I have no idea why that happened when it’s never happened before. We’ve been drunk a million times together. We’ve cuddled, spooned, and damn… we see each other half-dressed all the time. I get a vision of him naked, and I remember how I couldn’t look away. How he seemed more virile than ever before.
Jeez, my hormones must be crazy at the moment. I need to get laid, stat. This is turning into a nightmare. I reach over and grab my phone from the side table and check it. There are no missed calls.
Nathan’s last words come back to me last night.
Away from you.
Does he blame me?
My mind goes back to that moment in bed, and what I said. Don’t stop.
I wince in regret. Why did I say that? He knows I’m struggling with my libido right now, my hormones are running out of control and taking over. Did I force myself on him? I sit up, filled with disgust.
I need to fix this between us. I need to fix this now.
I dial his number.
Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring. No answer; it goes to voicemail.
I frown, and look at my clock. It’s now 6:00 am. Nathan will be in his car on the way to the hospital.
He’s not answering my call. He does blame me.
I begin to get annoyed. Is he for real? It wasn’t just me in this bed. He was hard and good to go, too. I hang up angrily and storm to the shower.
Damn him, I don’t want to feel like shit. Why couldn’t he just answer his phone?
I storm into the bathroom and turn on the hot water.
Damn fucking libido. That bitch is going to Hell and she is dragging me down with her.
* * *
I pace back and forth in the hospital courtyard. It’s my lunch break and I need to talk to someone about this. I dial my sister April’s number. She’s my best friend, and I’ve been waiting for her to wake up. She’s six years younger than me and has just moved to London. She got a scholarship for a law degree at some fancy university over there. I miss her desperately.
“Did you wet the bed?” she grumbles. “Its fucking early, Lize.”
“Oh my God, April, it’s a fucking disaster.”
“What is?”
“Nathan and I made out,” I whisper as I look around guiltily. “Well, we didn’t make out—there was no kissing—but we felt each other up, and he was kissing my neck.”
“Good.”
My eyes bulge from their sockets. “What do you mean, good?”
“About time.”
“Are you fucking insane?” I whisper angrily. “This is a disaster and now he’s angry at me.”
“Why?”
“Because he thinks I don’t care about our friendship.”
“Oh God.” She sighs. “Was he hard?”
“Yes.” I feel naughty even discussing this. “Very hard.”