Brandon could hear the steady drip from the faucet in the next room.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
He found the sound strangely soothing. Like a metronome, it provided him with a beat. With a beat. It was a constant. It was reliable. Like a pulse.
Letting his eyes drift to the walls around him, he didn't need to come to any realization that he had no idea where he was. He'd known that since he'd first arrived at wherever here was. He'd merely come here. He'd merely cum here. But that sound had kept him grounded throughout. Kept him from sinking into a well of his own despair. Gave him a reason to let his thoughts drift to something real. Gave him something to concentrate on as the drugs and the alcohol from last night had worn off. Had left his mind clear again. He'd lain here all night listening to it. Unable to find solace in sleep.
The girl beside him stirred. Starting to move in her sleep, edging towards wakefulness.
Brandon tried to concentrate on a memory of her. Any memory at all. Tried to find anything about her in which he could remember exactly what had happened the night before.
He remembered being at the party. His fraternity had thrown yet another party. Were always throwing a party. The brothers were nothing if not consistent. And he'd sat there in the smoky room watching all those people. Like he was watching a movie. He'd watched the college kids and he'd watched the townies. They were dancing he'd decided. Not dancing, but dancing: an interaction, a way of relating. He'd sat there with his beer in one hand and his cigarette in the other.
Whatever he'd taken from Joel earlier in the night had left him a visitor in his own flesh. Emotionless and void, bringing him face to face with himself. It was frightening. He'd known then what his problem was. That evening's epiphany. He was so fucking bored. So unbelievably fucking bored.
He had become empty. Devoid of emotion.
The girl had been across the room from him. She'd been drunk or high, or maybe like him a little of both. He'd fucked her only because he felt he'd had to. Because she was there. Because it was what guys do. It was a reaction to the situation that was called for and nothing more.
He'd gotten up from his chair. Taken her by the hand and told her he was going to fuck her. Not that he wanted to. Merely that he was going to.
She had accepted this as a foregone conclusion, even though she hadn't spoken a word to him yet.
She'd taken him here. He had no memory of the journey. But he assumed that he was in a dorm room somewhere. Probably somewhere at the College. Then again he had no memory of even who this girl was. She could have been any girl in the world.
She was any girl in the world.
Then they'd fucked.
That was the most surreal part. Her pussy had looked so surreal, and his body had responded to the stimulation she'd provided on its own accord. He'd watched her lying there on the bed and felt his dick grow. But the experience had been like watching one of the porno tapes he kept back at the frat house.
His body had become the star of a show that nobody was watching.
Even when his cock had slid into her, he felt it could easily have been sliding into anything. He looked at the end table next to the bed and saw the condom wrapper lying there. The tear in the wrapper obscuring the logo. She'd moaned and pulled at him. Digging her fingers into the flesh of his back as he lay on top of her doing his business. That's exactly what he was doing. His business. It all felt very normal. He craved the normality. And this girl was just another opportunity. Just another. Just another what? A fuck? A score? An easy lay? Had he laid her before?
For a second he realized that he couldn't remember. He panicked. He felt he was sinking into the bed. He sat bolt upright unable to recall ever having fucked another person before. The walls closed in upon him. It was like realizing he'd left his pot burning back at home and it had caused the entire dorm to burn down. No that wasn't right he thought, it was that he'd left the oven on.
Whatever.
