing out, Nick would be on the verge of notably getting his ass beaten to the gods.
The mere shock of seeing the copious drops of blood following us to the truck is the only thing holding me back right now.
“Sit.” Paisley pulls me down by my shoulders to sit in the bed of the truck after Beau pops it open.
She stands between my legs, fearlessly placing her hand in the red liquid smeared on my chest.
“Beau, get water.” she directs him, reaching around me for a giant towel.
It was her favorite beach towel, worn and aged but still her favorite.
“No, Pais—”
“Shut up.”
She didn’t reconsider anything before putting it up to my mouth, cleaning the corners and all around it. Her expression was confusingly angry and also scared. I’d love it if she told me to shut up one more quick time, though.
“But it’s your favorite…” I grunt, blinking rapidly as she wipes my face more.
“Stop. Talking. Lemme clean you up first.” she insists, pushing strands of hair out of my face.
Her bottom lip curls underneath her top teeth as she moves closer to me, swiping her finger along my cheek with the towel.
Gentle, but the pressure was inescapable. I let my hands tug at her thighs and hips, exhaling out of my mouth.
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