Beside

9 - haunt

"Jellybean. I'm serious."

"..."

"Stop ignoring me."

"..."

"I'm sorry, okay? I won't hold Sarah's hand again. Happy?"

"...Yes."

ᖴO᙭

I squeeze harder, teeth gritted, as scalding water beats down on my back. It doesn't do a damn thing to wash away the thoughts crawling under my skin.

One palm presses against the slick tile, the other is wrapped around my cock as if I can jerk her out of my mind—her skin, her fucking mouth, the way she looks at me, all doe-eyed and sweet. She's got no idea. I'm cursed.

She shouldn't be stuck in my head. But I can't get her out. Can't stop replaying that night—her flushed skin, the warmth between her thighs, the way she moaned when I touched her. Every second since. The kisses. The sounds.

I pant, water dripping into my mouth, chest heaving. I must be fifteen again. Christ.

My hand moves faster, head bowed. I'm so fucked in the head for this. I don't even like her. She's just some shy, doe-eyed girl playing house in my apartment.

I promised to show her around campus, keep us on track. Something to focus on, something concrete to keep me from losing control. But she was so close, so warm, her body, soft and pliable. The way her nails dug into my skin.

My hand moves faster, rougher, punishing myself for how badly I want to bury myself into the heat between her thighs—

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I groan low in my throat, shuddering, muscles seizing. It's violent—and then guilt hits just as hard.

I stay like that, bent over, breath ragged, pressing my forehead to the wall, water dripping off my chin. Pathetic. I'm fucking pathetic. It's not enough.

I lift my hand, glaring at it like it's the thing to blame.