Fucked up| Dreamnapnotfound

Unwanted but welcome moves

George is a flirty drunk. He's been hitting on me sloppily for a few sips now. I'm not drunk but George is obviously lightweight and he's taking in a lot more then I am.

I'm definitely driving.

George's arm slides around one of my shoulders to the other one and he puts his head on me, resting it and going silent for a moment.

I almost think he's asleep but he straightens up and uses the car as back support after a second. His arm is still around me though and he sighs, dropping the alcohol beside me and letting it pour onto the ground. I pick it up to save as much as possible but I put the lid back on and hold it in my lap.

"I'm not a virgin. I've had sex before" he states it as if I was trying to say he hadn't.

"Congrats..." I didn't see this coming. I don't think I need a look into his sex life.

"With girls. Because I'm straight."

"Okay..."

"And I like it." He takes a pause,"and I want to keep doing it with girls"

...

"Because I'm straight."

Im starting to think he's just thinking out loud without realising.

"Im straight, Nick. I've had girlfriends and I have a crush on a girl at school"

"Congrats... at least you know who you are"

"I don't know who I am, Nick."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"..." the cold air wafts around us as a gust of wind pushes us closer together,"no"

"Then we don't have to-"

"Nick I'm sorry that I kissed you the day we met. And I'm sorry I kissed Clay too"

"No hard feelings" I turn to smile at him and he's just staring at me with his mouth slightly open again and looking at my lips, I notice his hand on the inside of my thighs and my heart starts beating. I don't like George like that. I think.

Maybe one kiss wouldn't be so bad?

George isn't leaning in and he isn't looking at my lips anymore. His hand isn't on the inside of my thigh either. Did I imagine it? His hand was just over my cuts moments before and now he's staring off the highway and over the railing to the lake beneath.

"George?"

He looks at me.

"I'm not sober." He whispers.

"I know..." I match his tone.

"I lied when I said I liked having sex with girls. And I don't want to keep having sex with them."

"I could tell."

"I'm not sober." He repeats.

I nod.

"I don't want to leave. I don't want to go home. I want to stay here with you." He turns to look oddly close to me, close enough that if I just moved a tiny bit our lips would meet.

My heart beats in my chest and it's speed increases as George climbs onto my lap, our foreheads pressed together and the bottle of Vodka long cast to the side as the knees on his sweats rip from the contact of the dusty stones.

His hands are tightly holding my hoodies hood from the front. He tugs it close to his chest and pulls me closer to him.

"I'm not sober." He says one final time before moving down past my face and latching onto my neck, sucking and kissing it all while pulling me closer somehow.

My hands make their way to waist and then one to his neck, gripping it carefully so that I don't hurt him.

The only sound is the cars whooshing past behind us and the wind making the abandoned bottle roll away with a clink down the cliff to its demise.

George suddenly goes limp in my arms and all I can guess is he passed out.
———

The car drives into town, past the row houses and the school, the familiar buildings coming into view the further in I travel.

George stirs in the backseats, slowly waking up. I'm not ready to have this conversation.

My hand goes to my- now dry, neck and I check it in the mirror, the same yellow-brown bruising in the same place its been in the last 100 times I checked.

George stretches out and yawns, like he woke up from a nap rather then just making me think he died.

"Jesus how strong was that stuff-" he leans forward in between the two front seats, his elbows resting on either seat.

I'm silent.

"What, I didn't profess my love for you or something, did I?" He jokes with a laugh and a wince.

I'm silent.

"Did I?" His voice is suddenly urgent.

"George..."
———