February Sucks for Walter Mitty - Sex Stories

February Sucks for Walter Mitty

... tried to lift my head, but it was still too heavy. "Don't kill him," LaValliere called from the distance. Then I was getting dragged back into the club. My head lolled back and I saw Linda and LaValliere in the car, their lips already locked. I think her head was on its way to his lap when Morrison's back door closed and I was plunged into darkness.

*

When I woke up, I was alone. I opened my eyes. Darkness. Blurry red light. Stale beer smell.

The back hallway at Morrison's.

I closed my eyes. Opened them.

Under the exit sign there was a blinking red light. I watched it for a minute while my eyes focused and I tried to figure out what to do next. Behind me, I could hear the muffled sound of the band.

I tried to sit up, but my stomach cramped, and I was barely able to roll over before I puked. That set off a round of coughing, and it felt like my lungs were trying to work their way out through my mouth. I tried to breathe deeply, but it hurt too much, so I held my breath as I pushed myself up to my knees, then to my feet. I reached out to the wall to steady myself.

Blinking red light.

I felt drunk. Drunk and hurting everywhere. I was swaying, but my feet stayed under me.Good.

Thoughts came slowly. I decided that the first thing I needed to do was get the fuck out of the hallway before LaValliere's thugs came back or someone else took a crack at me. I felt my cheek and my hand came back sticky. Might be a good idea to visit the bathroom. Clean up and ...

... get out with as little fuss as possible. Don't make myself a target.

Reevaluate.

Plan.

Get beyond the swirl of "Why did she? How could she? My body, my--" that was filling my head.

In the bathroom, I clutched the sides of the sink as I stared in the mirror. I had a gash from my cheekbone to my left temple--Fuck, was he wearing a ring?--and my left eye was already starting to swell shut. A bruise was coming up on my cheek, and my lips were bloody. Thankfully, I didn't seem to have any puke on me.

I cleaned up as well as I could with paper towels and water while I reviewed my next steps:Get out quietly. Call an Uber. Get to the hospital. It was a plan.

The club's dance floor was packed and I felt like a sack of broken china, so I threaded my way around the wall toward the front door. When I got close to our table, Jane saw me. "Jim!" she shrieked. Suddenly, all eyes were on me.

"Fuck, Jim, are you okay?" Dave asked.

"No, Dave." I coughed into my hand. "I'm not okay. Not even a little bit."

"We thought you left," Phil said. "What happened?"

"What the fuck do you care?" I wheezed. "None of you... none of you bothered to check..."

Dee was the only one not staring at me. "You knew, didn't you?" I whispered. "You helped her sneak out. Left me bleeding on the floor. You filthy fucking cunt."

I usually don't use language like that, and the table went silent. Jane's jaw was hanging open, and Barb looked like someone had slapped her. Dee's head snapped ...