Scars and Songs Read Free Page B

boxers down and her lips were immediately wrapped around my cock so tightly, it almost hurt. 
    I remembered opening the slut drawer and throwing a wad of condoms at her and using them all.  I took a deep, pained breath and ran my hands over my face.  Guilt flooded through me, causing a thickness in my throat.  It had been nine months, and the guilt was still so damn overwhelming.  I did all this shit to punish myself, to forget myself, to forget Selah.  I drank to forget her, to forget being what I was, and I slept with the trash that threw themselves at me, trying to pretend they were all her and trying to forget I would never see her again.
    The body on the bed shifted. “Are you leaving me already, Shane?”
    My muscles tensed, and I swallowed the guilt back. “Yep.”
    The girl sat up and the sheets fell from her, giving me a full view of a pair of perky little tits.  She tilted her head and batted her eyes. “So that’s it?  Or you want me to come back around later tonight after the next show?”  Her hands slowly started caressing her own skin, cupping herself and trying too damn hard to keep my attention.  She reeked of desperation and all I wanted was to take a shower to clean her scent off me.
    The mattress on the bed creaked loudly as she kicked the rest of the sheets off and slid her hand suggestively down her stomach and under her little skirt.  She lifted up the material so I could see her fingers as she ran them through her wet skin.  She spread her legs real wide as I watched the show. 
    I shook my head and gave her my sexiest smile, “Nah, thanks though.  It’s been…fun.”  Turning, I walked to the door and then gave her one last glance. “You need a cab or anything, just let one of us know.”
    “Are you kidding me?  After everything we did last night, that’s it? ” She shrieked .   “I-I thought that we were fucking amazing together. I-I thought…”
    I spun on my heels and cocked my head at her.  “You knew the deal when you knocked on my door.”
    She bolted up, grabbed her shirt off the floor, yanked it over her head, and glared at me.  “Do you have any respect for women?  Do you give a shit about me at all?”  Her shirt was on backward, so I laughed.  She threw a pillow at me.
    I crossed my arms over my chest, “When a stranger walks herself into my fucking private bedroom, tits all out, begging me to use her for a night, I fucking will.  Why the hell not?  You didn’t care much about yourself or your safety last night when you crawled on a stranger’s lap and bounced up and down on his cock. Why should that stranger give a shit about you after?  I don’t even know your name.  A guy is only going to treat a chick the way she treats herself, and if you don’t respect yourself, then why the hell should I?”
    Storming out of the room and into my bedroom, I slammed my door shut and locked it.  Fuck everyone. I didn’t understand any of these humans or there crazy-ass emotions that I was now terrorized with. Collapsing on my bed, I slept until my alarm woke me to get ready for our next gig.
    As I mindlessly got ready, my stomach clenched, knowing that I would repeat the same shit as the night before. 
    The night started the way it always did, with the guys and me meeting up at the bar before a gig. A crowd of girls sat at the table next to us as we horribly tried pick up line after pick up line on them. We all made a game out of it, because really, after a show, every girl that said no to us would be on her knees in front of us later, mouthing how great we were. Every girl.  Any girl.  No problem.  I had yet to meet a girl who knew the word no.  Not when the guys from my band, Mad World, was around anyway.
    Tucker, who wasn’t even in the band, was the best at the game, but thatʼs because he had the worst pick up lines in the world. I believe he had a book somewhere where he wrote them all down.
    “Great legs, what time do they open?” Tucker