by Kira Graham
“I thought you said that I was supposed to go for what I want.”
“That was before I realized that your ‘boyfriend’ is a dickhead.”
“I agree!” Mindy cuts in, surprising me so much that I bark out a laugh and face her, turning to where she’s slumped against the backseat, looking a little worse for wear.
Hangovers are a bitch, and it seems that they make Mindy one, too.
“I thought that you were all ‘happily ever after and weddings’ about us.”
“That was before I realized that all men are idiots. Been thinkin’ ’bout becomin’ a nun. Mama says that it’s an awful idea, what with my business and all, but it seems like a good idea to me. Wanna join me?”
“Honey, no offense, but no freaking way. My vagina likes sex, and even with my new denial program just starting off, I’m thinking that a rebound is in my future,” I quip, only half-meaning it.
It galls me that the thought of being with another man makes my skin crawl, but if I can be half as good at this as Alex once was, then I’m almost sure that I can get over that hump.
“God, you’re a whore,” Mindy mutters before conking out, her soft snores filling the car.
“We should just kill her,” Tee grumbles, narrowing her eyes in the rearview mirror while I chew on my lip and try to shake off the unsettled feeling inside me.
“Nah. She’s my ‘Plan Z’ bail buddy.”
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I’m dreaming.
Soft, fluttering kisses drag down my neck and settle over a nipple as a moan leaves me, and I wallow down into a dream that feels so right, I can’t bring myself to wake from it, even if my head keeps screaming at me to escape before it’s too late. When those lips move away, releasing my nipple with a pop, I moan and allow the dream to get better, imagining those lips and teeth closing over the other nipple and sucking so hard that I feel an answering pull and quiver low in my sex, where I’m already hot and moist with longing.
In this dream, I’m safe and unhindered by the newly awakened Sin, who doesn’t let memories get to her. Right now, I’m free to give in to my feelings and pretend, for just a few moments, that we’re together, and that none of the bad stuff between us ever happened. Logically, even in my dream-induced haze, I know that pretending won’t get me anywhere, and that I’m better off facing reality, but it’s been so long since I felt wanted that I shove away logic and let dream-Paris stay, relishing the pleasure that zings through me when he licks his mouth lower over my stomach, then keeps sucking down past my navel until he reaches the apex of my thighs.
Once there, he slowly parts my folds, and I moan when I feel the flick of his tongue against my clit, the shot of pleasure forcing me to gasp and spread myself even more widely as I silently beg for more—
“I said, wake up! Dammit, I should not be seeing this.”
Jerking in the throes of what would have been an epic moment, I wake up and pop my bleary eyes open, only to close them again with a groan and feel my face heat up to a molten burn.
“Go ’way,” I mumble, rolling back over and trying to snuggle back into sleep in order to chase my dream for just a little longer.
“I’m not going anywhere, Wet Mary! I said, wake the hell up!” Cleo screeches, effectively clearing any sleep that I may have rekindled out of my brain, especially when she whips the sheet away and slaps a hand down onto my ass.
“Don’t wanna.”
At this moment, I would give anything, and I mean anything, to just sleep my life away. These last few weeks have been as rough as hell. Ever since getting through that garden party fiasco, dropping Mindy off at her apartment, and then hitting up a bar with Nefertiti, things haven’t gone too well. I woke up with a hangover two days after we had what Tee refers to as “The Tequila Tornado,” and no, I am not exaggerating. It was two days. After.
Which basically means that Tee and I got so hammered and partied so hard that I caught a case of the liquid flu, better known as light alcohol poisoning. That led to my being MIA for two days, unbeknownst to me, which in turn led to my family’s showing up at my apartment—my new and unfurnished apartment—because that traitorous hooker, Nefertiti, used the key that I’d given her to let them in.
Then I got fired by my own cousin, because apparently I didn’t take my job as her minion seriously enough, and things just went downhill from there. Although thanks to Uncle Jack’s infusion of mad money, at least, I now have a great place, time to decide what I want to do, and the freedom to do what I’ve been doing for the past few weeks. Which is licking my wounds, because apparently, I am not built like Alexandria, and my mind isn’t insane enough to stick with pretending that nothing bad ever happened to me. In short, I broke down after my family all left, disappointed in me and shaking their heads at the state I was in.
To be fair to them, they found me as sick as hell, sleeping on a mattress in the middle of my empty living room, and so out of it that even I was ashamed of myself.
Fast-forward to right now, and you’ll find me in exactly the same position, minus the mattress on the floor part, because while I’ve been licking my wounds, I’ve also been going on an epic internet shopping spree—as therapy, obviously—and am now living in the lap of luxury.
“Sinai!”
“What? Goddammit, I told you all to fuck off!” I scream, twisting around on the pillow to glare up at her with a hiss. “Remember? You fired me, the rest of them gave me the ‘we’re so disappointed in you’ lecture, and then you all left,” I remind her, hopping out of bed with a hiss when I land on my leg and the zing of an ache shoots through it.
It’s never been the same after the crash, and even now, months later and with a lot of exercise under my belt, the thing is as messed up as you’d expect any leg with a bajillion pins in it to be.
“Well, here I am,” Cleo says, jumping back when I bare my teeth and hiss at her to get the hell out.
I don’t want her here. In fact, I don’t want anyone here, and that’s exactly what I told them all after I got myself cleaned up, had Heath drive me to the doctor, and then got myself together. I sent out a video message that may have been a little dramatic, but it got me exactly what I needed. I told them to leave me alone, even Mom and Dad, who…let’s just say, they weren’t happy with the way I chose to handle my heartbreak.
And I haven’t heard from anyone since. Well, unless you count Rosetta stalking me.
“Well, you can just take your fat ass and get the hell out,” I tell her, stalking out of my bedroom in a pair of black panties that reads, “Welcome to Uranus,” along with a white tank top that doesn’t show my nipples thanks to the built-in bra.
“I’m not going anywhere! And what the hell are you wearing? Adonis is out there!” she screams, just as I shuffle into the hall and over to the kitchen.
I smell coffee, thanks to the new machine I bought that came with one of those nifty timers, and that takes precedence over worrying about my cousin-in-law seeing my ass in panties, as far as I’m concerned. Well, that, and the fact that I don’t particularly care. This is my apartment, after all, and if they break in here, they’ll see what they see.
“Shit! Uh…hey, Sin,” I hear from behind me, while more male choking ensues, letting me know without turning around that it’s not just Adonis who came along with Cleo this morning.
I should put on some pants. Meh. My ass is looking good, thanks to three weeks of religious dance-yoga, plus some midnight runs that have helped me shed a few much-needed pounds.
“Yo!” I shout over my shoulder, grinning around the rim of my cup when Cleo curses and comes storming out of my room holding the robe that I bought three days ago.
I’m into themes lately, so the silky purple fabric emblazoned with the pink taco is something that I would wear in a heartbeat, just for the amusement factor when seeing the others’ faces. I don’t put it on, though, for one good reason: it’s bugging the hell out of Cleo that her man
is seeing my hot ass in my underpants. Not that I’m into Adonis, because hell freaking no, I’m not. I just enjoy the discomfort that fills the room when I turn around, coffee cup in hand, and meet the eyes of most of my sibs, as well as of their significant others.
Chilli grins, though his eyes don’t stray from my own, and even Alex snorts, while Zeus attempts to plant his face in Rosetta’s chest, and Adonis keeps clearing his throat and inspecting my ceiling. About the only person who has the balls to say anything is Ares, who comes over to kiss my cheek and then steps back with a whistle that makes Tee’s eyes narrow.
“Well, good morning, darling! Looking good,” he croons, holding me at arm’s length to give me a thorough once-over.
“Why, thank you, kind sir. Now. What the fuck do you all want? I was having a midmorning nap before I have to get ready for this afternoon’s battle,” I snarl, my eyes going to my Xbox.
I don’t even know what the game is called, and honestly, I suck at it, but after I confessed my heartache to all the players that I’d met on that Live thing, they let me stay on their team just so I can shoot things. Mostly, I end up shooting anything that gets in my line of sight, including a few teammates who’ve threatened to find me and kill me in person. It’s cathartic and fun, even considering the fact that I spend hours—while shooting things, mind you—crying my eyes out like a lunatic. Online.
What? I’ve never been one to suffer alone, and besides, I need it. I’m not a crier by nature, but those have been some good feels that I’ve had going, and once those tears start, they just don’t stop. So instead of holding on to the disgust that I’ve felt for myself, and hating myself for being so weak, I’ve settled on a great way to make myself feel better. By hating Paris, and by blaming him. This all started with him, after all. All of it. He broke me.
“Can you put some pants on?”
“No,” I snarl at Rosetta, smiling darkly when she rises, her eyes flashing.
Oh, good—a fight. That should fill about three seconds of the time that I need to kill over the next few hours before I can fall asleep again.
“You’re being an asshole.”
“And you are an asshole, so I guess I’m in good company,” I throw back, my eyes landing on a slice of pizza that’s hanging half off the coffee table, just calling out to me.
In the last few weeks, I’ve done a lot to get myself back to a healing place of…mental health. I’ve become a compulsive eater, but I’ve balanced that with working out until my body is ready to collapse—so see, Dr. Phil? I’ve found balance. I’ve also cried, perpetually, while throwing darts at the blown-up photo I have of Paris, so again…balance. Oh, and I’ve decided that I basically don’t care anymore, because five million dollars is a lot of money to live off of for at least the next decade or so.
In short, I’m set to become a depressed lunatic who feeds the stray cats that won’t stop collecting on my fire escape—not since I puked on it last week, and some of them decided that I’d set out a meal.
It’s gross, but hey, it’s not my fault that animals are so gross. Oh, and I got a dog. I finally caved and replaced my old dog that had passed away a few months ago, something that I didn’t think that I’d ever have the heart to do. Now I get to spend at least a quarter of my day sneaking around if I’ve let the little shit out of the bathroom, because, as it turns out, I just had to go and get a dog with my same disposition. Unpleasant. I learned pretty fast not to trust that little bastard, even if it’s so small that its teeth are nothing more than glorified toothpicks.
“For God’s sake, are you not over your snit yet?” Rosetta asks, exasperation filling her gaze when I shrug, saunter over to the pizza, and pick it up, giving the dried-out slice a quick sniff.
It has no actual bad scent, so I’m calling it good, I think, wondering if I still have any of those powdered donuts in the pantry, or if that chocolate mousse that I bought last week is still edible.
“What snit? I’m not in a snit. I’m taking Uncle Jack’s advice and taking some time to heal,” I say easily, mentally high-fiving Uncle Jack, because although he isn’t happy with my downward spiral, he is still firmly in my corner.
It’s amazing what one good friend and his never-ending money can do for a gal’s morale.
“Heal, my ass! You’re a mess, Sinai. You don’t leave your apartment unless you’re going to that awful workout class or running at midnight, you’re compulsively eating, you look like shit, and—and you call Mindy!” Cleo wails, so dramatically that, if I cared, I’d try to console her. Oh, yeah, and if she were a good enough actress to successfully play the distress card.
Snorting and giving her a dead look, I keep my focus on the fact that she keeps peeking through her fingers to see if I’m biting before she drops her hands with a nasty huff and glares at me.
“I call Mindy because at least she’s cool,” I tell her, watching her eyes spark before she throws her hands up and plants her ass on Adonis’s lap.
“Not nice.”
“I’m not trying to be nice,” I answer, shaking off Ares and his pointed look as I stalk back to the kitchen, spit out the obviously bad pizza, and root around in the cupboard for a package of store-bought cookies.
Opening them up, I take a minute to enjoy their flavor with my coffee before facing the silent room of judgmental assholes—except Ares, whom I am just loving right now for continually checking out my ass—and considering what I should do.
Listen, I know that I’m going off the rails here, and that this is meant to be some sort of loving intervention or whatever, but can’t they just mind their own business for once? I mean, surely I deserve some time, like Uncle Jack said I did.
“Big surprise!” Rosetta snarls, stalking around spewing muffled curses before she stops abruptly to face me, her expression going soft.
Which basically means that she’s cooked up something evil in her head.
“Now, Sinai—”
“No.”
“But I was just going to say—”
“Don’t wanna hear it.”
“Would you just—”
“I’m done listening to a goddamn thing you people say!” I yell, my temper fraying so badly that I feel my temples ache with the force of my words. “Everyone has an opinion! Everyone knows what I should and shouldn’t do, and everyone knows what’s good for me, according to you all, but guess what? I’m not listening anymore. I’m done feeling like hell about myself because I don’t measure up, and I am done, done, done doing everything that I should be doing because I’m supposed to react a certain way. Done,” I say with a finality that shocks us all.
Me, mostly, to be honest, because while I’ve always been the rebel of this family, I’ve also always been the most predictable. It’s something that people count on, something that I count on, and possibly what got me into this mess in the first place. If I’d just stopped for a second and thought about it, I’d have realized that going after Paris—when he’s obviously in a bad place with me—isn’t a good idea, but, as always, I let myself and others get me all worked up.
Well, no more. From now on, I am going to be normal, dammit, and that starts with being depressed, if I want to be.
“Sinai, all we’ve ever wanted to do is be there for you,” Tee says softly, her eyes going dark when Alex sniffles, waving everyone off with an explanation of “hormones” that makes me want to giggle.
“And you all were, whispering in my ear, egging me on until all I could hear, as usual, was what I should be doing, as opposed to what I should be feeling. Look, it’s not that I blame you for what’s gone down, because I don’t. I’m a big girl, and I am more than big enough to take responsibility for the things I do, but right now, I am not ready to talk about anything, do anything, or even think about anything,” I say honestly, finally saying the thing that I’ve wanted to say for months.
In my family, we talk everything to death, share, invade each other’s privacy, and just live so close to each other’s lives that most
of the time, I know that I’ve gotten my period because someone calls me to tell me so. Slight exaggeration, but you get the picture.
Right now, that’s the last thing I need, and honestly, I don’t think that I could handle it if they didn’t listen. If they’re here, then they’ll butt in with the million ways they feel about what happened between Paris and me, and before I know it, someone will say the words “blowtorch,” “ice pick,” and “shovel,” and I’ll be off and running with those ideas before I can even think clearly about any of them.
While that sounds fun and funny and as satisfying as hell, it’s not going to change a damn thing, and it’s time I faced that. Sometimes, you don’t win. Sometimes, no matter how crazy you are, you just end up being pathetic, because when you take away the amusement and the ridiculous stuff that I do when I’m pissed, all you’re left with is the fact that I’m…hurt. I’m hurt and sad and all those disgusting emotions that I’ve always told myself I don’t feel, and pulling myself out of it isn’t something that I can do right now.
When other relationships ended in the past, I’d always do something wacky, weird, and funny in order to let myself and my family know that I was A-okay. It was…me being me, because, let’s face it, that’s the kind of girl I am, so I won’t just place the blame on everyone else.
But this—this isn’t some game for me, and while my family thinks that I should be doing something “Sin-like” in order to bounce back, all I can do lately is wallow and try to give myself time. Most days, I struggle to get out of bed, and when I do, I have to keep myself busy to the point of exhaustion. It’s what I need right now.
I just wish that they’d try to understand, although I’m trying not to be too hard on them, since most of the time, I don’t even understand myself.
“But…but what about revenge?” Rosetta chokes out, looking so crestfallen that I find my mouth twitching as I fight back a smile. “What about egging his house? I mean…we could mess up his car and show up on his dates and tell his newest fling that he gave you an STD!” she yells, getting more than a few chuckles from the room at large.