Chapter Text
Missy Cooper stared into the mirror, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying. Her father's funeral had been a blur of condolences and forced smiles, and now she was finally alone in her childhood bedroom. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in on her with the weight of her grief. The house was silent except for the occasional creak of a floorboard or the distant hum of the refrigerator. She reached for the bottle of whiskey on her nightstand, her hand shaking as she unscrewed the cap and took a deep, burning gulp. It didn't matter if her mother heard her; she was too lost in her own world of sorrow to care.
The whiskey burned down her throat, the warmth spreading through her chest like a comforting blanket. Missy leaned back against the pillows, the room spinning slightly. Her thoughts swirled in a tornado of anger, sadness, and regret. She had always been a bit of a wild child, but her father's death had unleashed something within her that she didn't recognize. A desire to feel something—anything—other than the crushing pain of loss.
The doorbell rang, jolting her out of her thoughts. She stumbled to the window and peered out, recognizing the silhouettes of a few of her old high school friends. Missy sighed. They had been texting her all week, inviting her to a party they were throwing at a nearby house. She hadn't been in the mood, but now the idea of losing herself in the chaos of music, lights, and people was oddly appealing. Maybe it was what she needed to feel alive again.
She pulled on a tight, black dress that had been hidden in the back of her closet and applied a thick coat of makeup, focusing on her eyes. The dark, smoky look made them pop, and she felt a hint of the old Missy returning—the one who didn't care what people thought of her, the one who lived for the moment. As she stumbled downstairs, the whiskey still singing in her veins, she grabbed her keys and slipped out the front door without saying a word to her mother.
The party was in full swing when Missy arrived. The thump of the bass vibrated through her chest, and the air was thick with the smell of alcohol and sweat. She made her way through the crowd, ignoring the concerned glances and whispers that followed her. She needed this, she told herself. She needed to forget.
In the kitchen, she found her friends, a plastic cup of beer already in her hand before she could even say hello. They talked about their lives, their jobs, their futures, but Missy couldn't focus on anything but the buzz of the party around her. She downed the beer and grabbed another, the room spinning faster with every sip.
"You okay, Miss?" her friend Tim asked, his voice laced with genuine concern.
"I'm fine," she lied, her voice brittle. "Just need to let loose."
The night spun out of control from there. Missy found herself dancing on tables, flirting shamelessly with anyone who would look her way, and taking shots she couldn't even remember the names of. The whiskey had been a bad idea, mixing poorly with the beer and whatever was in those little plastic cups that kept appearing in her hand. Her body felt loose, like a ragdoll being tossed around by the whims of the party.
In a quiet corner, she stumbled upon a handsome stranger, his eyes dark and full of promise. He offered her a pill, something to make her feel "better," he said. Desperate to escape the pain, she took it without question, swallowing it with a mouthful of someone else's drink. His name was lost in the cacophony of laughter and music, but his face remained etched in her memory.
As the drug began to take effect, Missy felt the edges of reality blur. The lights grew brighter, the music louder, and she felt a strange sense of euphoria. She threw herself into the party with a reckless abandon she had never experienced before, shedding her inhibitions like a snake sheds its skin.
Flitting from group to group, she laid her hand on a broad shoulder here, whispered sweet nothings in an ear there. "Hey, you," she purred to a boy with messy hair and a devilish smile, "wanna dance?" His eyes lit up and he nodded eagerly.
Missy danced with him, her body moving in ways she had never allowed herself to before. The music was a siren's call, guiding her hips in a sensual sway that had all the guys watching. She felt their eyes on her, the heat of their desire, and she reveled in it. Each touch was a spark that ignited her skin, setting her ablaze.
"You're really something," the boy murmured, his breath hot on her neck.
"You think so?" she giggled, spinning away from him and into the arms of another. "How about you?" she asked, batting her eyelashes.
The flirting continued, each exchange more playful and seductive than the last. The guys at the party were putty in her hands, and she molded them to her will, drawing them in with a wink and a smile. They whispered compliments, their voices a symphony of lust.
"You're the most beautiful girl here," one said.
"Your moves are killer," said another.
Missy soaked up their attention like a sponge, letting it fill the void her father had left behind. She knew it was temporary, that she was using them to distract herself from the pain, but she didn't care. For tonight, she was the center of the universe, and they were all just planets revolving around her.
The room was a sea of bodies, and Missy navigated it with ease, her laughter ringing out above the din. She could feel the whiskey and the pill mixing in her system, creating a cocktail of pleasure and numbness that was intoxicating. She was living in the moment, not thinking about the consequences of her actions.
Her eyes met those of a tall, muscular man leaning against the wall, watching her with a hungry gaze. He was older, more experienced, and she could see the promise of something darker in his expression. The thrill of the chase was too tempting to resist, and she sauntered over, hips swaying.
"What's a guy like you doing at a party like this?" she asked, her voice low and sultry.
He smirked. "Looking for a little trouble," he replied. "And it seems I've found it."
Missy grinned, her heart racing. "Is that so?" she whispered, playing along. "What kind of trouble are we talking?"
He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her cheek. "The kind that makes you forget everything else," he murmured.
The tension between them was palpable, and she knew that if she didn't leave now, she'd be in too deep to pull away. But the whiskey and the pill had other ideas, and she found herself leaning into him, her hand resting on his chest.
"I might just be up for that," she said, her voice a seductive purr.
The party swirled around them, a kaleidoscope of color and sound, as Missy lost herself in the thrill of the flirtation. For a brief, shining moment, she forgot about the sadness waiting for her back home.
"Well, then," the muscular guy said with a wink, "let's get into some trouble."
He took her hand, and she allowed him to lead her through the crowded dance floor. The music grew louder, the lights dimmer, and suddenly they were in the center of the room, bodies grinding together in a frenzied dance of desire. He pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her waist as he leaned down, whispering in her ear, "Ready to get lost?"
Missy felt a thrill of excitement and danger, the kind she hadn't felt in a long time. She nodded, and before she knew it, their lips were locked in a passionate embrace. His hands roamed her body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She moaned into his mouth, feeling alive again for the first time since her father's passing. The whispers of their conversation grew more heated, their words a dance of seduction.
"You taste like heaven," he murmured, his tongue tracing the curve of her ear.
"And you feel like sin," Missy replied, her hands tangling in his hair.
They kissed with an urgency that spoke of desperation, as if trying to fill an unfillable void. The music pounded in their ears, a relentless beat that matched the rhythm of their hearts. Missy could feel the eyes of the partygoers on them, but she didn't care. For now, she was the star of her own show, and he was her eager audience of one.
"God, you're so fucking hot," he groaned, his hands slipping down to cup her ass.
Missy gasped, arching into his touch. "Show me how much," she challenged, her voice breathy.
Their dance grew more intimate, more carnally charged. His hands groped her, squeezing and kneading, as they moved in perfect sync. She could feel his erection pressing against her, and she knew what he wanted. She wanted it too, needed it to dull the ache that consumed her.
"Take me somewhere private," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the music.
He nodded, his eyes dark with lust. "Oh, I plan to," he promised, his voice thick with desire.
They stumbled through the crowd, his hand firmly planted on her lower back. They found a shadowy corner, far from prying eyes. He pushed her against the wall, his mouth claiming hers once more. His hands moved up, his thumbs tracing the edge of her bra, teasing her nipples through the thin fabric of her dress.
"Do you like that?" he asked, his voice a gruff whisper.
"Y-yes," Missy stuttered, her body betraying her with every touch.
He chuckled, a low, dark sound. "Good. Because I've got a whole lot more where that came from."
His hands continued to explore, slipping under her dress, his fingers dancing along the lacy band of her underwear. She moaned into his mouth, her hands fumbling with the buttons of his jeans.
"Fuck," she murmured, "I need you."
He groaned in response, his hands moving to her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples. "You're so wet for me," he said, his voice strained with his own need.
Missy nodded, her eyes half-lidded with desire. "Please," she begged, "don't stop."
He didn't. His touch grew more demanding, his kisses more urgent. She could feel herself slipping away, losing herself in the haze of pleasure. For a brief, glorious moment, she wasn't Missy Cooper, the girl with the dead dad. She was just a woman, alive and wanted, and it was the most exhilarating feeling she had ever known.
The music faded into the background as their bodies moved together, each touch and kiss driving her closer to the edge. She didn't know his name, didn't care. All she knew was the feeling of his hands on her skin, the taste of him on her tongue. It was a heady, dizzying sensation, one that she never wanted to end.
And so, they continued, lost in their own little world, as the party raged on around them, two stars in a constellation of lust and need.
"Where are we going?" Missy slurred, her legs feeling like jelly.
"Somewhere we can be alone," he replied, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
He led her through the house, his hand a firm guide down the hallway and into a grimy bathroom. The smell of stale urine and vomit hit her nose, but she was beyond caring. She needed this, needed him, to fill the void that had been carved out of her. He pushed her up against the sink, his hands rough on her thighs as he hiked her dress up, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Spread 'em," he ordered, his voice gruff.
Missy obeyed without hesitation, her legs shaking slightly. He stepped closer, his jeans now open, revealing his erection. It was thick and hard, and she licked her lips in anticipation.
"You're so fucking eager," he said with a smirk, stroking himself slowly.
"Please," she begged, her voice a whine. "I need it."
He didn't waste any more time. He slammed into her, the impact making her cry out. She gripped the edge of the sink, her nails digging into the porcelain as he pounded into her with a ferocity that bordered on violence.
"You're so tight," he grunted, his breath hot and heavy in her ear. "So fucking tight."
"Yeah, baby," she moaned, pushing back against him. "Harder."
He obliged, his hips moving faster and faster. She could feel herself getting closer, the pressure building.
"You're going to come for me, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice full of smug satisfaction.
"Yes," she panted, her voice strained. "Oh, God, yes."
He reached around, his hand finding her clit, rubbing it roughly. She moaned, her hips bucking against his hand.
"Fuck, you're going to cum for me, aren't you?" he demanded, his voice a harsh whisper.
"Yes," she gasped, her eyes squeezed shut. "Please, don't stop."
"I want to hear you scream," he said, his fingers working her faster. "I want to hear you beg for it."
"Oh, please," she whimpered. "I'm going to cum!"
"Beg for it, slut," he growled. "Beg me to make you cum."
"Oh, fuck, please," she moaned, her voice desperate. "I need it. I need it so badly."
He chuckled darkly, his strokes growing even more punishing. "You're going to cum all over my cock, baby," he said. "And then you're going to beg for more."
Missy could feel it, the orgasm building deep inside her, threatening to shatter her into a million pieces. She was so close, so fucking close. "More," she breathed. "Please, give me more."
"You're such a slut," he said, his voice thick with lust. "Such a filthy little slut."
"I know," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I am. I'm your slut."
With that, she shattered, her body convulsing around his cock as she screamed out her release. He didn't stop, though, continuing to pound into her as she came, her legs shaking with the intensity of it all.
"Fuck, yes," he grunted, his hips jerking erratically. "You're mine. You're all mine."
Missy could only nod, her body boneless with pleasure. He was right; she was his slut. And she had never felt more alive.
"Again," she begged, her voice hoarse. "Make me cum again."
He chuckled, his grip on her hips tightening. "As you wish," he said, and he began to fuck her with renewed vigor.
The room spun around her as the pleasure mounted once more, her body a tightly wound spring ready to snap. She could feel her climax building, the pressure unbearable.
"Please," she panted. "Please, I need it."
"You want it, don't you?" he taunted, his voice a low growl. "You want me to make you cum like the dirty little whore you are."
"Yes," she screamed, her nails raking down his back. "Oh, God, yes."
He slammed into her, his thumb pressing down hard on her clit. The sensation was too much, and she detonated, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm.
"Fuck," she breathed, her head lolling back. "I need more."
He didn't stop, his strokes growing more erratic as he chased his own release. "You're going to get it," he promised, his voice tight with his own need.
And she knew she would. She knew she would beg for it, and he would give it to her, and she would revel in every second of it. Because for now, in this filthy, cramped bathroom with the stranger, she was alive.
He pulled out, his cock glistening with her juices. "Open your mouth," he demanded.
Missy did so without a second thought, her eyes glazed over with desire. He stroked himself, his hand moving fast, watching her face.
"You want it?" he asked, a cruel smile playing on his lips.
"Yes," she whined, desperate for his cum. "Please, give it to me."
With a roar, he came, spurting his hot seed into her mouth. She swallowed it greedily, her eyes never leaving his as she did so. He watched her, his expression one of triumph, as he emptied himself into her willing mouth.
When he was done, he zipped up his pants, not bothering to wipe the smug smirk from his face. "You're a good little slut," he said, patting her cheek.
Missy felt a pang of something—humiliation, perhaps? But it was quickly drowned out by the need for more. She nodded, licking her lips. "Thank you," she murmured.
The guy just smirked, his eyes cold and distant. "Don't thank me, slut. You're just a piece of ass to me." With that, he turned on his heel and left her standing there, her dress still hiked up around her waist, her panties around her ankles.
Missy didn't bother to pull herself together. Instead, she leaned against the sink, letting the last of his cum trickle down her throat. She felt used, but in that moment, it was exactly what she needed. The harshness of his words only served to fuel the fire that burned within her.
As she made her way back to the dance floor, the party swirled around her like a tornado of color and sound. She was a leaf caught in the storm, tossed around by the chaos of the night. Her body still hummed with the aftershocks of her orgasm, but she craved more.
"You okay?" Tim asked, his eyes wide with concern as he caught sight of her.
Missy waved him off with a lazy hand. "I'm great," she said, her voice thick with lust. "Just had a little... detour."
He looked at her, his gaze searching, but she just smiled and grabbed his hand, pulling him into the throng of bodies. She needed to feel alive again, to drown herself in the sea of pleasure that the party offered.
A few minutes later, she found herself in the arms of another stranger, his hands already on her breasts. "You're so fucking hot," he murmured, his breath reeking of booze and cigarettes.
Missy didn't care. She just leaned in, whispering in his ear, "Take me somewhere we can be alone."
He grinned, his teeth stained yellow. "I've got just the place."
This time, it was a grimy closet, the air thick with the scent of stale clothes and dust. Missy didn't care. She was beyond caring about where or who. She just needed the release, the escape.
He fumbled with her dress, finally managing to pull it over her head. "Look at you," he said, his voice full of awe. "So beautiful."
Missy knew she wasn't beautiful; she was just a girl trying to fill the gaping hole in her heart with something—anything. But she didn't argue. Instead, she dropped to her knees, her mouth watering at the sight of his erect cock.
"You like that, don't you?" he said, his voice slurred. "You like sucking cock."
Missy didn't bother to answer. She just took him in her mouth, her eyes closed, her mind focused solely on the task at hand. The taste of the last guy still lingered on her tongue, mixing with the bitterness of this new one.
"That's it," he moaned, his hands in her hair. "Suck me like a good little whore."
Missy's jaw ached, but she didn't stop. The words only served to spur her on, the filthy talk a balm to her bruised ego. She worked his cock with a fervor that belied her inexperience, eager to make him feel good, eager to feel alive. His grip on her hair grew tighter, his hips thrusting forward as he approached climax.
"Yeah, like that," he grunted, his eyes rolling back in his head. "You're a natural."
Missy's cheeks hollowed as she sucked, her tongue swirling around the head of his cock. She could feel his pulse quicken, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. And then, with a guttural groan, he came, filling her mouth with his cum. She swallowed quickly, eager to please, the taste bitter and salty on her tongue.
"Fuck, you're good," he panted, his grip loosening.
Missy pulled away, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes meeting his. For a moment, there was a flicker of something—gratitude, maybe? But then he was zipping up his pants, his eyes cold and distant once again.
"Thanks for the quickie," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "But I've gotta get back to the party."
And with that, he was gone, leaving her kneeling in the closet, surrounded by the scent of their encounter. Missy felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment. She had gotten what she wanted—another hit of pleasure to dull the pain—but she had also been used and discarded like a dirty napkin.
But the party was still raging, the music still called to her, promising more opportunities to escape. She stumbled back to the dance floor, her mind racing with thoughts of her father, her grief, and the desperate need to feel something—anything—other than pain. The strobe lights painted the room in a dizzying array of colors, and she threw herself back into the fray, letting the music consume her.
A new song started, and she felt a hand slip into her own, pulling her towards the center of the floor. She looked up into the eyes of a boy she had gone to school with, his pupils dilated and his smile crooked. "Hey, Miss," he said, his voice slurred. "You wanna get high?"
Missy nodded eagerly, her hand tightening around the pill he offered. She popped it into her mouth and took a deep swig of the drink in her hand, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread through her chest. "Let's do it," she said, her voice a seductive whisper.
They danced together, their bodies moving in a frantic rhythm that matched the pounding bass of the music. His hands roamed her body, and she didn't protest, didn't even think about the fact that she didn't know his name. All she cared about was the way his touch made her feel—alive, wanted, needed.
"You're so hot," he murmured in her ear, his breath warm and sweet.
Missy giggled, her cheeks flushing with a mix of excitement and embarrassment. "Thanks," she managed to say, her voice barely above the music.
"Come with me," he urged, his hand sliding down to her ass. "Let's find somewhere a bit more... private."
The idea of being alone with him sent a thrill through her body, and she nodded eagerly. He led her through the writhing mass of bodies, down the hallway, and into a bedroom that smelled faintly of pot and sex. She didn't care. All she cared about was the way his hand felt on her skin, the way his eyes devoured her.
In the dimly lit room, they kissed, their tongues dancing together as they stumbled towards the bed. He pushed her down onto the mattress, his hands fumbling with the zipper of her dress. She could feel the effects of the pill starting to kick in, the world becoming more vivid, more intense.
"Take it off," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Show me what you've got."
Missy complied, her dress pooling around her ankles. She sat up, her breasts heaving as she unclipped her bra and let it fall away. He groaned, his eyes drinking her in.
"Fuck, Missy," he said, his voice a low growl. "You're so perfect."
His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she leaned back, her legs spreading automatically. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice a seductive purr.
"I want to taste you," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. "I want to make you scream."
Without another word, he slid down the bed, his mouth finding her pussy. Missy gasped, her hands flying to the back of his head. His tongue flicked over her clit, sending bolts of pleasure through her body.
"Yes," she moaned, her hips bucking up to meet his mouth. "Like that. Just like that."
He chuckled, the vibrations of his laughter sending waves of pleasure through her. "You like that, don't you?" he said, his voice muffled by her flesh. "You're such a dirty girl."
Missy could only nod, her eyes rolling back in her head. The way he talked to her, the way he touched her—it was like nothing she had ever experienced before. She felt like she was on fire, her body begging for more.
"You're so fucking wet," he murmured, his tongue delving into her folds. "So sweet."
Missy's hands found their way into his hair, gripping tightly as he ate her out with a passion that seemed almost desperate. She could feel another orgasm building, the pressure growing with every stroke of his tongue.
"I'm gonna cum," she panted, her voice high and tight. "I'm gonna cum all over your face."
He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her clit. "I want it," he said, his voice a dark promise. "I want you to cum all over me."
And with that, she did, her body arching off the bed as she screamed out her release. The room spun around her, the colors and lights blending into a kaleidoscope of pleasure. When she finally came down, she was panting, her chest heaving.
The boy looked up at her, his face glistening with her juices. "You're fucking amazing," he said, his voice hoarse with desire.
Missy felt a strange mix of pride and shame, but she didn't have time to process it. The pill was kicking in, and she was already craving more. "Let's do another," she said, her voice slurred.
He grinned, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "You're a wild one, aren't you?"
Missy just nodded, taking the pill he offered her. She didn't know what it was, but she didn't care. All she knew was that it made her feel alive.
The rest of the night was a blur of faces and bodies, of whispers and moans. She danced, she kissed, she fucked. It didn't matter who or where—all she cared about was the feeling of being wanted, of being alive. The drugs and alcohol were a warm, comforting blanket, wrapping her in a cocoon of numbness.
But even as she lost herself in the haze of the party, she couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that lurked in the back of her mind. She was using these people, these moments, to fill the gaping hole in her heart. And as the sun began to rise, she knew that she would do it all again tomorrow night. Because as much as it hurt, it was better than feeling nothing at all.
Missy found herself in the bedroom of another stranger, this one with a cocktail of pills and a bottle of vodka. "Pick your poison," he said with a leer. She grabbed a handful of pills and washed them down with a shot, the burn of the alcohol mixing with the bitter taste of the drugs.
"You're such a bad girl," he said, his eyes glinting with excitement. "I like that."
Missy didn't bother to respond. She was beyond the point of caring what anyone thought of her. She just needed the escape, the rush of pleasure that came from letting go of all her inhibitions.
The guy took a long drag from his cigarette, his eyes never leaving hers. "You like it dirty, don't you?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.
Missy nodded, her head spinning from the alcohol and the drugs. "I do," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.
Without another word, he leaned in, his breath hot against her mouth. He blew a stream of smoke into her, watching with a twisted satisfaction as she inhaled it deeply. The sensation was strange, but she liked it—liked the way it made her feel like she was doing something wrong, something dangerous.
"Good girl," he said, his voice a low growl. "You're going to be so much fun."
Missy felt his hands on her hips, his grip firm and demanding as he positioned her over his cock. She lowered herself onto him, feeling him fill her up. The smoke swirled in her lungs, mixing with the scent of sex and sweat, creating a heady cocktail that made her feel invincible.
"Ride me, baby," he said, his voice thick with desire. "Make me feel like I'm the king of the world."
And she did. She rode him with an abandon that she had never felt before, her body moving in a primal dance of pleasure. The room spun around her, the music a distant throb that seemed to pulse in time with her heart.
"Fuck, yes," he groaned, his eyes locked on hers. "Take it all."
Missy leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his chest, her hair a curtain around their faces. The cigarette hung from his lips, the tip glowing in the dim light. She leaned in closer, the smoke curling around them like a lover's embrace.
"Let me taste you," she murmured, her voice husky.
He grinned, his teeth stained from the nicotine. "You want a hit?"
Missy nodded eagerly, her eyes never leaving his. He took the cigarette from his mouth and placed it between her lips, his hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. She took a deep drag, the smoke filling her mouth.
"Good," he murmured. "Now, let me taste you."
He leaned in, his mouth capturing hers in a deep, drugging kiss. She could feel the smoke escaping her lungs, mixing with the heat of his breath. It was an oddly intimate moment, one that made her feel alive in a way she hadn't felt in weeks. The guy's hands roamed her body, his touch growing more insistent with every passing second.
"Missy," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "You're so fucking beautiful."
"Thank you," she said, her voice a whisper. She didn't know his name, but in that moment, it didn't matter.
"I'm gonna make you scream," he promised, his thumb circling her clit as he drove into her.
"I want to," she panted, her nails digging into his back.
Their rhythm grew more frenzied, the sound of their bodies slapping together echoing through the room. Missy's eyes rolled back in her head, the pleasure building like a crescendo. And then, just as the sun began to peek through the blinds, she came again, her body shuddering with the force of her orgasm.
"Fuck," he grunted, his own climax following quickly behind hers.
They lay there for a few moments, panting and spent. Missy felt a strange sadness settle over her, the aftermath of the high leaving her feeling more alone than ever.
"I should go," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded, his eyes still closed. "Yeah, I guess so."
Missy slipped off the bed, her legs shaky from the drugs and the exertion. She grabbed her dress, pulling it back over her head. The fabric clung to her sweat-slicked skin, but she didn't bother to smooth it out. She just wanted to get out of there.
As the sun started to rise, Missy made her way through the party, now winding down. Some people were passed out on the floor, others were stumbling around with bleary eyes and messy hair. She felt a twinge of pity for them, but it was quickly overridden by the desperate need to get home.
"Hey, Missy," a voice called out, and she turned to see Tim, her childhood friend. His eyes were bloodshot, and he swayed slightly on his feet. "You okay?"
"Yeah," she said, forcing a smile. "Just heading home."
Tim frowned. "You sure you're okay?"
"I'll be fine," she assured him, grabbing her purse from the counter. "See you around."
With a nod, Tim let her go, and Missy stepped out into the cool morning air. The world was eerily quiet, the silence a stark contrast to the chaos she'd just left behind. She stumbled to her car, her heels clicking against the pavement.
As she stumbled up the stairs to her room, she could hear the soft snores of her mother from the other side of the hall. She slipped into bed, her body feeling like it was made of lead.
For a moment, she lay there, listening to the quiet hum of the house, the echoes of the party still ringing in her ears. She thought of her father, of the man who had been her rock, her protector. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she buried her face in her pillow, sobbing until there was nothing left.
When she finally fell asleep, her dreams were filled with the faces of the men she had been with, their hands and mouths on her body a frenzied blur. But it was her father's voice that whispered in her ear, telling her to find comfort in his memory, not in the arms of strangers.