You Smell Like Piss

 

MILES

My eyes snapped open.

A pounding headache greeted me, followed by the sharp sting of dehydration clawing at my throat. Light filtered through green-tinted windows, casting eerie shadows across the room and making my temples throb in protest.

Heat.

Soft puffs of air fanned across the top of my head, warm and steady.

Wait.

I stiffened.

I fucking didn’t…

Heart racing, I swallowed hard and slowly—ever so fucking slowly—lifted my head, dreading what I would see.

The first thing I noticed was the broad chest beneath my palm, rising and falling in a steady rhythm. My fingers involuntarily traced along the hard muscle, then drifted upward, brushing over the sharp edge of a jawline dusted with light stubble.

His eyebrows were perfect—dark, thick, and slightly furrowed even in sleep. His complexion was lighter than mine, kissed by the sun, his deep brown hair a tousled mess over the pillow.

For a second—just a second—I was struck by how fucking beautiful he was.

And then reality hit me like a train.

My stomach plummeted as last night’s events fought their way through my hazy memory.

Dominic Black.

The same asshole who had poured beer over my head in front of an entire crowd.

And now I was on top of him. In his fucking arms.

Oh, hell no.

Panic surged through me as I carefully—carefully—untangled myself from him. My breath hitched when he shifted slightly, his arm tightening around me for the briefest second before relaxing again.

I slipped free, ignoring the burning heat left on my skin where his body had been pressed against mine.

My gaze darted down.

No.

No, no, no.

I was shirtless—well, mostly. My tank was pushed down to my ribs, my bra barely covering my breasts.

And my shorts?

Gone.

A sick feeling curled in my stomach as I searched the room in frantic silence. No underwear, no shorts—just an obviously used condom on the floor. And the shredded remains of my panties.

Fuck.

I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping my temples as the dull ache in my head pulsed harder.

What the fuck had I done?

Memories from last night were in pieces, scattered like glass shards in my mind. The pool game. The beer. The panic attack. Dominic in the garden.

Then...

I cursed under my breath, as I quickly found my tank and flannel, shoving them on with shaking hands.

I had to get the fuck out of here.

---

After recovering my shorts from the middle of the damn garden—humiliating—I pulled out my phone. No messages from my mother.

I should’ve been relieved. But silence was worse.

When she ignored me, it only meant one thing.

Punishment was coming.

What I did have, however, were 30 missed calls and 103 unread messages from Kenzie.

Jesus Christ.

Before I could start reading through them, my phone vibrated in my hand.

I barely had time to brace myself before answering.

"I’M GONNA KILL YOU!"

I yanked the phone away from my ear as Kenzie’s voice rang through the speaker at full volume.

“Aren’t you gonna ask if I’m okay?” I asked dryly, trying to keep my tone light.

A deep inhale, then—“Are you okay?”

“Never better.”

“Good. Now get your ass here so I can kick it!”

Overbearing mother mode: activated.

I sighed, rubbing my eyes as she launched into a full-blown rant about responsibility, not disappearing, how was she supposed to sleep if she didn’t know if I was dead in a ditch somewhere?

Kenzie had always been the only person in my life who actually gave a shit. She had been there since third grade, always trying to shield me from my mother’s wrath in whatever way she could. But she had spent the summer with her family, leaving me to deal with everything alone.

Hence the fresh bruises covering my back.

I let her lecture me through the entire bus ride home, responding with half-hearted "yes, I understand," or, "it won't happen again."

By the time I got off at my stop, my stomach was in knots.

---

The final walk to my house felt like trudging toward my own execution.

My nerves spiked as I checked beneath the empty flower pot for the spare key.

Gone.

That meant she was home.

The door was unlocked, which was even worse.

Stepping inside, I kept my breathing even as my eyes darted through the living room and kitchen. No sign of her.

I thought about calling out but stopped myself.

Don’t wake the beast.

Instead, I moved straight to my room, closing the door with the softest click I could manage.

"Miles? You home?"

My mother’s voice sang from down the hall.

Shit.

Heart hammering, I scrambled to change clothes. My fingers fumbled with my flannel, tank, bra—too fucking slow.

The door swung open.

I froze.

The only sound was her soft gasp as she took in my bare back.

A tense, suffocating silence stretched between us.

I dared a glance over my shoulder.

She stood in the doorway, her face eerily blank as her gaze trailed over the bruises littering my skin.

I should’ve been used to the silence, the cold way she regarded me like I was something to be assessed rather than cared for.

But something about the way she stared at me right now made my skin crawl.

Then, like a switch, she smiled.

"Oh dear, you must have had quite a night out with your friends."

Her voice was light, almost motherly, but her eyes were dead.

I stared at her, confused.

The fuck?

She had never spoken to me like that.

Ever.

My lips parted to respond, but before I could speak, she lifted a hand—

Tucking her hair behind her ear.

That’s when I saw it.

The small, sleek Bluetooth earpiece.

She had been on the phone.

"Mmm, hush, love," she giggled suddenly, her voice sickly sweet. "I’ll see you tonight… yes, you too. Muah!"

She tapped the earpiece, ending the call.

Then, as if a mask had been ripped off, her expression twisted into one of pure amusement.

She sneered, taking a step forward.

"Wipe that surprised look off your face and take a shower." Her lip curled. "You smell like piss."

And just like that, the warmth in her voice vanished.

---

After a much-needed shower, I threw on fresh clothes and wandered into the kitchen, stomach growling.

Grabbing some bread, I quickly made a simple bologna and cheese sandwich.

I barely lifted it to my mouth before—

SMACK.

The sandwich hit the floor.

"Do you think my house is some kind of hotel?"

My mother rounded the kitchen island, keys jingling in her hand.

"You can wait until dinner to eat."

My stomach growled in protest.

She smirked. "Serves you right, little bitch."

I stared at the sandwich on the floor.

Wanting to feel something.

Anger.

Rage.

But all I felt was hunger.

Hunger, and nothing.

I quietly cleaned up the mess and followed her to the car.

If there was one thing I knew, it was this—

Tonight was going to be hell.