Intoxicating

Texting Games

Leia's POV

I pushed the front door open, the usual creak echoing through the small, dimly lit living room. The second I stepped inside, I knew what I'd find. It was like clockwork by now. Sure enough, there she was-my mom, perched on the edge of the couch, drink in hand, with yet another guy whose name I didn't care to learn.

Her laughter floated through the air, thick with the smell of cheap cologne and stale cigarettes. The guy was leaning in close, his hand resting on her knee. I barely glanced at him. They all blurred together after a while-different faces, same routine.

"Oh, hey sweetie," my mom slurred, turning her glassy eyes toward me. She looked at me like I was an afterthought, like I was the intruder. "This is... uh, what's your name again?" She let out a giggle that made my skin crawl.

I didn't answer. I didn't need to. I just nodded, more out of habit than anything else, and started heading toward the stairs, hoping to escape before she could drag me into another one of her awkward introductions.

"Don't be rude, Leia," she called after me, her tone shifting slightly, trying to sound sharp but failing. "Say hello to... Mark, right?"

I mumbled something that could've been "hello," but I didn't slow down. I didn't have the energy to pretend. Not tonight. I took the stairs two at a time, desperate to get away from the noise, the smell, the mess of it all.

Her laughter followed me, even as I shut the door to my room, trying to block it out. It was the same every time. Different guy, same emptiness. I hated how normal it had become, how numb I felt to it. My room was the only place I could breathe, the only place that wasn't tainted by whatever chaos was going on downstairs.

I collapsed onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling, my mind racing but feeling so, so tired.

Timothée. Courtney. My mom. It all swirled together, one big knot of confusion and frustration. I wanted to be mad at him-at Timothée. I wanted to scream at him for what happened earlier, for making me feel things I didn't want to feel. But I couldn't even focus on that because here I was, coming home to... this.

My mom was downstairs with some random guy, and I was up here, trying to make sense of the mess that was my life. I felt sick, torn between everything-Timothée, Courtney, the way he looked at me, and this pit in my stomach from seeing my mom like that, again.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it all out, but it wasn't working. The weight of it pressed down on me, and for a second, I wanted to scream, just let it all out. But instead, I lay there, silent, letting the exhaustion take over.

Maybe tomorrow I'd feel something other than this. Maybe tomorrow things would make sense. But tonight, I just wanted to disappear.

I laid on my bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to shake the thoughts that were creeping back in, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop thinking about what had happened in the auditorium.

Timothée's hands on me, his fingers slipping under my clothes, moving with that same confidence that infuriated me-and yet, made me want more. I felt my skin tingle just remembering how easily he had broken through the walls I'd built up, how quickly I had given in when I should have said no.

I hated him for it. I hated him for making me feel so out of control, for the way his touch made my body respond without my permission. He had pushed me to the edge, and I didn't stop him. Instead, I had let him continue, even when everything inside me screamed that this wasn't what I wanted, at least not like this-with Courtney so close by, not with the guilt eating at me.

I could still feel his fingers, the way they moved inside me like he knew every inch of my body already. The way his breath hitched slightly when he leaned in to whisper in my ear, "I knew you wanted this."