Idiot.
Stupid fucking idiot.
And then there was nothing.
Not until I woke up the next morning in a bed that looked nothing like mine.
My head was pounding, and my mouth was bone dry, and the room was spinning as I tried to get up. And there she was, grinning at my side, propped up on her elbow. Topless and loving it, and enough to send me reeling.
Maya Brooks.
I was in bed with Maya Brooks.
She tossed her brunette curls like some kind of porn star and acted like this was the most regular event in creation, and I was lost to the whole craziness of it, bleary-eyed and still barely sober.
“What the hell?” I asked her with a croaky voice. “What the hell happened?”
She gave me a giggle. “Plenty happened, Lucas. You were amazing.”
I didn’t know how the fuck I could have been amazing after that much drink. I didn’t know how the fuck I could have even got it up.
She reached out for me and I forced myself to my feet, staring down mortified as she rolled onto her back and pulled the covers down.
“Come on, then, in for another go.”
Another go was the last thing I wanted. Thoughts of the first go were enough to turn my stomach.
“I can’t believe I did this,” I said, and I hated myself. I hated every fucking cell in my body.
“Oh, you did it,” she told me. “You couldn’t keep your hands off me once we got through the front door.”
I tried to walk away but had to prop myself up on her bedside table. I had to fight back the sickness as I gathered my clothes from the floor and struggled my way into them.
“I need to go,” I choked, and she let out a groan.
“Don’t be so boring,” she said. “Now we’ve had one ride, you may as well dive back in for another.”
I shook my head and the room was spinning. “I need to go,” I said again, and headed for the door.
“You said you had feelings for me,” she told me. “You said you always had.”
“Then I was lying,” I said back without hesitation. “Anna is my world.”
She laughed. “Clearly not.”
I got out of that room as fast as I could, storming straight across to the bathroom where I puked my guts up. I was a wreck, a guilty pitiful wreck of the man I’d been when I’d waved Anna off on that platform.
Maya was propped in the doorway while I was still retching.
“What do you want to do?” she asked, like it wasn’t fucking obvious.
“Go home,” I said, and my mouth tasted of puke.
“I mean it,” she told me. “I’d love another go. Maybe we could have something…”
I burnt her eyes with mine, and I could barely fathom it, how she was so keen to continue with something that meant so fucking little.
“I’ve liked you for a long time,” she said with a shrug, like that was an explanation.
“I’m in love with Anna,” I said again.
“And I said that clearly you’re not,” she scoffed. “Seriously, Lucas, you weren’t in love with her last night when you were fucking me senseless.”
There was something so calm about her, so sure of her words and her stance and the rightness of this fucked up situation that made me feel sick on top of sick. I flushed the toilet and pushed myself to standing, and I was out of there, down the stairs and finding my phone on her coffee table.
No messages.
For once I was so fucking glad there were no messages.
She was wrapped in a satin slip of a thing when she joined me downstairs, and I felt like a prick from all angles.
“I’m sorry,” I told her. “Fucking hell, Maya, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the whole fucking lot of it.”
I didn’t hang around to hear a response, just threw myself out of there and stumbled down the drive. I squinted and recognised the road and knew I was just a few streets from mine, so I ran.
I ran like a skidding stumbling mess all the way home, and when I got there I fell through the door and hit the floor in the hall, and I hated myself. Our home smelt of us and our life and our future and I hated myself for ever being such a drunken prick.
I called up Anna’s number and thought about hitting dial, but I knew she wouldn’t answer. I pulled up my emails and the emergency contact details of the venue, but couldn’t bring myself to wreck the retreat she was counting on so much just to give her a whole load more stress.
So I didn’t.
I decided I’d stomach the guilt and the self-hate and the serious fucking regret and wait for her to get home. And then I’d beg forgiveness. I’d get down on my knees and confess my stupid sins and beg her to give me another chance at our world.