Jack’s November?

*it’s yet another excerpt!  But it’s from a novella that I’ve been toying with for nearly 2 1/2 years.  I have a love/hate, I-don’t-really-wanna-write-ya-but-it’s-like-therapy relationship to it, so I want it to be great. Why can’t I just be great? !*

She woke up in the morning with a throbbing  headache. She didn’t know where she was, but this was certainly not her dorm room! She panicked.  
 
She swung her feet over to the right side of the bed and stumbled towards the toilet. It was only a few feet away, but  it felt like much much farther. She pulled down her pants and pissed. 
 
She forgot to flush.
 
She yelled out in surprise when she saw him, sitting on the window sill, smiling.
 
“Oh, I’m here,” she said.
 
“Indeed,” he replied, and took a long inhale of his Marlboros. She panicked again. Who had taken off her shirt? Her wifebeater was tangled with her bra. She spotted her shirt by the floor, and ran to grab it.  
 
“Don’t worry; I didn’t do anything to ya.”
 
“How do I know?” She dropped the shirt back on the floor. Had he read her thoughts?
 
“Does your pussy feel sore?” He looked at her, half concerned, half  apathetic. 
She looked down. Her pants had been on when she had woken up.
 
“No.”

“Well, there ya go.” He turned to look back outside and smoke his cigarette again.
 
“Wait…what happened last night?” Maybe he hadn’t tried to have sex with her, but maybe he tried to do other things.
 
He looked at her again, irritated. 
“Nothing much. You drank a lot of my wine. You babbled a lot. You took  your shirt off because you said you were hot. And then you fell asleep.”
 
“I…I did?” She walked to the other side of the bed, where he was. He said nothing, but continued puffing away at his cigarette.
 
She sat down next to him, rested her head on his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have drunk so much,” she said. “I’m only eighteen.”
 
“Just drink water and you’ll be ok.”
 
Another puff of the cigarette.  

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