Page 23 of The Order of Disorder
“Let’s get you comfortable,” she says quietly. With careful hands, she peels the pasties from my skin with practiced ease. “There,” she says, almost to herself, running a finger over my nipples to search for any remaining adhesive. “Better?”
I nod numbly and then pull Wyatt’s cut closer around me, tucking the collar under my chin, unwilling to remove it.
I feel…empty. Gutted. Like something inside me got scooped out and thrown away. My body is here, but my mind is in the past—crouching by a tire in Leathernecks, or curled up on Wyatt’s couch making fun of a bad TV show together. I’m searching the past for any sign that I got it wrong somehow. That I missed something.
Rox steps out briefly, then comes back with a glass of water. I drink the whole thing down, suddenly parched, and then lie down.
She climbs in behind me, spooning her body gently around mine. One arm curls softly around my waist.
The noise on the first floor is even louder than it is upstairs. It’s brutal and oppressive, like trying to fall asleep on a dance floor. But at least I’m not falling asleep listening to the sound of Billy’s breathing. My limbs are made of stone. Exhaustion overcomes me. And somehow, unthinkably, I fall asleep.
I blink awake, unsure of where I am. It takes a moment to orient myself—to remember that I’m in Rox’s room.
It’s quieter now. The music has stopped, the shouting silenced. It must be well into the early morning. But even in the hush, I realize it was noise that woke me. Murmured voices. Soft, wet sounds.
The room is steeped in darkness, except for the faintest blue-gray wash bleeding in under the door from the hallway. My eyes adjust just enough to make out two shapes by the far wall.
A man—big and burly, with hair brushing his shoulders—is sprawled out in the chair beside the bed. Rox is on her knees between his legs, bobbing her head in slow, unmistakable motions.
“Shit,” the man whispers, voice rough and low. “Fuck, baby…that’s good.”
Rox murmurs in response—a nothing sound, lilting and inviting.
He groans, his fingers tangling in her hair. “You trying to make me blow in thirty seconds?”
She pulls back just long enough to catch her breath and giggles quietly. “Be quiet,” she whispers.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “Fuck. I don’t think I can.”
I lie still, watching sleepily, listening to the wet, rhythmic sound of her mouth and his stuttered breathing.
My limbs are heavy. My brain cotton-thick. But I don’t close my eyes.
It’s…pleasant, almost. To witness this. No shame. No judgment. Just interest.
The man gasps, his head tipping back, and speaks more loudly. “Oh, I’m close, baby. Oh fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”
“Shh,” Rox whispers again, a little firmer this time.
“Fuck it,” he whispers, and then his breath catches. “Fuck. Right there, baby. Fuck!”
His body goes rigid, his chest lifting with a stuttered gasp. “Shit,” he groans. “Oh God, baby. I’m coming.”
He shudders hard, hips twitching as he comes in her mouth, the sound of it drawn out in one low, unraveling moan.
Rox lingers for a beat longer. Then she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and stands. I can tell by her shape that she’s completely naked.
They move quietly now. Soft laughter and whispered words I can’t catch.
I close my eyes, measuring my breathing. Keeping it slow. Keeping it quiet.
The blanket flutters, and the bed dips behind me. Rox curls into my back like before, only this time I become aware of her skin, the bare feeling of her flesh against my ass. Then another weight joins us, the man, settling behind Rox. The mattress sinks deeper under him. His hand grazes my elbow as he tucks an arm around her, the back of his knuckles brushing against me.
Rox exhales slowly, steady and warm, and he murmurs something so soft it doesn’t reach me, even though he’s inches away.
I stay still. Eyes closed. Breathing even.
But without any distractions, my thoughts wander.
