Page 102 of Withered

“That was fucking incredible,” Jake remarks.

“Yeah.” I laugh and pass him some tissues.

“No, really.” He cleans himself and puts his boxers on.

“I’m an amateur. You don’t have to lie to me.” I’m sure he has been with many girls, and they must have had enough experience.

“Don’t care. That was the fucking best handjob I’ve had.” Jake looks directly at me.

I’ve never heard the words ‘handjob’ come out of his mouth before. His indecent words still surprise me, but there’s something completely sexy about them.

As he puts his jeans on, I ask, “Where are you going?”

“It’s getting late. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He kisses my forehead and walks over to the window.

I nod. “Okay. Good night.”

“Oh, I certainly will. Also, have your phone nearby,” he states.

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Why?”

“I might need you to give me another handjob.” He smirks.

I shake my head. “Don’t make me regret that.”

He chuckles and then walks away. This boy needs to use the door. I shut my window and lay down on my bed with no idea when sleep took over me.

The next day, I woke up feeling relaxed. I go downstairs to greet Mom after a long bath.

“Are you feeling sick?” Mom asks the second I enter the kitchen.

I glance at her, puzzled, and say, “No.”

“When I got home, you were sleeping. I tried to wake you up for dinner, but you remained still. I got worried,” she says, her eyebrows are furrowed.

“I ate when I got home. I was working on this stressful assignment, so I slept.” I make up a random excuse on the spot, hoping she would buy it. If she knows the real reason, I’m so dead.

“Rose, don’t stress yourself too much. I know high school could be stressful, but take it lightly,” Mom says. They said that college is the most stressful, so I should just enjoy high school. It’s nice to have parents like them.

“Yeah, Mom,” I say as we enjoy breakfast.

“Where’s Dad?” The last time I saw him was yesterday morning. I miss having him around.

“He’ll be here in an hour. I got his message,” she tells me, and we talk about everything. I tell her about the school, and she shares her hospital stories.

“Hey, Mom?” I call her, uncertainty clear in my voice.

“Yes?” She lifts her head from her book, keeping her coffee aside.

“Jake wants me to go with him to dinner with his father tomorrow. Do you mind if I go?” I’ve already said yes to Jake, and if she says no, I’ll have a problem.

“His dad?” Mom asks.

“Yeah, his parents are divorced. Jake’s mom, Esme, recently got in contact with his dad, and he invited him over for dinner.” I keep my explanation short and to the point. I, myself, have little idea about it.

“Okay, you can go. He seems like a good kid,” Mom says, sipping her coffee.

I laugh a little, catching her attention. Jake and good don’t go together unless it is something physical. “And very smart, too,” I add.

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