𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕜𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥 ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕖𝕤 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 ➀

4 APHENPHOSMPHOBIA

Fuck. No. Please, no. She is not touching me like this. Unfortunately for me she really is though.

Monica clings to me like a life preserver but I am frozen stiff, not knowing what to do with myself. I repress the urge to shudder with revulsion as well as the urge to shove her away from me. Displays of affection are a foreign concept to me and saying that they make me extremely uncomfortable is a gross understatement. I do not know how to reciprocate this type of exchange.

I tremble slightly under her intense grip. She needs a hug, asshole. Fuck, if I don't know it because I do. But I can't and I won't.

Although my inner turmoil is screaming at me for self-preservation I do it anyway. And it takes everything in my entire fucking being to wrap my arms around this sobbing beauty. Thank god the whiskey induced fog has spread through my veins because intimacy brings back the demons from the darkest pits of my inner hell.

I fucking hate being touched. Let alone being touched this way and in this manner. I loathe it. I honestly fucking detest it. But here I am, letting the touching happen. I've never let this happen, not even with my own fucking blood. Physical contact was displayed in a much different way in my own family.

That last thought makes me cringe with everything that I am. It also makes me want throw up all over the place. Fuck my life.

I don't know what to say to her and that's partially due to the giant lump of pain lodged inside of my fucking throat. It is one thing to fuck but it's an entirely different thing to be close to someone. I have never allowed myself to get close to anyone physically or emotionally. I have never done this. I've never hugged someone while they cried in despair. I was all too familiar with the feeling of despair but the last thing I ever needed or wanted was this.

"My boss fired me!" she sobs out, finally pulling away from me. "He fired me!"

Oxygen. I can finally fucking breath and thank whoever you want to that she didn't notice my oddness. She didn't notice the giant gulp of air I needed to consume the moment she stepped away from me.

I pull my arms quickly away from her and shove my hands directly into my pockets as I take a much-needed step back. What is it with people and invading personal space? I need my own bubble that has a neon sign flashing, "Touching only allowed when fucking or sucking."

"Did you hear me, Sean?" she sniffles my name in a cute and rather attractive manner. "I said he fired me. What am I going to do?"

"Get another job?" Way to be slick, asshole.

She lets out an incredulous teary-eyed laugh. "If only things were that easy. If only life were that simple. But nothing is ever simple." Those puppy dog eyes find mine again and the neon sign of fucking and sucking is now beaming in my mind.

Well, that was my quickest turnaround of all time. "You want to come up to my place and have a drink?" I can't help but ask the question and she looks at me like she sees right through the question. More like right through me.

Monica looks into my eyes apprehensively but I shoot her my signature panty-dropping smile. No one has been able to resist that one yet and it appears as if she's not about to either. She gives me a shy nod but I do notice the caution behind it.

I reach out my hand for hers and she grabs ahold of it. It's small and feels warm in my palm as I lead her up the stairs. I grab my tumbler off the top step before we make our way inside the old brick building.

I am going to fuck all that pain away, sweetheart. Fuck it all away. Just you wait and see.

Once we get inside of my apartment I begin to notice how warm my palm is. It's too warm. I look down at our entwined hands and let go as if I'd been electrocuted. She doesn't seem to notice, thankfully. What the fuck was that all about? Fuck. I don't hold hands with women. I'm just going to chalk it up to the fact that I'm finally feeling a bit buzzed. Yeah, buzzed.

She looks around and this is the one time I've been so happy to have fucking picked up my apartment. The place was usually littered with empty bottles and paraphernalia. Well, that only lasts momentarily because she's now eyeing the ten nippers and quarter empty bottle of whiskey on the counter.

"Was that all you?" She looks astonished as she points over to the empty bottles.

I just shrug in nonchalance. "I have a rather high tolerance?" it came out like a question even though it was a statement of fact. My liver is probably keeling over as we speak just at the thought of how much I've consumed to be able to maintain such a tolerance.

She walks slowly into my kitchen towards the damage I've done. She puts her palms flat on the counter before looking back at me with a look I can't decipher.

Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker. I want to bend her over that counter and fuck her senseless. I want to fuck her raw and bust inside of her until she can't even move. Then she'd be a sweaty mess dripping my load all down her beautiful thighs. Dripping down to her fucking...

"Sean?" I look up to see Monica's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Ah, fuck. I was off in pussyland again.

"Sorry, what did you say? I kind of zoned out for a moment there." Yeah, zoned out picturing myself between those fucking thighs.

"I asked where your glasses are." Because she's not here to spread her legs, you fucking twat. She's here for a fucking drink. At least at the moment she's here for just a drink. But if this evening ends my way then I know I'm going to have her spread eagle, and in every other position, all over my bed.

I walk over to my kitchen cabinets and pull out four shot glasses. Her eyes nearly bug out of her head as I pour all four to the very brim. "You're drinking with me. That means you need to drink like a champ."

"Uh, that's probably not the best idea. I never drink straight liquor." I roll my eyes at her. "I'm serious! Maybe like a glass of wine or two or a martini if I go out but that's about it."

Great, she's a lightweight. I'm glad I already drank what I did because if I did it in front of her she might have the urge to vomit. I mean that's most people's reaction to consuming absurd amounts of alcohol but it isn't mine. No, I just black the fuck out and wake up with a slight headache. In all honestly though, if anyone has the capability to drink like me they most definitely have a problem. I know I do.

"Just take two to start off with." That's probably all she can handle anyway based off of her size.

"Fuck it." To my surprise she takes one shot after another knocking them both back with ease. Wait, maybe not ease because she looks like she wants to spit it out. She doesn't hurl though, which I thought she might do after that. Monica had swallowed both of them and damn. There isn't anything I like more than a girl who swallows.

Her lips wrapped around my dick while I pump a load of my unborn children in her mouth. That would be the epitome of a fucking orgasm.

What the fuck is wrong with my brain? It's not functioning properly. There is something about this girl that makes the carnality in me amp up to full fucking throttle.

Speaking of throttling...

"That was disgusting!" She exclaims once she can finally stop making that god-awful I-just-took-a-shot faces.

"Eh, you get used to it." I pour the last two shots down my throat. Two shots. Two is fucking child's play to me.

Monica smiles coyly at me as she picks up the bottle and takes a swig directly out of it. If my heart weren't a dead fucking black void I'd say this woman was after it. The way her lips wrap around that bottle let me know I want to, at the very least, fuck her into a state of sweet, sweet obscurity.

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A/N:

On a very real note, I want to say that I absolutely DO NOT condone alcohol or any type of substance abuse. I take the matter very seriously and do not consider it a way to solve problems. If anything, these unhealthy coping mechanisms mask your issues, ultimately making them worse. While reading this book I just want you to keep that in mind.