My boyfriend's Cuckoo Roommate

2.Simply f**k-me

I don't know where I'm going, but I don't want to be kind to my legs; it's the most desperate part of me that couldn't stay back in New Jersey and went on racing to where it isn't welcome.

Now look at my shape. I'm dragging my moving load of boxes in a state I'm a guest in. Carl has called me a few times, but I am ashamed to pick up.

Will I say, "You are right. Jake is a jerk?" What will I say? This whole situation is so embarrassing.

I'm not without options, but it's either to stay homeless for the weekend and get a new credit card on Monday or trek 18 miles to the campus, which is about 6 hours as my phone says since I've only got 20 dollars with me.

The first option isn't going to work. I won't survive the night out here on my own, plus I could get robbed of all the things that matter to me that I have packed in the boxes since I had thought I was fully leaving New Jersey.

Twenty dollars isn't enough for a full taxi ride to the campus or a hotel room, and my phone battery was running out.

I walked for two hours until my brain felt fried with painful thoughts and my legs and heart couldn't work. Like a zombie, I cried every two to three minutes. Around a quarter to 6, I stop by a small shop that promises to have liquor and I linger there for a while, thinking of how I could con my way into getting a bottle. Not a good idea of investment or planning, but I need to be numb to the excruciating heartbreak pain in my chest.

At some point, I had to involve myself in dirty business and trust my 20 dollars with a stranger. Perhaps my homeless look convinced the woman to pity me. A few minutes passed, and she returned with a blue bottle of vodka and a 7-dollar change.

Relieved it all worked out, I throw my hand around her, needing the hug more than anything. "Thank you."

She seems tense, but she gives my back a few light strokes before we pull away, and she informs me about the last bus of the day that gets to the campus for 4 dollars. She has to be an Angel sent down to me.

To avoid being arrested, I wrap the vodka bottle with one of my scarves and shove it in my tote bag, running and dragging my boxes along the pavement afraid not to miss the 6 p.m. bus.

At the sight of the bus, I feel one bit of hope. It's the first time I smile since my phone call with Jake. I dash to get in, finding a seat by the window, as surprisingly the bus was scanty and I was able to grieve the death of my first and only relationship while I took long swigs from the bottle.

Jake and I have been dating for nine months now, ever since my 18th birthday, although we've known each other way before that time. He was my tutor, my babysitter, and my soccer coach since I was 12, and I swear it's been nothing but innocent, something a brother can offer to a little sister. He was like that with every little child in the neighborhood, earning money for his service to get a computer and some test books for his study, as he always read ahead of class. He and I only knew we had feelings for each other when I was 15; he was 18, and he was about to leave for college. But he made a promise to wait until I was legal, and he never broke my heart for once until today.

A loud horn woke me. I must have dozed off sometime around the trip through the city, given it was over an hour's drive to the campus.

"Get off!" Someone said, sounding thrum.

Startled, I got up on unsteady feet and dragged my things off the giant bus, and to the late evening atmosphere. The vodka had kicked in, and my surroundings were buzzing with traffic and many crowds.

This doesn't feel like school. I know if I take another step I will take myself elsewhere. I took out my phone, finally agreeing to call Carl, but found the screen blank.

Just great.

Wiping my tears, and with the courage the vodka had spiked in me, I begin asking bypassers, "Can you help me?"

No one seems to acknowledge it. It is like I am a ghost.

"Please help me!" I screamed. But still, no one seems to care.

Am I actually screaming?

I need to find a place to get my phone charged. I strained my eyes to look around and it darted on some neon sign that said 'Bardozer' across the road, and when I strained my eyes again, I managed to cross the road without getting knocked by a vehicle.

With my boxes, I pull my lifeless body to this place, all the while careful not to miss a step and sell out myself to the possible nearby cops.

The bar wasn't a regular bar; it was classy, with dim light, silent band music playing, and low hums of people's conversation.

I find a stool by the bar and bury my face in my arms on the counter.

"You seem tired. What will you like?" Someone said in my head, and I looked up to find a mature man shaking something in their hand.

"Water." I manage to utter.

"You've already had a drink?" The man's brows rose inquisitively.

"Quite," I mumbled.

"I can make you something to help," he offered.

"If it's past 3 dollars, I can't pay. That's the only thing I have on me." I rubbed my eyes, yawning, and dropped my face back on my arms.

The man went quiet. I guess it's more than 3 dollars.

"Go on. I will pay," someone said. A very slick voice that had me raise my head again to see who it was. This person is really breathtaking; no one could overlook him.

The depth of his eyes holds an attraction that lurks through my pores, reaching deep into my bones and introducing him to me before his lips say a word.

Perhaps it was because I was quite tipsy, and it was my first time feeling high, but this man's face appeared almost surreal, as though he had conjured from the depths of imagination. A pleasant cologne swirling around him was a bonus. He had strong, almost warrior-like shoulders, and his deep green eyes darted constantly, shining brilliantly under the soft and cozy pendant lighting. His nose was perfectly straight, and his angular cheekbones descended to a flinty jaw. He was remarkable in every way, as though he'd stepped out of the beautifully penned pages of a woman's desires.

"You are paying for my drink?" I asked him as the bartender set down something in a cup in front of me, along with the water I asked for.

"I won't pay to get you more drunk. It's a remedy. You should drink," the young man said, pulling a stool and lowering on it.

I know where this is going!

"Why do you care?"

"As cocky as it might sound, I like doing charity," he beamed; that too was otherworldly.

"On a normal basis, I won't let you talk to me like this. But I only have 3 dollars with me. Thank you," I slurred.

"Glad to know you are not always like this," he chuckled and classily plucked a hundred-note bill from his wallet, handing it over to the bartender.

"You seem like one of my angels. A bit narcissistic, but you helped me, so thank you," I remarked and took a sip of the warm, tasteless thing that might be tea.

The guy's crescent moon eyebrows narrow. "Seem you have lots of Angels."

I didn't answer that; my heavy eyes were closing in.

The bartender returned with the young man's change, and the guy asked him to take ten and leave the rest of the change to me.

"But why?" I gaped. He looked over, seductively wetting his lips.

"Add it to your 3 dollars," he cheekily said, and the bartender chortled, setting the change in front of me.

"I do not want your money. I am not poor." I am Just out of cash, and while I was on the long car trip with Carl, I lost my credit card.

"I doubt. You seem homeless and exhausted with life," he tossed at me.

"Homeless maybe. However I start school on Monday, I can get a dorm room so, no. But exhausted with life? I just got dumped by my first and only love. I guess you're right." I took another sip, shrugging.

"Commitment! Now that rounds you up," he mocked.

His laughter had me curious; I stopped and peered at him. "You don't believe in love, do you?"

"Love is just a word. Why believe in something that has no physical proof?" He said, and I found out he's actually dumb.

"Don't you dream? Don't you hope? Or does your hope and dreams come in physical forms?" I shot at him a bit harshly.

He chuckled. He seems to like to chuckle all the time. "I don't believe in hope too; its possibility of happening is one percent. You could wait your entire life hoping for something that will never come even when you're on your deathbed. The phrase 'I love you'? Is the biggest scam. Dream? At least we experience it. Even though dreaming is an illusion, and people will say it's the biggest lie among hoping and loving, at least it is the honest one among them. It didn't promise anything; we know it's a lie from the start."

Somehow, that hits. But I am a reader, a romantic person, I believe in love, and nothing will take that hope from me.

"What do you mean? There are many proofs; look at happy marriages that last for 70-80 years?" I argued, forcefully having to sober up for this conversation.

"Princess, ever heard of fear? It's not love; there is something called the fear of being alone and needing support." he mocked while I gaped at him. "A little advice, disagree with the concept of forever happily ever after, and you might be able to grow old without a heart attack. Stay away from those benefits," he cockily said.

How can a person think like this?

"But it has to exist," I said, not because I've seen it, but because my father and mom were a failure of love, and now look at my state. However, I dream one day to experience true love, which I thought Jake and I had, but sadly, we don't.

"You were just dumped, can't you see?" He shook his head.

"I dumped him, to be precise. And you sound damaged. Who hurt you?" I spitefully retorted.

"I will only say you're too funny to be dumped." His fluffy lips curved into a smile, a glint in his eyes.

"Funny? You are not going to say pretty?" I raised my brow.

He shook his head and took a sip from my glass of water. "Nah! Anything less than me isn't. Why would I lie to you?"

"You are a narcissist." I pointed it out while he brushed his hair, spiking it up even more messy and hot than it was.

"I know someone on campus who can let you stay this night until you sober up."

"Already willing to take care of me?" I blushed. I don't know why I said that.

"Somehow." He smirked, leaning in a bit. His lips parted, the upper side quirked, and two small dimples deepened at each end.

A devil in my head says to take the last move and smack his lips with mine despite he basically called me ugly. "You are my angel after all. I'd rather be with you all night."

His smirk is still on his amused expression, "I don't f**k drunk girls."

"I took the remedy; I am hella sober." I bit my lip slowly, and he watched intently the whole time.

"Do not make hasty choices; they are always regrettable," he hinted, convincing himself he tried, but his breath was actually hitched as he anchored his gaze at my lips.

"Come on, are you scared I'll murder you at night?" I placed my hand over his, and his eyes followed the movement as I ran my hand up to his arm, his biceps just as I expected, burly. He folded his bottom lip, thoughtfully, "You just advised me that being committed is a waste of time. So I am trying new things. I will f**k with a stranger. You are kind of hot; I will f**k with you."

He chuckled naughtily, as I squeezed his arm, "Is this you being homeless or horny?"

"Give me your hand?" I said and didn't wait for him to reply. I shifted closer on the stool until our thighs were touching, and took his hand, while he watched me with a devilish smirk like he knew what I was going to do.

I took it into my dress, and his fingers curved my panties, stroking the line of my slit.

He bit his lower lip gently, a soft smirk on his lip, as he stared at me, hypnotic.

"Simply, f**k me." I need it.

"Let's go." He pulled out his hand and took my hand instead, tugging me off the stool. "You're staying the night at my place."

My smile spread.

"You leaving?" The bartender called the young man I offered to sleep with but didn't know his name.

"Keep the rest of the change too." He told the bartender and grabbed my hand, enthusiastically pulling me with him in a rush.

Laughing, lightheaded, I exclaimed, "My boxes."

"Oh!" He laughed too. "I will help with." He raced back and pulled them along, leaving the bar.

Following a stranger to their house to f**k with isn't a very logical decision and not my finest hour, but I haven't been waiting my whole life to give my V-card to who deserves it, only to find out people break promises, and the term "I love you" is a scam.

I waited for him to come over and flag down a taxi, but he strolled to the side of the road, stopping by a fancy car. An Aston Martin.

Actually impressive.

"Get on the other side; I will set the boxes in the trunk," he said and unlocked the car with the small remote in his hand.

Stepping in, I was enveloped by an entirety of his scent inside, and the comfort of the car after a tiring day was just a bonus.

He hopped in less than a minute later, when the atmosphere had completely altered my self-control, and as he flashed me that sultry smile and bedroom eyes, I yanked him over by the collar of his shirt and took the lips that staring at had been torture in my head.

He is so unreal, with a power that tugs at the souls of people around him. He makes me want to break all the laws of my dignity list.

Those long hard fingers of his ripped out my panties. Well, in short, coming to Portland, I found out I was a professional p********e.