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Whatever douchebag told me orgasms eased up a headache was wrong. It took a large amount of time to get there, first of all, and never really managed to ease the painful pulse in my skull
I popped another pill and crawled into bed, ready to close my eyes. Hopefully, it would get me drowsy quickly. A couple minutes in, I curled my pillow around my head. The bass of the party made my head pound in tandem with the beat.
Great.
These private walls should’ve been sound dampening, at least. Cary was a guitarist; he should’ve understood the importance of blocking out the noise from downstairs.
Oh right, but then in his early years, he probably didn’t give a fuck anyone heard him party and fuck around.
I whined, pushing my palms against my temples.
“There you are!”
I pried an eye open. A bubbly Steph hopped to my side of the bed. Her hand descended on my forehead, measuring my temperature. “You feel hot. Are you okay?”
“Not really.” I pinched my eyes closed as a sharp sting shot through me. “My head’s splitting open. I wish the music would stop.”
“I think that’s quite a demand.”
I thought so too. The boys were probably busy.
Rio and his threesome seemed to come along well every weekend.
Misha stayed his nerdy self and rather played video games while a girl sucked him off in the game room.
Ares… well, I had no idea what he was doing. To be honest, I really didn’t care either. I just wanted to get swallowed up into a deep sleep.
“Hey, girls,” a deeper voice joined us. Ares.
“You never knock, do you?” Steph called him out. Technically, she hadn’t knocked either. “She could have been in one of my designs. Or completely unclothed.”
“Either way, Steph, she would’ve been naked,” he dryly retorted and sat down next to my head. He braced his hand beside me so he could lean over and brush a stray hair from my face. The sweet kiss underneath my ear did nothing to lighten the unease.
I groaned, “Stop hovering, you guys.”
“Did you take your medicine?” Steph asked, having listened to my story two weeks ago during another girls' night.
“What medicine?” Ares asked.
“Should ask your…” Steph, being a loyal friend, directed a loaded question at Ares. “What is she to you, exactly?”
“Exactly what you are to Misha,” he responded, thickly pouring with accusation, which seemed to hit Steph with full force. It took her a while to mask the hurt.
No idea what that meant, but my brain was knocked out, and the insult didn’t penetrate through the virtue of logic.
“You’re an asshole.”
Ares shrugged. “Never told anyone otherwise.”
“Should work on it,” I yawned, and pushed a palm against my eye socket.
“Should tell me what’s going on instead of telling me what to do. It works the other way around, remember?”
“Asshole,” I murmured.
“Dita,” he silently warned.
“Leave me alone.”
