Speechless: REWRITTEN

18. Sage

Gianna

I fucked up. My God, I fucked up.

As soon as I got home this morning, I ran a bath with scalding hot water and forced my body to sink into it, but I spent more time running the memories of last night over and over in my head that the water inevitably got cold before I could wash myself in it.

It keeps playing like a movie in my head. Ryan and I driving in our respective cars to his family's house. His mother giving me the biggest hug ever and giving me some tea to warm me up. Jack finally resting on my lap and being a good dog for the first time since I've known him. Ryan's dad making jokes with me and his siblings asking me weird questions that only made me laugh harder. All of us at the dinner table eating authentic Mexican food. Around midnight, all of us are served sparkling wine, despite Ryan and I still being nineteen, and have a grape eating competition to usher in the new year. We stayed up for another hour, drinking and laughing, before Ryan and I retire to the basement which also happens to be his bedroom.

I was supposed to sleep on the couch in the basement while he slept in his bed. I was supposed to just wish him goodnight and come back here after goodbyes to his family. I was supposed to thank him for taking me in for the holiday and hopefully begin a budding friendship. But that wasn't what happened.

When we got down there, we started talking. My heart was heavy with Roscoe's actions and the memories of being in Ryan's house, talking with his family and just being with him. Despite us not spending time together when we were actually dating, the time we did spend was amazing. I saw the two of us like that again, within his gaze and his stupid smile with the stupid dimples and milk chocolate eyes.

I kissed him. I wished that he would push me off, give me a reprimand, and I would pass out on his couch. At least one of us could be sane in this moment. But he kissed me back, and he tasted like wine and sugar. Sugar, like his nickname for me when we were dating. It was stupidly sweet and my intoxicated brain convinced me that he was all I needed in that moment. Not sleep or advice or anything rational. Just him.

The sloppy kissing turns too hot, too fast. I was lost in the taste of him, the smell of his skin, the sound of his voice in my ears. I got greedy and selfish, pushing farther than we should've. All I knew in that moment was that I wanted all of him, and having him would help me forget what I couldn't have.

The sex felt different than the last time we did it. Last time, it was dutiful, not for the enjoyment of either of us, but for the fact that anything else we did together would've resulted in an argument. The only thing that got along between us were our bodies, and so that's all we talked with. But this time, it was slow and meticulous. We took our time with each other because all we wanted was to indulge and not rush, as if the night was never-ending.

In the morning, I got dressed, left a apology note for him on his nightstand, and got in my car, not a single word to the rest of his family. Halfway through the ride, I pull to the side and throw up a couple of times. Then I finish the rest of the ride and hop in the bathtub to wash off the night.

But I haven't stopped staring into the now-cold water, pressing one hand against the love bite on my neck and the other in my hair. I can't even blame anyone but myself for this. I can't spin it into another story or use different words to justify it.

I used Ryan. And it didn't even work in my favor.

Once I see the skin on the pads of my fingers wrinkle, I turn on some hot water and finally wash myself, spending a little too much time and effort on my legs and chest. Then I trudge out of the tub and put on a striped sweater and joggers, not even bothering to dry my hair. After, I just lay in bed, curled in on myself, trying to silence my thoughts of regrets and sorrow. They accumulate and push themselves into the crevices of my brain, giving me the worst headache known to man.