twisted | ✔️

chapter one

       

My back was killing me, and my leg was trapped. I'd been staring up at the ceiling, wondering just which way I could move that would inflict the least amount of damage. My eyes were roaming the contents of the room surrounding me, a place I'd never seen and, by the looks of it, probably never wanted to see again—some metal poster hanging by three corners on the wall, a stack of old dishes piled up on the desk, the ugly plaid bedspread currently covering my lower half.

I needed to get out of here. I pushed myself deeper into the bed and grabbed the edge of the mattress with my hand, pulling slightly. The guy next to me with his arm slung across my ribs and his leg draped above mine stirred slightly, and I froze, my breath caught in my lungs. I waited, and after a few beats he had turned over from his stomach onto his back, freeing me completely. I let out a silent sigh of relief.

In the next twenty seconds, I was out the door, my pants unbuttoned at my waist with my shirt in my arms and my shoes between my fingers, practically running. I wrestled to fix the clasp on my bra as I turned the corner of the hallway, coming face to face with the roommate I vaguely remembered meeting the night before. He was drinking coffee at the kitchen table, his thumb paused above his phone, his eyes glancing up to look at me like I wasn't the first encounter like this that he'd had.

"Leaving so soon?" he mumbled, slightly amused at the mess of a girl before him.

"Yeah, actually, I, uh, have work, so," I stammered, lying through my teeth, struggling to get my shirt on over my head. I didn't need there to be two guys in this house that had seen my shirtless. "You know, if you could just let him know that I had a great time and I'll give him a call."

"I'll be sure to tell him," he said sardonically, returning to his scrolling.

Embarrassed, I gathered up my dignity and my purse at the door and slinked out into the early morning daylight. It was the middle of winter, and the air assaulted me as I stepped onto the front porch. I couldn't remember for the life of me where I'd parked my car, but I walked my shame down the sidewalk in the general direction my hungover mind led me. I found it across the street a couple of houses down, thankfully in great condition, because I knew that I had had way too much to drink last night and made the terrible decision to drive anyway.

My car was a rush of warmth, of familiarity, as I sunk into my driver's seat. I braced myself for the image that would be staring back at me if I pulled down the visor and looked at myself in the mirror, and sure enough, my hair was in disarray, my eyeliner was smudged, making it look like I hadn't slept, and there were hickeys dotting my collarbone. I slammed the visor shut.

From what I could piece together, I had gone into last night with exactly the expectations of what actually occurred. Emmy accompanied me downtown, both of us in high heels with our hair teased to the heavens and red lipstick painted across our lips, flirting with every guy who chanced to look our way for the shot at free drinks. We were only there for thirty minutes before he sidled up beside me and whispered in my ear about how beautiful I looked. I knew it was a line, and even before he brushed the hair out my eyes and behind my ear and before he grabbed my hips and pulled me against him on the dance floor, I knew I was going to end up saying yes when he asked me if I wanted to get out of there. He told me his name—Devon, Dylan, Declan—but I wasn't listening. I was too busy pawing at the buttons of his shirt and breathing heavily into his ear. At this point, it was routine for me.

I pulled out my phone and quickly dialed Emmy.

"Hello?" her voice groaned from the other end of the line.

"Do you want to meet up for coffee?" I asked.

"God yes," she mumbled, clearly trying to claw her way out of the haze. "Let me get dressed."