My hand wrapped around myself as her kisses nipped all over my chest. She was a hallucination, but one I didn’t want to end.
Probably a side effect of the meds.
Maybe the deprivation I had been suffering lately.
Driving my hand down myself I felt every piercing between my fingers creating a kind of death trap women didn’t see as a warning but a challenge. They all wanted to swallow me whole, metal parts and all, just to say they could.
I could still tell it was my own hand. I wasn’t that delusional. I knew I was touching myself, but that didn’t explain why I could feel Abigail too.
“Fuck… Abigail.”
The words fell out of my mouth when my forehead pushed against the wet tile. No matter how I moved, I felt the heat of her between me and the wall.
Closing my hand tighter, I felt my hips still and the feeling I was chasing, the fleeting sense of ecstasy, crept up my spine, making my body go stiff.
My chest was rising and falling quickly, and I stood up straighter under the water. I half expected to see Abigail still watching me. When I unclamped my eyes, there was nothing there, just the shower wall with droplets.
Shoving my fingers through my hair, I tried to steady my breath and get a better grip on reality. The hallucinations weren’t new… just happening more and more. Just like the doctor warned would happen if I didn’t take a more proactive approach to my own health.
That’s the thing about monsters… we live to wreck and die in the rubble. Only heroes do the saving.
Finally turning the lukewarm water off, I knew the night was far from over and the allure of maybe sleeping was off the table with Jessica in my room.
“Who were you talking to?”
Her face was calling me crazy. Me. When she was the one picking out people to kill tomorrow.
It was laughable.
“FaceTime. Secretary.” My curt thoughts hung in the air like disdain, heavy and flat, as I sat on the edge of my bed.
Looking at the time, it was almost midnight, and I had other traditions to attend to. The four of us had a standing meeting with our fathers when it came to this ceremony.
Midnight.
In the study behind the fireplace, unseen by everyone unless you knew exactly what to manipulate to get the lack to set the entrance free.
A meeting I wanted to skip altogether.
Someone brought my overnight bag up to my room without me asking, which wasn’t a shock. The staff here did things without asking all the time—preemptively helpful.
My sweats and a shirt were inside, thank god. Being in a towel with Jessica for too much longer didn’t seem wise.
“I have a meeting. Can I trust you in my room?”
“What kind of meeting?”
“One you aren’t invited to. Stay put.” I was hoping she would as I tugged the last piece of my clothing over my head.
Fucking meetings.
Fucking cult expectations.
ABIGAIL
I haven’t had a hangover like the one drilling into my temples since I was in high school and actively breaking the rules. At one time I believed the rules were made only to be managed, twisted and broken.
When you move across the country without knowing a single soul to do something that holds a one in a million chance of succeeding, you follow the rules just in case you need the karma.
Let’s be real: Everyone in LA needs the good karma.
Last night’s activities of couch drinking made it easy to decipher that I couldn’t have gotten into too much trouble.
Right?
Pulling out my phone with my arm still draped over my closed eyes, I tried to keep as much sunlight away as possible. I knew I needed to investigate and groaned out loud.
Holding my phone above my face, I scrolled my texts…Didn’t text my ex. Didn’t send any photos. Didn’t even snap or tweet.
Thank god.
I felt great until I opened FaceTime. Mentally repeating the mantra: Please don’t reveal I spoke to any of my family drunk. Please don’t reveal I spoke to any of my family drunk.
It was worse than talking to my mom or dad drunk… I saw the name saved in my contacts with skulls, stop signs, and five letters spelling out Grimm.
It was so much worse than an ex, a dicey tweet, or talking to your parents.
I FaceTimed my boss while drunk.
Lucky me.
As soon as I mocked myself, my phone came crashing down onto my face, making me flinch inwardly and groan.
See? Bad karma will find you. Always.
Turning over and shoving my face into my pillow, I muffled my own scream. My life was a current wreck.
Even a half scream made my head pound harder. I needed some hair of the dog. Mimosa or screwdriver. Classy, but it was still alcohol in the morning.
Jus was, of course, still asleep. She hadn’t adjusted to adulting too early yet. It was always a mad dash out the door to work, even after months to create a routine.
Anti-establishment was hard to break.
My slippers even felt as heavy as my head, but it was helping me stay planted to the floor. With one eye open, I made it to the kitchen without any real issues or tripping.
Thankfully.
I didn’t go unscathed when my phone buzzed hard against the countertop as I gathered the orange juice and champagne.
My ex had a way of weaseling his way back into my life after going MIA, which was the reason we broke up to begin with.
Oscar (fucking LA parents and their constant need to be unique). Yes, he was named after his dad won his first Oscar the year he was born. Nothing like that constant reminder that a shiny object had more value than giving you a proper name.
OSCAR: Wanna meet up? Dinner? Breakfast?
I was his inconsistent hookup, not really the one that got away, because let’s be honest, he was hot and I wasn’t about to Tinder it up when I wanted male interaction.
Ignoring his message, I poured the orange juice into a flute before I popped the prosecco we had in the fridge already open. Probably from last night.
If I didn’t ignore it before responding, he would be pulling me right back into his hot-guy trap.
A trap I always got caught in.
Contemplating texting Grimm to apologize, I sipped the alcohol, trying to will the hangover away.
After a few sips of courage, I leaned onto the counter, elbows pushing into the surface and pulling up the contact with so many warning signs I felt like an idiot even tempting myself.
ME: I should apologize for yesterday…
I left it simple and short, hoping he wouldn’t respond anyways.
Karma must have really been after me for a past life offense, because the three dots came across the screen before I could even prepare myself to be fired.
GRIMM: Should apologize or are apologizing? Shame.
I tried to not let his message bother me. It was harder than I expected. Long after, I kept re-reading it, until it was burned into my dehydrated brain.
ME: I shouldn’t have FaceTimed my boss… or saw you that naked… chalk that up to be whatever you want.
He didn’t seem like someone who let anyone off the hook without making them feel dumb.
Why am I engaging with him?
He was the kind of guy who ruined your life as simply as he walked into it.
Swiping to Oscar’s message, I forced myself to type out a yes to his request with the word brunch instead. I needed a distraction that wasn’t related to work or the guy I clearly remember seeing naked last night.