The Wicked
: Chapter 6

I feel restless. Anxious.

I need to get fucked. I need to feel the type of bliss and distraction that only an orgasm can achieve. I’m not even entirely picky about who gives it to me; I just need to release the tension clawing its way down my spine.

The tip of the iceberg, the cherry on top of my shit sundae, was that god awful meeting at Luxington High today. I’m more stressed than I’ve ever been thinking about shadowing that mean ass woman for an entire year.

The more time I’ve spent obsessing and overthinking my brief exchange with Barbara Justice, the more I conclude that she’s going to make this year incredibly unpleasant. That could be my mind creating false assumptions and narrations of the situation, but right now, I’m 99% sure this is going to be horrible. She’s never going to take me seriously because of my age, because of my lack of experience, and because I stumbled over my goddamn words when we met.

Katie has told me I’m crazy a handful of times today, that I can’t possibly know anything about Mrs. Justice based on a one-minute encounter. That it wasn’t enough to really tell me anything concrete. But my intuition is sharp as a motherfucker. You have to have a sixth sense when you grow up in foster care and know how to read people right off the bat, and Barbara Justice is a straight-up difficult bitch.

So, now I’m not looking forward to my first ever school year as a teacher.

That’s why I need a release tonight.

Because on top of my dad dying of cancer, having to move back to my hometown, and losing all sense of normalcy I’ve built over the last four years, I’m also dreading my dream job.

I’m self-aware enough to know that the feeling will pass, but why not get sloppy wasted and fucked by someone while I’m downward spiraling?

I’m on my third drink of the night, my limbs nice and light from the alcohol, and rolling my hips against some tall, dark, and handsome guy at Amethyst.

He keeps trying to slip his hands under my skirt, as if I’m drunk enough to get fingerbanged on the dancefloor, and it’s starting to piss me off.

Listen, I’m not one to judge. You want to get finger-fucked on the dancefloor, by all means, do it. I’ve participated in my share of exhibitionist shit, but I’m not feeling it tonight. This random guy is taking my downward spiral and making it feel gross. Because, as we all know, men ruin everything.

I would like to get shitfaced drunk, take an Uber back to my apartment with this man, and ride him until I have to change the sheets. I’m a simple girl.

But I want to dance for a bit first, get all sweaty and needy, so the sex is really fucking good, and have at least six drinks to take my confidence up ten notches.

Katie is dancing with his friend, and he doesn’t seem to be trying to finger her on the dance floor, which makes me jealous.

When Tall, Dark, and Handsome reaches for my panties for a fourth time, I almost punch him. He’s making me want to just go home and spend the night with my vibrator instead.

Laying my hand atop his, I give him my best smile, and his brows pull down in confusion.

With irritation sizzling through my veins, I lean into him and shout my lie over the music. “I’m going to go to the ladies’ room.”

He nods, and I turn to head for the storage closet I stumbled upon last night. I need a moment of peace, some sort of solace to get my groove back.

The back hallway is empty, so I don’t hesitate to push through the door of the storage room. I stop in my tracks when I replace someone kneeled over the table on the other side of the room, sniffing a powder from the surface.

When he hears me, he turns to look up at me.

You wanna dance with me, beautiful?

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groan, taking a step farther into the closet. “Do you live in here?”

He wipes the back of his hand over his nose, tosses the rolled-up bill in his hand onto the table, and laughs. “No.”

“Are you following me, then?” I snip, narrowing my gaze.

His plump lips are still curved into a smile, and he raises a brow. “You’re the one that keeps walking in on me.” He waves a hand at the door. “Do you mind?”

Without thinking, I turn and close the door behind me, then look at him again. He drops his head to the side and laughs. “I meant for you to leave.”

I roll my eyes, moving next to the door and letting my back slide down the wall until my ass hits the floor. Waving my hands dismissively, I stare off in the opposite direction. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

I’m extremely uncomfortable, realizing how bizarre the situation I put myself into is, but the thought of going back to the dance floor sounds worse right now. I needed a minute to myself, so I’m going to do just that.

I tuck my hair behind my ears, rolling my shoulders and looking over at the guy across the room again. He isn’t kneeling anymore, instead sitting flat on his ass and staring at me.

“What?!” I snap.

He laughs, his shoulders and chest shaking. “What are you doing?”

His dark eyes crinkle at the sides when he smiles, and it’s so attractive, I want to crawl across the room and press my fingertips to his face.

That must be the alcohol.

I sigh, shaking my head. “I don’t know. I just needed a moment alone.”

“Well, you aren’t alone,” he retorts, and I give him a dirty look.

“Well, if you’d shut up, I could pretend I was.”

He laughs again, a loud, booming sound that radiates through me and triggers my own laughter.

Once my laughter has dissipated, I rest my cheek on my shoulder and look at him, admiring the black artwork that kisses his muscular arms and neck. “So, you really don’t live in here?”

He chuckles. “I’m wearing a Versace t-shirt and you think I live in the back of a club?”

My lips pull down. “Guess not.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just turns toward the table and starts gathering his stuff in one hand. With the other, he licks his finger and drags it through the line of powder on the table, rubbing it against his gums.

I snort. “Classy.”

He turns to look at me, narrowing his eyes. “Classy? Yesterday, you walked in on me mid-blowjob, but rubbing coke on my gums is where you draw the line?”

I shrug, grinning. “I’m not drawing any lines, dude. I love coke just as much as the next girl, but I could be a cop for all you know.”

“Since I can see your tits through your dress, I’m guessing you aren’t a fucking cop,” he spits back, his mouth curving into a smirk as his eyes zero in on my chest.

I laugh, rolling my eyes.

A silent moment passes through the room as our gaze’s crash, and he holds the baggie of drugs between his fingers and wiggles it in the air. “You want some?”

It takes me a moment to answer him, but I keep my eyes on his. I run through a handful of different things in my mind at once. First, I don’t know him, so it could be laced. But since I just saw him ingesting it, it probably isn’t. Second, I haven’t done coke in years, so what if I react badly to it or something?

I look him over, searching for alarm bells, ones that might stop me from doing this, but I don’t replace anything particularly concerning.

Sure, he’s obviously a red flag all on his own – a walking, talking fuckboy wrapped in tattoos and sins – but nothing screams at me to leave.

“Yeah,” I say, standing up. It feels as if someone else is in control of my body when I walk across the room and drop down on the floor next to him, like I’m watching the situation play out from above or something. He licks his lips as his eyes wander over my bare legs, so I slide them under my ass and sit on them.

Tossing the stuff in his hand down on the table again, he grabs the baggie of coke and pours some out for me. He grabs a credit card that already has residue on the edge and starts cutting the pile of white powder into two lines. When he’s satisfied with the work he’s done, he grabs the rolled-up bill and looks at me, holding it out for me to take.

“You’ve done this before?” he asks. His pupils are blown wide, making his eyes look like a black abyss, as he gnaws on his bottom lip.

I don’t bother answering his question. Taking the bill, I slip it into my nostril, lean forward, and sniff the first line.

“Guess so.” He laughs.

My eyes close as the coke hits every inch of me, from my head to my toes, right down to the delicate lining of my lungs. It’s euphoria and pleasure and pain at once, a feeling like no other – and right then I forget why I stopped doing drugs in the first place.

I snort the second line, pull my head back, and gasp. “Jesus, fuck!”

Chuckling, he pulls the bill from my nose and tosses it to the table. My eyes are watering, running down my face and probably leaving a streak of mascara in their path, but I don’t care. My brain is on fire, burning and buzzing and humming as the cocaine enters my bloodstream, and I want to slide my fingers into my hair and rip it out.

He reaches forward again, brushing the tears from one of my cheeks with the back of his hand. I replace the blackness of his eyes, searching them for a heartbeat before I speak.

“What’s your name?”

When he pulls his hand back, he brushes it on the fabric of his pants to get my tears off, then thinks over my question. Humming between his lips, his gaze merges with mine again, and it feels like he’s seeing through the third wall of my mind, reading every thought hiding there. I can’t tear my eyes away from his, no matter how hard I try, no matter how badly I want to look at the rest of him, study every tattoo scarred into his skin.

His voice makes me jump when he finally answers my question.

“Hayden,” he says, his lips twitching.

“Hayden,” I repeat, wanting to know how it tastes, and my voice vibrates through my throat. His name feels so good slipping from my lips that I say it again.

“Hayden.”

My blood has started to thicken, to speed up and rush to my heart, which is thrashing in my chest and trying to get free. I feel like my ribs might crack and break, making my heart and lungs surge through my skin and fall to the floor. My head hurts, but the way my skin vibrates and buzzes with pleasure makes it worth it. Everything feels good. Everything is denser, but lighter and brighter.

“What’s yours?” he asks, sliding forward an inch.

“Penelope,” I say without a breath, desperate for him to repeat my name so I can hear how it sounds on the deep rasp of his voice.

The side of his mouth curls up.

“Penelope.” My eyes drop closed.

Nodding, I bite onto my top lip. “Say it again.”

“Penelope,” he growls this time, making my breath hitch.

My chest is heaving, my breath coming out in shallow pants that make me feel like I might float away at any moment, like my lungs are too small and too large all at once. I hear him shift closer to me, but I keep my eyes closed.

“Penelope,” he says again, right into the space in front of my ear, so close that I feel his breath against my skin. The manly and earthy scent of him mixed with smoke and alcohol alights my senses, and I can feel the heat from his body reaching out to grab mine.

“Mmmmhmmm…” I hum against my teeth, agreeing with the way my name sounds coming from his mouth, like honey dripping from his lips and tongue, like he’s savoring it while he says it.

“Penelope,” he says once more as his hands slide up my arms. My skin burns and pebbles with goosebumps as pleasure shoots through me from my arms straight down to my core.

“Yeah,” I moan, my heartbeat pounding between my legs so hard that I cross them.

His hands are rough against the skin of my arms as he slowly moves them up to my shoulders then back down again. I want to cry out, to drop my head back and moan loud enough that it shatters the room around us.

“That feels so good,” I whisper, replaceing his gaze. “Your hands feel so. Fucking. Good.”

He slides them around my wrists, over my fingers and up my legs to my stomach. The feeling isn’t as satisfying over the fabric of my dress, so I grab the hem and lift it over my hips, letting him stroke his hands over my bare skin. My clit flutters between my legs, making my eyes close again as my head drops against my shoulder and I sigh in pleasure.

“How does that feel?” he asks, tracing a line down my sternum to my belly button.

“Like I want to come.” The words slip from my lips before I have a chance to think them over.

Moving both of his hands around my rib cage, he squeezes, almost hard enough that I can’t draw a breath. I cry out, dropping my arms behind me to hold myself up. When he loosens his hold, he slips both hands under the bunched-up fabric of my dress and cradles my tits. I moan, pulling my knees up and spreading my legs without thinking.

“How about that?”

I lick my lips and bite down on my tongue over a moan, my entire body buzzing as my chest shakes. “So good. So fucking good. You’re making me wet.”

“Show me.” He squeezes my tits, running his thumbs over the hard peaks of my nipples as he moves onto his knees before me. “Reach between your legs, pull your panties down, and show me.”

Every line is blurred, moving in fast forward as my world is rocked by the pleasure of his hands on me. With my eyes still closed, I put my trust into one arm to hold me up, then reach between my legs. My panties are soaked through, and I stroke my fingers over the wet lace a few times. Moaning, I rip at my panties in a panic, desperate to set my naked flesh free, and pull them down my legs, kicking them to the side.

Hayden pinches my nipples hard, making me groan as I put my weight back on both arms, and my pelvis lifts in response.

“Spread those legs, Penelope,” he rasps, rolling my nipples between his fingers. “Let me see how pretty that pussy is.”

“Oh, God,” I moan, spreading my legs wide. Opening my eyes, I look at him in time to see him look between my legs. His tongue rolls over his teeth and he flicks his eyes back to mine as he yanks his hands from my chest. His pupils are so dilated that his irises are nonexistent, making his eyes a black pit of sin and desire.

“If you don’t want to do this,” he breathes, jaw twitching with restraint as he locks eyes with me. “Now is the time to say it.”

I bite my bottom lip until it’s painful, then bend and spread my legs farther. “Please. Touch me.”

Not wasting a second, he puts his hands on the inside of my thighs, pushing my legs apart until I feel a pinch in my hamstrings. Sliding one tattooed finger through my center, he groans. “Dripping fucking wet.”

I moan, watching him as he does it again, ghosting over my clit and down to my entrance before he puts his finger to his lips and sucks on it. “All this for me, Penelope?”

My heart is pounding in my chest so hard I feel like I’m twitching, threatening to combust and explode like a bomb. My voice hurts coming up my throat, but I manage to breathe words back at him.

“All for you, Hayden.”

He licks his lips. “Then I won’t fucking waste it.”

Shuffling backwards on his knees, he then drops down to push his head between them. The first swipe of his tongue makes my arms give out, and I fall onto my back. “Fuck!”

He doesn’t waste time teasing me anymore, instead diving into my pussy like he can’t help it, using his tongue and fingers to fuck me wildly. Rolling his tongue over my clit, his fingers to fuck me hard and fast, curling upwards to stroke over my G-spot with every thrust of his hand. He spits, slurping it up as he pulls my clit into his mouth, sending me barreling toward my orgasm so fast that I can’t breathe.

I try not to scream, but my blood is rushing to my center, and I can’t help it. I need to release the noises consuming my lungs and throat. Electricity shoots through every muscle, every fiber of my body, as pleasure washes over me, stopping between my legs with him and intensifying. When his tongue flattens against my clit and I buck against his face, he fucks into me with three fingers, hard.

I scream loud, squeezing his head between my legs, but it doesn’t stop him. He keeps feasting on me faster, and more controlled, like he’s feeling the sparks of pleasure crest through me over and over. I feel like I’m going to suffocate, the air too thick to reach my lungs properly as my orgasm tears me apart from the inside out.

My entire body convulses against the floor, my legs shaking and gripping him so tight that I’m sure he can’t breathe either, but he doesn’t seem to mind – and I don’t either because Jesus fucking Christ, this is the best orgasm I’ve ever had in my life.

His tongue slows when my climax does, like he knows exactly what my body is doing, like he’s reading me like his favorite book, and my legs fall lax and exhausted against the floor.

My chest heaves as I try to remember how to get oxygen back into my lungs, and he keeps licking at my pussy languidly, like he can’t help himself, sliding his fingers out and replacing them with his tongue to collect the release he pulled from me. I moan, rolling my hips against his face as he slides his tongue in and out of me slowly, his nose hitting my clit and making me jolt.

When he’s satisfied he’s collected all of my release, he leans back and sits up on his knees to look at me. His face is glistening with my cum, and it makes my core clench tight around nothing, desperate for more of him.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” I rasp, my throat hoarse from screaming.

He grins at me, his white teeth sparkling. “I knew you were attracted to me.”

I laugh, remembering our exchange from yesterday. “Fuck you.”

He laughs too, reaching for where he left his wallet on the table. Pulling a condom from the leather billfold, he uses his teeth to rip open the plastic while he uses one hand to undo his pants. I watch him, wordless, my pussy dripping and aching between my legs, ready for him to be deep inside of me.

With his cock is in his hand, he rolls the latex down the hard length and then reaches out to smack his palm against my clit. I quake, moaning, and he smirks at me before he holds his hand out. My brows pull down, and he shakes his hand insistently, so I grab it.

Pulling me up into a sitting position, he sits back against the wall, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“Ride me,” he says, fisting his cock.

My limbs are weak from my orgasm, and my head is floating from the mix of drugs and alcohol and pleasure, so I laugh and shake my head a little. “I’m so exhausted, I don’t think I can.”

He grabs my hand, pulling me over his lap so my knees scrape against the floor painfully. His eyes burn through me as he strokes himself. “Ride me, Penelope.”

My eyes roll back as I feel the head of his cock glide through my center, and I bite my bottom lip as I position myself over him better. Putting my hands on the wall behind his head, I let him press himself to my entrance, then I drop down, letting my pussy swallow him whole, whimpering at how he stretches me so good.

“Fuck,” he groans, grabbing my hips with his tattooed hands and squeezing.

I look down at him, holding on to the wall for leverage, then I lift my hips and roll them as I go back down. I moan when his cock hits me deep, then I repeat the motion, wanting more of the feeling. Lift, grind, drop down, roll my hips, lift back up, grind, repeat. Again and again, I ride him and savor the feeling of him rubbing me from the inside.

“Faster,” he pants, squeezing my hips hard enough to bruise.

“I can’t,” I moan, my limbs still feeling weak and tired.

His hands slide from my hips, one of them up into my hair and the other around my throat. He tightens the grip of them both, yanking at my hair until my back is bent and squeezing my throat until I can’t breathe.

“Faster, Penelope.”

I almost come from the mix of pain and pleasure, and he knows it from how hard my pussy grips around him. He moans with me, a smirk touching his lips as I move faster, more recklessly. Bucking up into me, he meets me thrust for thrust.

“That’s it,” he moans, pulling my hair hard enough that it feels like it may rip from my scalp. “You like when I do that?”

I cry out through the hold he has on my throat, trying to nod in answer. When my vision spots and I gasp, he lets go of the hold he has on my throat.

Chasing my release, I ride his dick faster, harder, more erratic and messy. He slides his hand between my legs, rubbing his fingers over my clit, and I yell his name as I bang my hand against the wall.

“There you go,” he groans, licking my neck as he fucks up into me. “Let me feel you fall apart on my dick, beautiful.”

I scream as my orgasm slams into me. My hands fall to his shoulders so I have something to grab onto, and I squeeze his shirt between my fingers as my whole body quivers above him.

I’m desperate to feel his skin, so I slide my hands under the sleeves of his shirt and dig my nails into his shoulders, dragging downward.

“Shit,” he moans, pulling my hair as he starts to fall apart underneath me. “Harder, do that fucking harder. Hurt me.”

Pushing my fingers harder, I feel his flesh split under the sharpness of my nails. His hand slams against my throat, and he squeezes with enough pressure that my vision spots. I try to scream from the sensations still rushing through me, but nothing will pass through the hold he has on my windpipe, so he yells in place of me.

Still grinding and riding him through our climaxes, I push my nails even deeper into his skin, wanting to show him exactly what he’s doing to me, but it isn’t good enough. I pull one hand from under his shirt and grab the thickness of his throat, choking him just as hard as he’s choking me, and his eyes go wide and wild as they replace mine.

His hips pound upwards more roughly, like he can’t help the movement. I smile, biting my lip as he loosens the hold he has on my throat. I don’t let go of him, though, just keep riding him, keep choking him, making his arm bleed under my fingernails, loving the feeling of pulling pleasure from him.

When his hips finally slow to a stop, I let go. Putting both hands on the wall above our heads, I drop my forehead to his and try to catch my breath.

“Penelope,” he says, his throat scratchy and rough like it’s lined with gravel.

My chest heaves as I breathe through my mouth, my chest against his as it rises and falls erratically. “Hayden.”

I lick my dry lips, and when I feel confident that my legs aren’t made of liquid, I go to lift off him.

“Wait.” He grabs my hips with both hands.

I lean back to look at him, meeting his dark eyes. “What?”

His nostrils flare as he takes a breath and then he grins. “I’m really glad you caught me doing coke in the storage room.”

I laugh, my shoulders shaking. After a moment, I stand up, letting my dress fall back into place as I look around the floor for my panties.

When I spot them by the table, I grab them and slide them up my legs. Turning to look at him, I replace him still sitting against the wall, tucking his cock into his pants as he watches me.

I wiggle my brows and smirk as I head for the door. “See you around.”

His face twitches. “That’s it?”

I run my fingers through my matted hair. “That’s it.”

He only stares at me, and I can’t read whatever thoughts are running through his mind, but then he stands up and takes a few steps toward me. “Give me your phone number.”

“That didn’t sound like a question.” I grin, perking a brow.

He rushes me, grabbing me by the hips. “It wasn’t.”

Chuckling, I narrow my eyes at him. “Why should I?”

Licking his lips, he brings my attention to his filthy mouth. “I want to see you again.”

I look into his dark eyes, filled with thunder and charm, and even as nerves float around in my belly, I try to read between the lines of his words. Leaning forward, I brush my lips over his lightly, dropping my mouth open so he can feel the air from my lungs when I speak again. “You can’t handle me, Hayden. Stick to hookups at Amethyst.”

His fingers tighten on my hips, and he yanks my body against his, making our mouths crash together painfully. He licks along the seam of my lips like he’s trying to make up for the pain, then he kisses me so hard that my head floats and my core lights up again. When he pulls back, he looks right into my eyes. “Let me take you back to my house, spread you out on my bed, and show you how much I can handle.”

My clit pulses as my heartbeat pounds between my legs, the coke still coursing through my system and making everything feel heightened. Everything inside of me is shouting do it, let him take you home and fuck you until you can’t walk.

The reminder that Katie is still here catapults back into my mind, though, making me wonder how long I’ve been tucked away in the solace of the storage closet with this stranger, letting drugs and pleasure take over my system. I kiss his lips once more. “I need to get back to my friend.”

“So give me your number,” he muses, squeezing my waist. “Or I’ll keep you trapped in here and eat you until you forget you’re trying to resist me.”

Reaching between us, I put my hand into the front pocket of his pants and pull out his phone. I try to unlock it and it requests a passcode, so I hold it toward him. Once he’s punched in his code, he gives it back. I type my phone number into the keypad and hand it back without saving the contact. “Gotta go, Hayden.”

He slips his phone into his pocket and grabs me again, smashing his mouth to mine and swirling his tongue around my own. I moan in my throat, kissing him back until we’re both out of breath.

Once he pulls away, his hands drop from my body. “You better answer when I call.”

I laugh, taking a step backwards toward the door. “If you’re lucky.”

He doesn’t say anything else, and neither do I. Turning, I open the door and leave to go back to dancing.

On Sunday morning, I knock on my father’s hospital room door lightly with my knuckle, then push it open an inch. “Can I come in?”

An unfamiliar woman’s voice answers me, “Come on in.”

After spending the last two days decorating my apartment with my very particular best friend, I dropped her at the airport this morning as the sun rose over the east, and then came straight to the hospital. I start at Luxington High tomorrow, and two weeks later, the school year begins for the students, so I wanted to make sure I visited my dad before I got too busy, and life started to speed past me.

“Dad?” I call out, stepping into the bright white of his room.

I replace a middle-aged, blonde-haired woman standing at his bedside, pressing buttons on a machine with some trays opened beside her. My dad is silently sleeping in his bed, so the only sound to respond back to me is his EKG machine that’s beeping slowly with his heartbeat.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I whisper so I don’t wake him.

“It’s okay, hon,” she says in her normal volume, smiling softly. “He was put under sedation earlier for a procedure. I’m just doing my rounds. Feel free to sit.”

I tuck my bag behind me as I sit down on the recliner at the corner of the room, the one closest to his bed. “A procedure? Is he okay?”

“It’ll be a few hours before we get the results,” she answers, not looking up from whatever task she’s trying to complete at his right.

My stomach burns with anxiety. “Do you know where my mom is?”

The nurse looks over at me then, her mouth curving into a bigger smile. “You must be Penelope, then. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Your dad just goes on and on about you.”

A smile tugs up the corners of my lips, but I don’t know what to say back. I just keep looking at my dad and all the wires coming out of him.

The first few visits were fine; he was up and happy and the dad I remember, but this… it’s jarring. It’s reality exposed in front of me, and I feel like running away, keeping those memories inside of me instead of ones like this. Ones where he’s sedated and plugged up with tubes and wires and he can’t smile back at me.

“Your mom should be back soon. She just went to grab some coffee, honey.” Reading the worry in my features, she adds, “He’s okay, nothing to panic about.”

I nod mindlessly, my back rod-straight and my knees bouncing up and down.

I watch as the nurse finishes her tasks, and after she’s cleaned up her area and pushed the rolling table back against the wall, she pats me on the shoulder and tells me it’s okay again before she leaves.

The second I’m alone, though, my eyes fill with tears. I don’t know why they do – I mean, I know, but I promised myself I would never cry in here, that I would never bring this negative and toxic energy into my father’s healing space. But I can’t help it. I’m fucking terrified. I’m scared absolutely shitless that he’s been sedated and that I can’t hear his voice right now.

“Pen?” My mother’s voice pulls my gaze from staring at my father. She must have come in while I was stuck in my own mind. I push the tears from my cheeks in a last-ditch effort to hide the fact I’m hurting, and then I stand up to hug her.

Her rose and vanilla scent makes me feel better, safer. Like if she’s in here with me, nothing bad can happen.

She squeezes me tight. “I know I didn’t see you crying, did I?”

I sniffle. “No.”

She laughs, pulling back to hold me at arm’s length so she can look me over with her light, hazel eyes. “Has anyone told you how beautiful you are today?”

“Only some random guy at the gas station,” I mutter, grinning with my lips pressed tightly together.

My mom shakes her head, laughing. “Well, he wasn’t lying. You’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“What’s going on with dad? The nurse said something about a procedure,” I ask, going back to my seat at the recliner.

She takes a sip from the coffee cup she left on the table by the door, then she sits down in the chair next to me and sighs. “They did a liver biopsy. They think the cancer is spreading, because he isn’t reacting to the treatment.”

My brows pull down, and I stare down at my hands in my lap. “What does that mean? More chemo? Radiation?”

“If it’s spread to the liver, it’s probably spread to other organs as well.”

I look up at her, feeling my face go hot. “I don’t know what that means, Mom, I’m not a fucking doctor!”

“Don’t you swear at me, Penelope,” she snaps back, but then she presses her lips together and takes a breath through her nose. After a moment, she speaks again. “Once the cancer has metastasized to major organs, there’s nothing else they can do but make him comfortable.”

“Make him comfortable,” I repeat, feeling like my lungs are about to burst. “That’s doctor talk for ‘he’s going to die,’ right?”

She sighs painfully. “We won’t know anything for sure until the test results come back. We just need to wait.”

“Just wait.” I can’t even replace my own words.

My dad’s going to die. He’s going to die.

I stand up abruptly and grab my purse. “I need to get out of here.”

“Pen–” my mom starts to say, standing as well and following behind me to the door.

“No,” I cut her off, waving my hands in the air. “I can’t breathe in here. I hate the smell of this place, I hate the lights, I hate the noises – I just need to go. I need to leave. Call me later when the doctor has the results back.”

I run for my life out of his room, my mother calling behind me. Speeding the entire way down the hallway, I pound on the elevator button, desperate to get outside.

It feels like my lungs are caving in on themselves, trying to become smaller and refusing me the right to oxygen – and I want to scream. I want to stretch my hands down my throat and rip them out and force air into them. I want to claw at my skin until I bleed, just so I have something to feel except the pain of my father dying.

I stumble into the elevator the second the doors slide apart, falling against the wall as the first sob tears its way up my throat and out.

The noise of my gasps and cries echo around the small space once the doors have closed and sealed me inside by myself.

I let myself cry, letting the tears slip down my face, off my chin and onto the floor. And I yell. I yell the unintelligible sounds of grief and pain from my dropped open mouth until the elevator stops on the ground floor again.

When the elevator dings, I brush my hands across my face frantically, not wanting to show anyone in the outside world that I’m hurting. I suck down oxygen in a panic, hoping my chest slows back to normal before I have to see another human.

The doors slide open, and the sun shines in on my face from the exit doors of the hospital. I take a second to breathe again before stepping off.

I will not show weakness.

Not here – not in this place filled with so much fucking heartbreak ruining people’s lives. I won’t break down for anyone to see. I will soldier through and be strong.

I run through the lobby, out the doors, and into the sunshine in one breath, racing toward my car in need of the solace of being trapped inside a familiar space.

As I’m fumbling with my keys, I end up setting off the alarm, making myself and the old man down the lot jump. When I’ve silenced it, I manage to hit the unlock button and throw myself into the driver’s seat, then slam the door behind me. Grabbing a Marlboro from the pack in my center console, my hands shake as I put it to my lips and engulf the end in the flame from my lighter.

I don’t bother rolling down the windows, even as the humidity from my car sitting outside starts to suffocate me. I revel in it, loving the way it feels like I’m in space and underwater all at once. Until I’m burning the filter of my cigarette, I let myself become one with the hot boxed vehicle.

My hands continue to shake as I crank the engine, but my head is a little more level after the nicotine. As I roll down all four windows, the smoke barrels out in big clouds that race around the parking garage.

Once I’m breathing clean air again, I silently tell myself that my mental breakdown is finished.

I’m fine. I just need a serotonin boost.

Maybe a beer.

The clock on my dash reads 11:00 a.m., and I replace it hard to believe the day is still fresh. It feels like I’ve already lived through the entire day already. I’m exhausted from my four-day-long hangover and the intense mood swings I’ve put myself through this morning.

I decide on a nap as I shift into reverse and back out of my parking spot, then head for my apartment.