Andy’s grey panties have found their way to the floor and she sits with one foot pressed at a high angle against the fridge when a key begins to rattle in the front door. Andy jumps from the counter, knocking over the remnants of her breakfast beer, and is bent over ass to the door when Jasper walks in.
Jasper is Molly’s boyfriend. Recently he reached the “here’s a key to my place” level with Molly and since then has been known to make frequent unannounced visits. Andy peers between her legs to see his tall and lanky silhouette topped with a tousle of bright ginger hair.
“Well goodmorning to you too Andy” Jasper laughs as he spanks her bare ass and snatches her panties from the floor, “we’ve clearly been making the most of our morning.”
“Fuck off Jasper.” Andy begins cleaning up the spilled beer, feeling Jasper’s eyes run up and down her half naked frame with every move. The kitchen remains silent as Andy scrubs at the beer nervously with a single paper towel. She never should have given you that stupid key. You don’t love her.
“So…” Jasper mutters under his breath as Andy stands up and finds her face inches away from his. He smells like a fresh cigarette and a hot cup of coffee. His green eyes have the mischievous glint Andy remembers from the first night she met him. That Wednesday night at the Art Bar in town.
She was on her sixth glass of wine, stumbling through the place looking at the art on the walls over and over again. She had been muttering to herself about one piece in particular when Jasper had walked up. “Don’t like my art much, do you?” he laughed as he gently pushed away the hair from his eyes. “I…ddidn’t rrealize it was yours…but….” Andy mumbled and drank wine between each syllable until Jasper cut her off with the tip of fingertip pressed firmly to her lips. “Shhh…it’s all right sweetheart.” Andy can’t recall much else about that night. She remembers flashes of Jasper’s paintings and flashes of others. She knew she had spent the night in the Art Bar, though her memories place her in some room she’s never been able to find again. I was too drunk to realize who I was talking too, I definitely was too drunk to really notice my surroundings. She had woken up naked in bed with Jasper. As she gathered her clothes and readied herself for another long, stumbled walk home she had noticed a picture on his dresser half-covered in the remnants of last nights exploits. Once she brushed everything she aside she realized who she had just slept with. Though she wasn’t living with Molly at the time, she knew who she was. Jasper was fast asleep on the bed, his freckled chest bathed in the early morning sunlight. Molly and Jasper. What a fucking joke.
“What is going on in that drunk little mind of yours?” the lilt of Jasper’s voice brings Andy back to her kitchen, back to her half naked body, back to his hand on her ass.
“Don’t.” Andy smacks his hand away and goes to the fridge for another beer. When she turns Jasper pins her to the fridge door and shoves his hand up her plaid shirt feeling around, finding the exact places that give Andy the most pleasure. Jasper slides the beer out of Andy’s hand and places Andy back on the kitchen counter. “I’m assuming this is where you got started this morning” he whispers into her neck. With that, Andy quits fighting and lets herself indulge in these moments of feeling worthy. Jasper knew all of her weakness after the number of drunk nights he’d stumbled into her bedroom instead of Molly’s. He had the most delicate kiss while everything else he did was rough and passionate. Andy didn’t have to think with Jasper, it was better if she didn’t. He took control, he seemed to care just enough to keep Andy thinking sleeping with him would be worth it.
It never was. As quickly as Jasper walked in the door, he was back digging through his pockets for his keys to leave.
“But you just got here.” Andy found herself disgusted by the desperation in her voice, by the strong urge to cling to his body and kiss him goodbye.
“Andy” Jasper sighs, “You do this every time. Just drink some more, you won’t care so much.” He quickly straightens the zipper on his jeans, runs his gaunt hands through his hair, and tosses Andy her grey panties. “Remember tonight is my big art show, I know how much you love to critique my work” with a wink he slides out the front door.
Just drink some more. That’s everyone’s advice. Andy finds her beer, lukewarm on the kitchen floor, and drinks half of it as she locks the front door behind Jasper. The lukewarm beer makes her want to gag, but the memory of just seconds before makes her want to curl up in bed and die. She drinks the rest of the beer and tosses it in the recycling bin before she grabs another and repeats the process.
Another fucking day. Andy tosses the plaid shirt in the garbage unable to remember who it belongs too. She struggles back into her grey lace panties, bouncing around the kitchen floor on one foot and then the other. Grabbing a pair of old, ratted skinny jeans and a see-through white t-shirt she trips over her own feet to the bathroom. She runs the shower water as hot it can go and watches her reflection in the mirror disappear quickly behind a layer of steam. Her face looks as sickly as her stomach feels. Dark circles run around her eyes melting with old trails of eye liner and mascara that’s run down her face. Her cheeks appear deflated and long ago lost the rosy blush her mother always told her was so beautiful. Bruises decorate her chin and the crook of her neck, trickling down to her collarbones and towards her sternum before the trail disappears. Andy doesn’t remember what she looked like before this. She refuses to look at old photographers because she doesn’t recognize the doll-like woman everyone is convinced represents Andy only a few years ago. I’m a skeleton. Nothing but skin and bones. Why is everyone so obsessed with what I looked like? That wasn’t really me. This is who I really am. Fucked up.
Andy jumps in the shower and lets the burn of hot water numb the painful thoughts that always arise when she peeks in a mirror. Skin burning red she turns the water off and stands as her three breakfast beers rush through her blood stream. Her breathing becomes heavy as she slides to sit on the floor of the shower. Her head falls in her hands, “fuck”, she whispers to herself as she dozes off sprawled across the tile like a broken rag-doll.
Another fucking day.