For a second, I couldn’t breathe as my cock throbbed with the heavy-gauge piercing’s stranglehold on it. I clenched my fists into tight balls, trying to control the ache, but my weakness was just proof yet again that I was a piece of shit, not worthy of her.
So fucking weak.
So goddamn pathetic.
I was a grown ass man. Sex addict or not, my dick shouldn’t be twitching just because she greeted me with no loathing in her words.
Talk about being willing to scrape the bottom of the barrel.
Scum. That’s what you are, boy. That’s all you’ll ever be. You’re a fucking magnet for it too. No matter what you touch, you’ll soil it. You’re just like me. Don’t look down that pretty nose of yours and think we’re any different. We ain’t. We’re trash.
The memory echoed in my head, making me jerk with surprise. I hadn’t thought of Mom in a long time, but it was hard not to at that moment. Hard not to be plagued with memories and regrets and remorse.
The thing about addiction? The thing they never told you? After the suffering and the going cold turkey, and the withdrawals, as well as the rest of the misery that came with it, you never stopped apologizing. You never stopped trying to make shit right. You never stopped trying to earn forgiveness for the things you did when you were under the influence.
It was like being a lost puppy that was asking to be kicked. Sure, you deserved the kick, but it never got easy. The bruises still went deep. The ache didn’t lessen. And what hurt worst of all was knowing that what you put your loved ones through was ten times worse than anything you had to deal with.
"Storm? Everything okay?" she questioned, tone changing now, shifting with worry at my extended silence.
"Sorry. Everything’s fine." I stared at the clothes again, then grimaced. "She got her period."
"Here’s the order for table two," she told someone, but to me, when I heard the background noise dissipate as she walked away, she questioned, "Did I hear you right? Sorry, some guys from a nearby plant came in. Cyan got her period?"
"Yeah."
"She told you?"
"Well, no." The pinks taunted me. "I was doing the laundry—"
"Oh, thank you! God, I needed to do that tonight."
"Don’t thank me yet," I muttered, uncomfortable with the gratitude.
"Why?"
"Cyan dumped a pink leotard into the mix of whites."
Keira snorted. "Oops."
"Yeah."
"How bad is it?"
I shot a picture and sent it to her. "See for yourself."
She whistled under her breath. "So she told you about it while faced with the evidence?"
"Yeah. But I asked her if she needed Advil or a hot water bottle, and she has pads and… well, tampons, you know?"
"I do." She laughed a little. "Poor Storm. Wrong day to be the one on pick-up duty, huh?"
"Hey, I handled it okay. She did cartwheels outta here."
"Cartwheels? Then she definitely didn’t need painkillers." A sigh escaped her. "Our baby’s growing up."
"No, she’s not."
"Yes, she is." Keira chuckled. "Get used to it. It’s only going to get worse from here."
I groaned. "Don’t remind me."
"I won’t need to. She’ll do that herself." She snickered. "I’ll talk to her about periods some more tonight. We already talked about it a year or so ago."
"Why? Don’t they teach that shit in schools?"
"You’re kidding, right?" She scoffed. "Never enough, and I wasn’t going to have her being uncomfortable about asking me that sort of thing."
"I’ll have the sex conversation with her."
Silence fell at my declaration, then, "Huh?"
"You heard me. I can tell her all the shit she needs to know about how to avoid boys."
"For a second, I thought my ears deceived me," she said wryly.
"I don’t want to talk about it," I clarified, eyeing the pink sheets. "But fuck, she shouldn’t be embarrassed with me either."
"She’s a girl. You’re a guy. She’s going to be embarrassed."
"Well, we need to break that stereotype. Plus, I looked this up. Ohio is an abstinence state."
"I know." I didn’t have to see her to know she was grimacing. "Not ideal."
"Fucking stupid. Like, what? You tell horny teenagers not to have sex, so they’ll listen? Since when do kids fucking listen?"
"You won’t hear me arguing."
"I’ll teach her all the shit so she’ll never want to do it."
Keira laughed. "You want to traumatize her?"
"Well, that’s a harsh word. More like keep her on the straight and narrow."
"That bastard probably did that."
My jaw clenched. "Maybe," I conceded. "If he did, then I won’t have to scare her, just inform her." As the idea percolated in my head, I asked, aware I was pleading, "I won’t need to do this for a while though, right?"
"Maybe in a couple of months?"
"Jesus. So soon? She’s only eleven."
"Any later, she could be sexually active. Kids have sex young." At my groan of dismay, a groan that was founded in truth because I’d first had sex at thirteen and hell, Scarlet had a year later, she sighed. "I know, I know. I don’t like it any more than you do."
"I’ll do it. Maybe in the summer, when we’ve done a good six months of therapy, yeah?"
"You don’t have to," was her dry retort. "I’ll talk to her about it."
"No. That’s not fair."
"If we’d had a boy, I’d have let you talk to them about sex. And wet dreams. And all the other gross shit that happens to you."
My lips quirked. "You’re so kind."
"I know it," was her rejoinder. "Give her a kiss from me, but I need to go."
"Yeah." I heard the bustle in the background. "What should I do with the sheets?"
"There should be a color run remover sachet in the cupboard above the washing machine. Just follow the instructions."
"Sorry, Keira."
"For what?"
"Fucking this up."
Her laugh was soft. "I’m guessing Cyan shoved it in at the last minute?" When I said nothing, her laughter deepened. "Not your fault, Storm. Thank you. Really. It’s not the end of the world."
"See you later," I said gruffly. "Drive safe."
"I will."
She disconnected the call, and as she did, her laughter echoed in my head.
I was trying to live like a fucking priest, but I was a sinner. There was no hiding from it. No evading it.
My head bowed as I gripped the sides of the washer.
I felt like I could rip this goddamn thing out of the wall and hurl it across the room, especially when my dick made itself known.
It’d be so easy to grab it.
To hold it.
To jack off.
Just one touch…
Fuck, I swore, that’s all it’d take.