I lasted until the bathroom.
I put my hands under the pillow like Grant had put a lock on them. My ass still burned. The shorts rubbed every time I turned over. Downstairs I heard them moving through my father’s house like they belonged in it — bags, water, low voices saying my name like a problem they were going to solve in the morning.
I did not touch myself.
Then I got up for water and the ache followed me to the sink. The mirror showed a girl with wrecked hair and a red ass she could not see and eyes that looked already caught. I told myself I would only wash my face. I ended up on the closed lid of the toilet with my shorts at my knees and two fingers in my cunt, biting my other hand, imagining Grant’s palm, Cole’s mouth, Rhys telling me to take it. I came fast and ugly and quiet a
