This chick does have talent, definitely not an amateur when it comes to sucking dick. The feint afterthought that I should be wrapping it up before letting her mouth touch my cock flashes through my inebriated brain. But where was the fun in that? Truth be told I deserve some kind of STD, something that could permanently fuck up my future, but it won’t happen. I’m god damn invincible and no matter how much I test my luck it will never fail me, despite how often I pray it will; begging for punishment like a drowning man searching for air. Unfortunately invincibility seems to be another one of my curses.
Fuck. Maybe I am some kind of superhero.
My hand lazily finds its way on Blondie’s head as she takes me deeper and deeper into oblivion.
Damn I’m so loaded at this point I barely remember my own name, so P or T something shouldn’t feel bad.
I don’t bother to warn Blondie that I’m about to come. I know she will take whatever I have to offer. Just like all the ones before her. With a grunt I jet semen down her throat, pulling her hair slightly causing her to moan in appreciation and sending a nice little vibration around my dick.
Now the welcoming silence descends and my memories have been wiped clean.
Nothing. But. Nothingness.
“Damn honey that was something.”
Sitting up on the bed and I tuck myself back into my pants, still managing to hold on to my whiskey like a God. Damned. Pro.
“Mmmhmmm,” she hums. “Now it’s my turn. By the way my name is Samantha,” she informs wiping her mouth seductively with her fingers.
Samantha. I was way off.
“Whatever honey.”
And I also don’t give a shit.
Leaping to her feet she straddles me in one movement and kisses me sloppily while rocking her hips into my lap before I even have time to zip up my pants. Amazing. I treat her like shit and she is still down to screw my brains out. Blondie tasted like tequila and tobacco and shame, but I’m an emotional masochist and all that is wrong with her and this situation only makes my cock hard and ready for round two.
“Give me a second honey.”
Taking a final pull of Jameson I throw the now empty bottle onto the floor where it clanks against the many others playing the songs of my failure and ever progressing self-destruction. I reach into my pocket and pull my wallet free snatching a condom out of one of the folds. As daring as I was with the blow job there is no fucking way I’m sticking my dick in this girl without protection. Shit the last thing I need is a mini me running around.
Grabbing Blondie’s hips I flip her easily around onto my bed, making sure to press her head into the mattress. No need to see her face. Fuck, I don’t even want to know her name.
She giggles like a little school girl and I try not to feel repulsed. Whoever told women that sounding like a little girl was sexy should have his fucking head examined.
I need to get this over with already.
Pulling my pants down, for the second time tonight, I rip the condom wrapper with my teeth and sheath myself.
“You ready for me honey?” I rasp into her ear dragging a hand toward the back of her inner thigh and up under her skirt to her center.
No panties.
Typical.
I slide a finger into her and she moans. Damn she is dripping wet, more than ready. Her ass begins to grind upward into my hand and her moans became more frantic. She does have a fucking amazing ass I will give her that.
The tip of my dick is hovering right at her entrance when without warning flashes of that night play through my mind like a horror movie. Her angelic face ghosts through my closed eyes.
Torturing me. Tempting me. Killing me.
I shake my head as if that will somehow erase the memory, like my brain is a god damned Etch-A-Sketch.
Forget.
Push past it.
Push into her. You will feel release.
Become numb.
Before I slam into her I hear the muffled ringing of my phone from the pocket of my jeans on the floor.
“Fuck.”
I was so fucking close. Snatching my pants off the floor I clumsily try to pull my phone out of my pocket.
“Ignore it baby. It’s like two in the morning. Just fuck me already. I’m ready.”
“Don’t call me baby,” I snarl.
I know how harsh I sound, but where the hell does this chick get off thinking she can call me baby? Only one girl had that right, and she’s dead now.
The caller ID on my phone reads Shayla and I slide a finger across the screen as fast as I can manage.
“Shayla? What’s up? You okay?”
Trying to hide the panic in my voice is near impossible because my sixteen year old sister calling at two in the morning can mean nothing good. I discard the condom, because I don’t want to talk to my sister with a fucking condom wrapped around my dick, and pull my pants back up over my hips.
“Liam,” a faint sniffle shudders through the phone and burns into my ear.
What. The. Fuck.
She has obviously been crying and the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.
“Who the hell is Shayla?” Blondie flips dramatically around and shoots an icy glare my way as if she has some claim to me.
I thought my not bothering to remember her name would have been the first hint I don’t give a shit about her, but apparently that wasn’t clear enough. And I do not fucking like the way she spits out my sister’s name as if it was poison. I cover the speaker of the phone with my hand and walk the short distance from my bed to my bathroom.
“My baby sister. Now, shut the fuck up.”
Slamming the bathroom door shut I have to lean against the counter to steady my drunk ass, the iridescent lights quickly creating a migraine in my intoxicated brain.
Focus asshole.
“You okay? What’s wrong sweetheart?”
The relentless thumping in my chest is warning me that I need to calm the hell down before my heart explodes. I press the Harley keys from my pocket hard into my hand in an attempt to focus my rabid energy. That and because I want to be ready to haul my ass home in order to beat the shit out of anyone that is messing with my sister. I may be too fucked up to drive but the blind rage I’ve quickly been accustomed to since that night is scorching through my veins. Sobering. Me. Right the fuck up.
“I’m fine Liam.”
Thank fuck.
“It’s Dad. He-he can’t do it anymore.” She sniffs into the phone again. That sound breaks me. My sister is the only one that I allow to evoke some semblance of a real emotion in me anymore; if it were anyone else I would push those emotions someplace deep where they can’t affect me.
“What? What do you mean Shay?”
“It’s the cancer. I know he told you he was doing fine and was in remission and he didn’t need any help with the bar, but he was lying. The chemo treatments are wearing on him. He’s lost so much weight and he is tired all the time. I’m trying to help, but with school I just don’t have the time to be there as much. And Dory quit so he doesn’t have a manager to help him anymore. He’s at the bar all the time. He’s killing himself. I don’t what to do. I know he doesn’t want you to know, I’m not sure why. But I’m scared Liam. I just don’t- I don’t…” she trails off through a faded sob.
How could my Dad keep this from me? If he hadn’t assured me his cancer was in remission I would have been home months ago to fucking help. Maybe he doesn’t believe I can help. Fuck, he’d be right. I’m in no position to help anyone and he can probably sense it. I have an aurora about me that screams failure to anyone within a universally wide radius. Damn, maybe he doesn’t even want me around. I would be a constant fucking reminder of the night he lost his first born son while me, his other son, did nothing to help.
But I know that’s not the case. No one person; not my mother, my father, my sister, fucking no one blames me for what happened. And that makes it so much worse. I would rather their anger and blame then their fucking p
ity. I don’t deserve to be pitied, or forgiven.
“Shhh Shay, it’s okay. You’re sixteen, you shouldn’t know what to do,” I tell her running my hand over my face as I sink onto the bathroom floor. “I’m coming back. I’ll hop on the first ferry home tomorrow. Don’t worry.”
“Promise?” The question came out in a whimper causing me to slam my fist hard on the linoleum floor. I can’t fail her too.
Not her.
No. Fucking. Way.
How could I be snorting, fucking and drinking while my baby sister wasn’t sleeping because she’s too busy taking care of her family? Our family.
Fuck. I’m such a worthless piece of shit.
She sounds so tired, so worn out. How could I have missed this? Just another thing I refuse to acknowledge because I’m so wrapped up in my own bullshit.
Self-loathing can keep a person busy.
“I promise Shay. Try and get some sleep sweetheart. You hear me?”
“Okay big brother. I’m-I’m really sorry.”
“What?” Jesus. “Don’t be sorry Shayla. This isn’t your fault. Listen go get some sleep. I’ll be back on the island first thing tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious Shayla. Sleep, you got me,” I command because I want to be very fucking sure she listens.
“Yea I got you.”
“Good girl. Goodnight sweetheart.”
“Night. Love you Liam.”
“Me too.”
I slide my finger across the screen to end the call while I try my best not to fucking crush the phone in my hand. I don’t even realize I am banging my head on the bathroom wall until I hit it a little too hard. But the pain helps. It centers me, it focuses me and with each hit I can feel the anger start to fade away.
“Liam what’s going on in there? Are you comin’ back out here or what? I cut a few lines in case you need a little pick me up baby.”
Shit. I fucking forget about what’s her name. And did she just call me baby again?
“I told you not to call me baby. Do you have a hard time understanding fucking English? You need to get your shit and leave. Something’s come up.”
I don’t bother leaving the bathroom; I don’t need to deal with her drama. I just want her out of my fucking apartment. I’m sure the gentlemanly thing to do is offer to call her a cab and give her money for the ride home, but I’m not a gentleman, she is definitely not a fucking lady and I am confident she is a pro at the Walk of Shame so she knows how this works.
“Are you fucking serious?!” Blondie shrieks as she bangs on the bathroom door. Guess that little girl voice has disappeared.
I don’t bother to respond, I would just be flaming the fire of her inner drama queen and I have neither the time nor the patience for that bullshit. I hear her mumbling something about me being a one pump chump, blah blah blah, can’t get it up and some other nonsense I couldn’t give two shits about. Then the front door finally closes with a bang and I work myself up off the bathroom floor. I turn around and do the one thing I haven’t done in fucking months.
I look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
The person staring back at me is a pathetic excuse for a brother, for a son, for a human being. My pupils are the size of pin needles, probably because of the massive amounts of coke I’ve inhaled tonight, I haven’t shaved in weeks and my skin is grey.
Not pale. Fucking. Gray.
I guess that’s what happens when your main food group consists of Whiskey and Ramen. Not mixed together. That’s fucking disgusting.
I wonder if this is what Shay looks like right now. I haven’t seen her beautiful face in months so I wouldn’t know. But I know if she looks as bad as me it’s because she has worn herself down by doing something admirable, something to be proud of. Like taking care of her family when they need it most. Something I should be doing. I need to do.
I have a fucking chance here. A chance to redeem myself. I’m in a hell of my own making and this is my opportunity to get out. I don’t know if redemption can be found in hell, but I know it’s time to find out. I take one final look at myself in the mirror before I pull my arm up, make a fist, and smash it to fucking pieces.
It’s time to go home.
There are so many people to thank for supporting me during this journey.
Firstly, I must thank my husband, Kevin, for all your love and support. Thank you for not laughing at me, well not laughing that much when I told you the idea I had for this “smutty” book. Chimney sweeping still does not turn me on… but we’ll always have the Vicar and Zelda to laugh about.
To my favorite Beta Bitch, you are the William to my Maximus and someone who has become one of my closest friends — AJ. Thank you for our daily chats, Pinterest research power sessions and twitter stalking of our favorite Welsh hottie. Thank you for bringing new obsessions into my life such as “Sons of Anarchy” and Charlie Hunnam (sorry Rachel, AJ did tell me about him first). Thank you for supporting me, being a sounding board of good ideas, my silver linings guru and for making me laugh when I needed it most. Above all, thank you for loving Ronan and Holliday’s story as much as I do; it means so much to me. I honestly cannot remember what my life was like before we figured out we were basically the same person. If I could type this message in complete emojis it would be filled with, half a dozen of the smiley ones, the scared one, the rainbow, the sun, and the ones with the raised arms {we did it}. OH! And for T or P or something, that will never get old. And Boom goes the dynamite! Love you #Heartsong #GoodForYou #MorningsHere #TeamUni
To Jill and Christa, My favorite Canadians — Thank you for inspiring me daily. Your love and loyal friendship has taught me so many things over the past year. Our group chats are a continual basis for strength and rock solid support in this amazing industry we work in. Thank you for making me laugh, giving it to me straight and offering encouragement in everything I do. Love you both! #TeamUni #PHPhc
To Rachel, My Soul Sister — I knew from the moment we met we would become great friends. I enjoy all of the therapeutic texts and epic phone calls that should be illegal at times! Thank you for all the amazing advice and for sharing your experiences with me as we navigate through the craziness. Mostly, I am inspired by your humor, passion, work ethic and business savvy. I am honored to call you my friend. xoxoxo
To the wonderful Authors who continue to be supportive of me — TC Matson, Fabiola Francisco, Susan Ward, Salem Archer, KL Shandwick Terri Lyndie, and Nicky White. Thank you all for everything from the bottom of my heart.
Andrea Telenga, Danielle Hartle and Jen Maynard — Thank you for always supporting me in all my endeavors. Every message, text and phone call, no matter how long or short, means so much to me. I am always thinking of each of you. “True Friends won’t grow apart, even if they don’t talk every day.” This quote always reminds me of the three of you individually and what your friendship means to me. I love you all.
Endless appreciation to my friends old and new, online friends, and all the fan girls (Amy, Jennifer C., Tiffany, Carolyn, Debra, Laurel and Alice) who have shown so much excitement for this book and helped me introduce Ronan Connolly to the world.
Chas Jenkins at RockStar PR & Lit — I cannot say thank you enough for helping me promote this book that I love so much. You are a rock star! xoxoxo
To the lovely bloggers who work tirelessly to help us Indie Authors reach new readers each and every day — all my love and heartfelt thanks. I wish I could give you more than just thanks, but please know that all your hard work, time and effort to help the Indie Author Community does not go unnoticed. For The Love of Books and Alcohol, The Truth About Fiction Blog, The Book Bellas, Smutty Book Friends, Read & Writing Between The Wines Blog, BBF – Book Boyfriend{s}, Reviewed The Book, and Words Notes and Fiction… just to name a few who took a chance on a Newbie Author.
I am so grateful for all my readers — the best ever! Thank you so much for your excitement about my books, and especially for reading and reco
mmending them to your friends, sisters, cousins, bookish pals, loved ones and co-workers. I am humbled and inspired by your kind words every day. xoxoxo
Writer Christy Pastore grew up in the lakeside community of Syracuse, Indiana writing short stories that usually involved characters who loved to travel, had a passion for fashion and often times were swept up in boy crazy crushes involving coming of age situations with their best girlfriends.
After giving up reading books for several years disillusioned with the annoying characters and predictable plot lines. Upon the recommendation of a friend, Christy picked up a much buzzed about popular romance novel which reminded her of why reading was an enjoyable guilty pleasure.
Writing, more specifically creative writing has been a constant in Christy’s life, even leading her to create a popular fashion blog, Fashion Wrap Up, allowing her the wonderful experience of working and collaborating with many talented models, designers, makeup artists and photographers in the Fashion Industry. While Pastore still writes about fashion and celebrity style in her spare time, her passion for story development, publishing and content creation has taken her on a new journey and career path: Author.
Additionally, Christy enjoys a nice glass of Sauvignon Blanc, a warm cup of coffee, Gummi Bears, traveling and tweeting her thoughts on her favorite TV shows.
Christy and her husband Kevin currently reside in St. Louis, Missouri in the popular Italian Neighborhood, The Hill with their two lovable dogs and cooler than cool cat.
Fifteen Weekends
The Weekend Before I Do (Coming Winter 2015)
Fifteen Weekends Later (TBA)
The Scripted Series
Unscripted
Perfectly Scripted (Coming Fall 2015)
Unscripted Page 21
