Page 91 of Wrecked
When I look up and see Brandy standing there, looking at her nails, it finally occurs to me that she's actually here in my home.
“Why the hell did you even come here, Brandy?” I ask, irritation evident in my voice. “Why the hell are you in my clothes? And why the hell are you answering my door?”
Her hand drops to the side, and she tilts her chin up. “I was missing you, so I came to say hi and see how you were doing.” She shrugs her shoulders. “It's a good thing I did, you were an absolute mess so I stayed to make sure you were okay. Oh, and my dress was all scratchy and uncomfortable, so I changed into your shirt.”
“Brandy, this needs to fucking stop,” I tell her with an exasperated groan. “I have a girlfriend. It's not your place to check up on me or look after me.”
Her face scrunches up in annoyance. “Well, someone needed to.”
“Notyou,” I practically yell.
“Well, where the hell was your girlfriend then?” she yells in return.
Blowing out a breath, I force myself to calm down. Jasmine would have tried to look after me if she'd known what was going on. She's always looked after me. But I've been ignoring her like a fucking moron this week.
I've been warring with myself, wrapped up in guilt and feeling unworthy of her, subconsciously trying to push her away while at the same time craving her closeness.
Lowering my voice, I say, “Look, I appreciate your concern, but you need to leave and I don't want you coming back again. And please take off my fucking shirt.”
Stepping closer to me, she stops when she's only inches away, then runs her tongue over her top teeth under her lip. “Can't believe I'm going to say this about her, but she's too good for you.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “I know.”
The next thing I know, Brandy is whipping off my t-shirt right in front of me. I turn my head to the side immediately, not having any desire to look at any other woman other than Jasmine.
Why would I ever want to see anything less thanherperfection?
Brandy turns around, leaving the bathroom in a huff. I listen to the sounds of her getting dressed, gathering her things, and then walking out the door before I slump back against the counter and relax some of the tension in my shoulders. But it's only a short-lived relief before my mind is swinging back to Jaz and the fact that she saw Brandy here in my t-shirt after I've been ignoring her while I was spiraling.
“Fuck.” I pinch the bridge of my nose.
I need to go see her, explain what happened, apologize, grovel, whatever the fuck it takes to try and clean up this mess I've made.
I go to take a step forward but stop myself, spinning around to check myself in the mirror. Someone would look better than I do, having just crawled out of a collapsed building. I can't let her see me like this, not to mention my pounding head, dry mouth, and the stench of stale alcohol clinging to my skin.
Quickly swallowing down some aspirin, I step into the shower for one of the quickest on record while still making sure to actually get clean. Then, after stepping out of the shower, I towel dry in a rush, leaving my hair dripping down my neck, and then throw on some clothes. It takes longer to find my wallet, keys, and phone than it did everything else, but when I do, I see all the unopened messages from Jaz along with the missed calls that I was too drunk to answer.
Fuck.My eyes close as my head hangs low.
With renewed determination, I slide it into my back pocket and head for the door. The second I swing it open, a fist is flying into my face, and then pain radiates across my cheek, spreading and joining the pounding that was already ricocheting through my skull, causing me to stumble backward and fall to the ground. Rubbing at my jaw while trying to make sense of what the hell just happened, I look up to see Graham standing there.
“Fuck,” he grumbles, shaking out his hand as if it hurts just as much as my face does. “You fucking asshole.” Scowling down at me, he shakes his head. “I thought you cared about her. I was rooting for you.”
Stepping closer, he draws his foot back and lands a kick to my side. I know he didn't use his full strength, but still, pain blooms from the point of contact, especially since I'm already feeling in rough shape. I manage to roll over before he can kick me again and hold my hands out in front of me. “Stop. Just . . . just let me explain.”
“Explainwhat?” he snarls, his upper lip curled up in disgust. “How you've been ignoring Jasmine for the last few days while she's been worried sick about you? How you were busy fucking someone else when she lost someone special to her this morning, and all she wanted to do was come here to be withyou, to be comforted byyou,and instead, she finds some other bitch here? She ended up having one of the worst panic attacks because ofyou.”
He goes to kick me again, but this time I don't even move an inch or try to block it. I'm fucking devastated and deserve it. Ihavebeen ignoring her. She needed me, and I wasn't there for her when I told her I would be; when Ishouldhave been.
Instead, I was sleeping off a major hangover. And even though I didn't fuck Brandy it would have lookedreallybad, and I caused her to have a panic attack.
Dread fills the pit of my empty stomach as my familiar friend guilt begins traveling through my veins, consuming every inch of space in me.
This is what I do, isn't it? I fuck up and then wallow in self-condemnation. Drowning in it.
I want to ask if she's okay, but that's a stupid question. Of course, she's not. So, I snag onto something else he said, asking the question that I feel like I already know the answer to. “Who did she lose?” I ask quietly.
He scoffs. “What do you care?”
