The Fuck List

7

D E C E M B E R
B L A K E

A month passed, but it felt like forever—a mix of noise, laughter, and whispers always around me. I hadn't talked to Asher since that night and didn't want to. Every time I saw him in the halls, my stomach twisted. I didn't want to deal with all the messed-up feelings I buried under vodka and not caring.

No matter how hard I tried to forget the truth with wild nights and random hookups, I couldn't shake how I felt about him. He stuck in my head, and I hated it.

There was something about the way he looked at me—those times our eyes met, and I felt something I couldn't explain. I had to keep my distance. If I got too close, I'd end up kissing him. I'd want him, and that scared me more than anything. I was losing control, but I couldn't admit it. Not to Asher, not to River, and not even to myself.

I craved control like a guy drowning and gasping for air. The only way I knew to get it was to continue my list. The thought of checking off names, of claiming these girls, became an instant obsession. It promised me a moment of purpose amid all the chaos happening around me.

I threw myself into the only thing that numbed the endless pain- sex. It wasn't even a hard thing to do and I barely had to try to get girls. The girls came to me, desperate for one thing: my cock. They looked at me with hungry eyes, ready to take me like I was some prize. I felt like a trophy, just there to make them feel good for a bit. It was twisted, and honestly, it felt like a joke.

I used to chase girls, using them like pieces in my game, not caring about their feelings. I took pride in my conquests, thinking I was in control. But now, lying there beneath them, I realized I had become what I used to enjoy. The shame hit hard, but I couldn't stop. I was stuck in this cycle, letting them use me while I was too drunk to think straight, and honestly, I didn't care. I was doing everything I could just to find some sort of excitement in my life.

Every night blurred together, and the excitement eventually faded into emptiness. They used me for a quick thrill, and I felt more lost each time. I was no longer the one in charge; I was just another body. That hurt more than I wanted to admit. But still, each night, I would end up tangled in sheets with girls all over me, sometimes multiple in a night, but never at the same time.

Most times, we didn't even make it to the bed before they were on me like they couldn't wait. They were soaked with lust, but not for me—just for what I could give them. They didn't care who I was; they only wanted the feeling, the release, the pleasure. I was just there to fill that need, and I let them.

I was so drunk, I doubt I was even good at it. They did most of the work anyway. I just lay there, barely moving, letting them do whatever they wanted. They'd ride me while I gave weak thrusts, craving their touch but too far gone to care. I was just a body for them to use, and I let it happen every time. Their moans were like background noise, mixing with the pounding in my head, and I could barely focus long enough to enjoy it.

But then, Asher would slip into my mind. It wasn't something I planned; it just happened. His face, his lips, the memory of that night—the one I could barely remember but couldn't forget. And suddenly, my body would react. My thrusts got faster, more desperate. I'd moan louder than I had all night, grunting, feeling more than I had in months. I would become almost animalistic, scratching at their backs as I pulled them closer, pushing them deeper into me.

In those moments, I didn't care if they whimpered or gasped; it just made me want to keep going. I was chasing a high, trying to escape, and it felt amazing. I felt strong, even if it was just for a little while. I was lost in the chaos, and as I moved with them, I knew I was still just a ghost in my own life, reaching for something I couldn't have.