Carved in Her Bones

Rhian

I woke up feeling like death. My head pounded, my throat was dry, and every muscle in my body protested movement. This was why I avoided drinking—one bad decision, and I became what my brother so lovingly called a cheap drunk.

Memories from last night hit me like a slap, and I groaned, burying my face into the pillow. What the hell was wrong with me?

What had possessed me to ask a complete stranger to touch me—in public, no less—was beyond comprehension. It was so unlike me... but also exactly in line with my current mission: lose my virginity before leaving for that stupid internship in three months.

Twelve dates. Twelve awkward first dates since Oliwia had convinced me that modern love was a numbers game. I gave each one my best self—funny, charming, maybe a little too honest—but none of them had made it to a second date. They either ghosted me, blocked me, or disappeared like I was some social experiment gone wrong.

The rejection stung more than I wanted to admit. Was I that undesirable? Did I say something wrong? Was I coming on too strong? I didn't know anymore.

By last night, I was over it. I'd told myself that if my next date ghosted me, I'd resign myself to a celibate life of wine, cats, and crochet blankets. But instead of keeping it together, I'd gotten drunk and asked some random man to touch me.

Peter—the latest in a string of failures—dropped me off in front of the dorms without even a glance back. No kiss, no hug, not even an awkward goodbye. Not that I'd expected one. At least the drive sobered me enough to remind me of a simple truth:I could be a slut in my head, but not in real life. Not in front of people.

The surge of vomit rose before I could stop it. I barely made it to the shared bathroom, collapsing to my knees just as my stomach heaved violently, expelling everything I'd consumed the night before—dinner, drinks, and whatever courage I thought I'd found. This is why I hated drinking. My body always found a way to punish me for poisoning it with ethanol.

When it finally stopped, I knelt there, gasping, throat raw and on fire, abs cramping like I'd just finished a brutal workout. I dragged myself to the shower, needing to wash away the grime—physical and emotional—clinging to me. Hot water poured over my head, and I tried to focus on the sound of it, the warmth against my skin. But the memories slipped in, uninvited.

His voice from last night echoed inside me, stirring an ache I wished I didn't feel. The words he whispered had been a dangerous mix of teasing and promise, and now, standing under the water, I hated how easily they reignited the craving I'd tried to forget. Before I could stop myself, my body responded to the memory of him. I shuddered, despising the way I let myself come undone, thinking about someone who probably hadn't even thought twice about me today.

I stepped out of the shower, heart racing from more than just steam, and wrapped a towel around myself. I avoided looking at my phone—part of me knew what it would say. Or rather, what it wouldn't. I wanted a little longer to pretend, to let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, the man from last night wanted me the way my body craved him.

I threw my hair into a messy bun, glancing in the mirror without bothering with makeup. There was no point. My reflection didn't care how I felt, and work wouldn't either. I made the bed, grabbed my phone, and sighed when the screen lit up.

Zero messages from Peter. I swallowed down the sting. I shouldn't have cared this much. And of course, a dozen messages from Oliwia—a barrage of texts that read like an interrogation. I didn't have the energy to tell my best friend I might've been ghosted. Again.

By the time I got to work, I'd shoved every thought of him to the back of my mind where they couldn't hurt me. Routine took over, numbing the edges of my emotions. I cleaned the register, disinfected menus, counted change, took inventory—anything to keep myself too busy to think. But by lunch, the exhaustion hit, heavy and unrelenting, and I realized I hadn't eaten all day.