Writer’s Block, the Third
I know it’s been a while, but man, oh man, don’t EVER title your story the worst thing that could happen to a writer. With that being said, thanks to @burkygirl and @xerxia31 for general hand-holding, butt-kicking, and very frank discussions about where this fic is headed. And thanks to @katnissdoesnotfollowback for having a birthday and giving me a reason to write this. Hope you like it! You can read the whole thing here. Don’t forget to talk to me. ;) Pbg
The walk to work is short, but I’m no less exhausted after my sleepless night than if I’d had to run miles to get there. All night long, my mind was wrestling with mortification mixed with a little self-loathing - while my body was on a whole other track. It doesn’t care that I lost control in the arms of my nemesis, moving in a single night from my first kiss to… whatever the hell that was. Nope, my body finally knows what it was missing all these years and it wants more. More kissing. More touching. More stubble under my fingers. I actually imagined what it would be like to lick him in forbidden places, like his nipples, or… lower. Much lower.
I spent the night at war with myself – blushing at my thoughts one second, berating myself the next – until I finally caved into fatigue. I woke up three hours later to find my alarm had been going off for twenty minutes. Sleep, however little, did nothing to dispel the embarrassment. It clings to me like aggressive static electricity. This must be what the walk of shame feels like. Maybe I should read that book again.
The mid-morning sun blinds me when I turn the corner of the building, or I would have seen him, jumped behind a tree or hid in the alley until he left, but the sun is part of the universe after all. And I’ve already gotten the message that we are not friends.