Page 45 of Make Me Bleed
But even still.
I run my fingers along my abused entrance and gently press my index finger inside, hissing at the sting, even as my eyes roll back in my head at the sensation. The slide is slow and shallow, just enough to give me the pressure and the sensation ofsomethinginside of me, but it’s enough, and I’m panting as I drag my hand over my cock, now erect and straining against my abdomen.
My movements are slow butsofucking good, and I can’t help the way my mind flashes to images of Peris from last night as I bring myself closer to the edge.
The resident curl of his lip, the crinkle of his nose. The obvious disgust he can’t mask—how it marries so well with his desire for me, even now. Even as he fuckinghates me.
“Oh, God,” I stutter, hands shaking as I teeter on the edge, and just as I press my middle finger alongside my index, the stretch is just enough to send me over the edge, and I shoot my load into the water streaming across my body with a loud groan and Peris’s voice echoing inside my mind.
It’s always him.
“Fuck,” I mutter, chuckling as I stare down at myself and watch as the water rinses my cum down the drain.
Time to get absolutely fucked up.
This bar isthe definition of a dive bar, and I love it from the moment I step inside. It reeks of week-old beer and sweat, and I instantly feel at home. The walls are covered in newspaper and magazine articles glued and taped up with graffiti overlaying them. I run my fingers over the sticky walls as I slip my way past the bodies crowded along them.
By the time I make it to the bar, I’m covered in a sheen of sweat, and there’s a smile plastered on my face. There’s a small, local band playing on the small stage, and it’s utterlydeafening.I can’t hear a fucking thing, and that’s just fine by me.
“What can I get for you?” the bartender shouts, and I look her over. She’s in a cut off tank, boobs out for tips, and props to her, I’m sure she’s making bank tonight.
“House tequila and OJ!” I shout back, leaning over the dark, sticky bar, and she nods and goes about making my drink. I hand her a ten and wave her off for the change. She nods her thanks and makes her way to the next patron. I sip my drink and wince at the straight shot of tequila that I get.
Jesus, at least I’m getting what I paid for, I guess.
Shuddering, I make my way into the crowd, and before long, I find myself swaying and bopping along to the music. It’s some small rock band, and while they’re not that great, it’s still fun, and everyone’s just having a great time.
There are multicolored lights flashing and smoke curling around the room. Someone nudges me, and I nearly spill my drink. Just as I whirl around to bite their head off, I see a blunt in front of my face. He dips down. “Wanna hit?”
I squint in the dark for a moment as I meet the stranger’s eyes. Bodies are jumping and bumping around us, and they all seem to slow for a moment as I nod and take it from his hand and take a few, long pulls from the end. The earthy smoke fills my lungs, and I drop my head back with a sigh, relishing in the lightness that fills my head.
“Fuck,” I sigh when I hand it back to him. “Thanks.”
He laughs loudly as he takes a hit for himself. “Sure thing.” And then, we go back to watching the band play another cover of some pop song I vaguely recognize.
Just as I stumble my way out of the crowd to get my third drink of the night, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I lean against the bar and drop my plastic cup against it.
“Another?” she asks, and I nod as I pull my phone out with slightly fuzzy eyes.
“Yes, please. Make it a double!” I squint as I stare down at my screen.
Unknown:
It’s me.
The crazy thing is, I recognize it.
Peris never changed his fucking phone number.
I stare at his text, unanswered, as the bartender drops my drink in front of me and leaves me alone because how the hell am I supposed to respond to him? I shouldn’t have even given him my number—myrealnumber at that—but I did, and not only did I, but I can’tnotanswer him.
But what do I say?
What do I even do?
It’s Peris, sure, but it’s been so long, he can’t be the same person because I know I’m not. So, can I say I even really know him at all? Can I trust my judgement when it comes to him?
No… because I’ve never been able to trust my own judgement. I’m irrational and impulsive. I act first and think never. I’m selfish and impatient, and I don’t give two shits about anyone else in the process.
