SWEET SWEET SUGAR // 18+

Chapter Fourteen

KELSEY

I'm convinced.

The world's working against me.

If my life's a simulation, I'm destined for a tragic ending.

Why?

"I ate something wrong. I ate something wrong..."

Like a broken record, I repeated the four words in my brain until I felt like throwing up once more. The sick taste of bile coats my tongue and drenches my throat, as disgustingly as it sounds. If someone unlucky is in this restroom besides me right now, they're hearing the experience on 4K.

Having sex without protection is fun-- you see, it's a 'fuck today, regret tomorrow' sort of thing where as someone who prefers to live in the present, I dig. I'm an unreliable narrator and a terrible person, so of course you must be thinking- "This bitch deserves what she get for not using a condom during sex on purpose."

And perhaps, to a certain degree, you may be right. I might be pregnant with the child of a 50-something man, who ALSO is my tyrannical step-dad's business partner-- which is a fact I was too stupid and horny to look up on the internet. I mean, can you really blame me? There's over 7 billion people on Earth, surely I couldn't have guessed that a random rich middle-aged dude with a magnum dong and an irresistible smile was actually Gage's business partner! I would have to be a total psych for that!

However, if there's one thing you could blame me for, is how 100% sure I was about not getting pregnant because the man is 'too old'. Don't men get menopause?

Pressing the flush button, I tilt the seat down to place my ass on it, taking a huge, albeit disgusting, breath. Sure, I'm throwing up and have been feeling weirdly weak lately. But, that doesn't necessarily mean that I could be bearing a child, right? That is actually an offensive and presumptuous thing to do. In today's society, you don't just point out a woman's PMS-bloated belly with your index finger and say "WHO'S THE DAD?". Similarly, you can't just point at a puking woman and say "WHO'S THE DAD?".

With my wobbly legs, I step out of the toilet stall and gargle my mouth with water a couple times before I finally leave the restroom. As soon as I'm out, a waiter decides to come out of the restaurant kitchen, blasting a strong scent of raw fish right out through the gap between the doors. The whiff of it hugs my nostrils, and I can't believe I can taste sick in my throat again.

But just as I'm contemplating on going back to the restroom for another sick sesh, I'm stopped when I spot Bryce leaning against the wall awfully close to the women's restroom.

I used to think I'd be alright with fucking Bryce at first, but lately? This four-eyed loser is giving me nothing but creeps that I'm seriously close to calling HR for.

"Hey, did you need something?" I try to keep my voice as flat and monotone as possible, but it only makes Bryce cross his arms and grin like a rat.

He tells me, somewhat inching closer. "You took an awful lot of time in there. All cool, Sanderson?"

"Have you been waiting out here the whole time, Bryce?" I fix the slightly crooked collar of my blouse "Is that supposed to be normal with colleagues?"

For some reason, Bryce takes a step forward and tilts his eyes down to my lips as he says "at this point, are we really only a pair of colleagues... Sanderson?"

It seems the fish and the probable pregnancy aren't the only reasons behind my impending puke right now.

"I think we should go back before Mr. Holden starts to get antsy," I feign a smile and try to walk past him, but my heels aren't fast enough as he suddenly grabs my arm, and pins me against the red-golden paper-plastered wall.