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Here’s to another night I can’t wait to forget.
It’s odd hearing her speak in complete sentences. Usually, she’s too high to hold a conversation—babbling to herself as if she’s the speaker of the house and itching at the skin on her forearms until they’re raw and bloody.
Mom closes her eyes and inhales a deep breath through her nose and places a hand on a jutted hip bone. The dramatic action nearly makes me laugh in disbelief: Nora Bateman almost looks like a disappointed mother. What a goddamn sight to behold. It only took twenty-three years.
Euphoria: A feeling you get from a good fuck, or from stepping off of an airplane after spending almost an entire day strapped into a seat so tiny only your left ass cheek fits.
It's nights like these that I can understand why someone would want to say fuck being sober, and just stay drunk.
Hands are moving, and clothes are flying the second we get inside my apartment.
so she ordered an Uber before they decided to hook up how are you getting back to his place if your Uber was already set
You ask yourself questions like: How did I end up here? I didn't let him put it in my butt, right?
My hair, on the other hand, is even worse than I was expecting. It looks like I just spent the past few hours doing the Kylie Jenner lip challenge.
well that pop culture ref doesn't hold up
I ask, joining her on the couch just in time to catch the intro to How To Get Away With Murder.
🙄
After a solid three minutes, I reach apartment 313. A brown doormat sits in front of the door—the words Welcome To The Shit Show etched in the rough brown material. How fitting.
“Let me in,” she murmurs quietly, inching closer to me. The seconds flick away slowly around us. “You wouldn't like what you would see.”
“Where does that leave you then? What's your so-called addiction?” I ask curiously. My skin flares when he turns and locks his eyes with mine. “You, Gray. I think I'm addicted to you.”
“That's cool. Why is he here? In your kitchen? When you're wearing the same amount of clothes you do when you make coffee every morning after I fuck your brains out?”
“If you see her in the lobby, turn around. If she's in the elevator when the doors open, wait for the next one. If you can see her wherever you are, close your fucking eyes. But I don't want to find you so much as breathing the same air as her again unless you want to spend the remainder of your days in a fucking wheelchair. Got it, Cody?”
I have her shoved back against the living room wall before she can finish her sentence.
