18 Days

6. Day Six;; Dead!

When I woke up the next morning, Anna was gone and had violated my extra pillow in the process.

Using my ruby-red lipstick, she wrote on my pillow:

C:
Gone to class. Call me later.
-A.

I groaned. I’m pretty sure that isn’t going to come off. But I got up nonetheless, wrapping a discarded hoodie around me. I could smell aftershave, and I crinkled my nose. Where was it coming from? I padded my way over the carpet of my small living room, pushing the sleeves up on my arms as I went.

But as I walked from room to room, the smell never got stronger, but it never got weaker either. When I walked past the mirror in my foyer, I caught sight of what hoodie I was wearing, and I remembered how I had got it:
+++
“Oh, Chelsea, looks like you lost. It’s time to strip.” I looked angrily at the voice, Sean Avery, as he taunted me with a wink. He was so full of shit, and his constant attempts to hit on me was starting to wear on me. I had run out of extra things to take off, and unless I wanted to take off my underwear, I had to take off my shirt.

Begrudgingly, with a loud sigh, I began to take my shirt off. With Dan sitting beside me, I could feel his eyes on me. Raking over my hip, my waist, my chest cavity…

I had never before had a trouble with taking my clothes off, but with ten guys just… staring at me, I felt uneasy. I pretended like I didn’t notice, though. The table went deathly quiet, and I just continued to collect the cards from around the table. It was my turn to deal.

Then Sean, being the complete dickwad he is, suggested that we quit playing poker and play the game Never Have I Ever. My bottle of vodka must’ve been lonely, but at the same time, I knew he was just trying to get me drunk.

I pouted. “I want Marc sitting beside me,” I said, holding up my pointer finger, and as I held up my second finger, I said, “and no question can be outright directed to me.” I smiled brightly at the group (after I sent a meaningful glare to Sean), as Marc stood up. He gestured to Dan, who sighed deeply.

“Why do I have to move?” He complained.

I smiled. “Because you, my dear, have been having sinful thoughts about me since I took my pants off.”

After a few choice words, the two guys switched seats. “Well Marcus,” I said, elbowing him gently in the side, “this is a lot like last night,” I said in reference to the fact that neither one of us was wearing very much.
---
The next time I glanced at my Vodka bottle, it was nearly empty. Sean was a little prick for suggesting this stupid game. He probably knew I’d be drinking more than everyone else.

“This is stupid!” I declared loudly once I had polished off my bottle. “I am getting dressed and then I am going to –” As I stood up, gravity increased tenfold. I felt lightheaded and dizzy, but at the same time my head felt like it was heavier than the rest of my body. Drinking while sitting, I decided, was not a good idea.

I found my pants, putting them on, but my shirt… had vanished. I groaned, looking around the room. The guys had decided to play Go Fish (and it was quickly becoming physical), except for one.

“Hey sugar, you looking for this?” I looked at the sound of the voice.

Once Sean knew my attention was on him, he ‘accidentally’ poured a bottle of beer on it. I squealed, overtly dramatic, but that was a pretty rude thing to do. I pouted. “Why would you do that?”

It was just the way he looked at me that made me uneasy. It was like I was his prey, and he was still mentally undressing me. But I couldn’t bring myself to cover myself up.

“Sean, what the hell?”

I recognized the voice behind me, and immediately relaxed my shoulders and backed up. I felt material behind me, which led me to believe that he had recently dressed.

Sean offered no response, so Marc pulled me away. He pulled me upstairs and into his bedroom. “I wondered when this day would come,” I mused slowly.

Marc sighed. “Here, put this on.”

I caught a really big hoodie, his scent washing over me. He had worn this recently. Not that I minded – it smelled good.

I put it on, doing up the zipper as high as it would go. Compared to what it would have looked like on Marc, I looked like a child playing dress-up in daddy’s clothes. The alcohol was making my reaction time a little slow, so I didn’t immediately notice when Marc came in front of me and pulled the hood over my head. He just stood there, the hood in his grasp. I couldn’t say anything – what was there to say? But I couldn’t stand here, within reaching distance, when I’d consumed so much alcohol; and not do something.

“Marc, I –”

He stepped closer to me, and I couldn’t finish what I was saying. I had to bend my neck to look up at him, and I’m not sure exactly what he was looking at.

But as quickly as it came, it vanished. He moved around me and left his room. He left me, standing deserted in his room and wondering what the hell just happened.
+++
I groaned out loud, collapsing backwards onto my bed. Well that wouldn’t have been awkward at all! I stood up, exhaling loudly. I think I needed to talk to Marc.
---
With my Converse low-tops on, I backtracked into my kitchen to grab my keys (not that I needed them, since it was apparently very easy to get into my apartment without keys), when I heard a crunch under my shoe.

I immediately jumped out of the way, looking at the floor.
---
I knocked on his door, grasping a bundle of Kleenex’s in my hands. My eyes felt dry, my mood severely down. Marc opened the door, and taking one look at my expression, pulled me inside. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Wordlessly, I handed over the Kleenex. He gave me a curious look, but I just turned my attention to taking my shoes off. I walked into his living room, nearly at his couch when I heard him swear sharply. “What the hell is that, Chelsea?”

I turned to face him, my eyelids becoming heavy with the tears that pooled at my bottom lid. When I blinked, a few tears escaped. “I stepped on a cockroach this morning,” I whispered, my voice cracking with sadness.

Marc stared at me, speechless, because of my declaration. I tried to wipe the tears from my face, but I just continued thinking of the bug and the tears took turns slowly falling down my cheeks. “There’s nothing you can do about that, Chels,” he reassured me softly, taking a few steps to me.

“What if –” I sniffed, hearing my voice stutter, “H-he was a baby?”

He wound his arms around me, pulling me to his chest. It was a different hug than he usually gave me, because this time he was comforting me. I could feel his energy – he was genuinely feeling bad because I was upset.

I gripped his shirt, pressing my face into the fabric. He smelled like aftershave and fabric softener. “You are unbelievable, Chelsea-Marie,” he muttered into my hair.

But I couldn’t just let him have the last word. No, I had to get the last word in with, “That’s exactly what you said last night, too.”