Chapter 8 : Words That Wound
(Narrator : Jessica)
My awakening is abrupt. My head pounds, as if thousands of tiny needles are piercing my temples. I let out a low groan as I try to open my eyes, but the light filtering through the curtains feels like a hammer blow. I’m still numb, my mind foggy, and my whole body feels heavy, drained.
I sit up slowly on the bed, and everything comes rushing back: the alcohol, the evening, the laughter, the spin-the-bottle game… My chest tightens at the memory, but it’s hazy, like parts of the night are missing. What happened after that?
I glance toward the other side of the room and see Josh asleep in the armchair, his head tilted back, breathing softly. He looks exhausted.
Rubbing my face in a futile attempt to shake off the migraine pounding in my skull, I slip out of bed. A sudden chill courses through me. I glance down and… my heart stops.
I’m practically naked.
- Jessica (panicking): “What the…?!”
I stumble back abruptly, completely thrown off balance. I’m wearing nothing but my panties. My chest is bare, and my clothes are scattered across the floor. A wave of panic rises inside me. What the hell happened last night?
I steal a quick glance at Josh, still fast asleep. Nothing seems out of place, but I can’t stop my mind from conjuring up all kinds of scenarios. I don’t remember anything. The fragments of memory I do have are hazy, distant. I remember drinking—a lot, way too much. And then… nothing.
I rush to the mirror, my heart pounding in my chest. Staring at my reflection with growing unease, I take in the smeared makeup, the disheveled hair. I can’t fathom how I let myself end up like this.
Did Josh see me like this?!
The thought sends a shiver down my spine. He slept in the armchair. He’d never… not Josh. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but the unsettling feeling of being so exposed gnaws at me. Quickly, I grab my scattered clothes and get dressed, my heart still racing at the possibility that something humiliating might have happened.
I glance at Josh one last time. He’s still sound asleep.
After hastily getting dressed, I slip out of the room quietly, making sure not to wake Josh. My mind is still a blur, caught between the pounding headache and this lingering sense of unease. A thousand questions swirl in my head, but no clear answers come. What could have happened? Yet part of me doesn’t want to dwell on it—not yet.
I head downstairs, hoping the fresh air will help clear my mind. As I reach the living room, I see a few friends already awake, sitting around the table, casually sipping coffee. They seem far more composed than I feel, and the thought of joining them, still haunted by fragmented memories of last night, makes my discomfort grow.
- Paul (noticing me enter): “Morning, Jess! Looks like you had a short night.”
I give him a timid smile, trying to appear natural.
- Jessica (with a raspy voice): “Yeah, you could say that… Way too much booze last night.”
I rub my temples, trying to ease the persistent ache, but the image of myself, nearly naked, still lingers in my mind, gnawing at me. How could I let myself get into such a state?
I grab a cup of coffee in silence, trying to push the thoughts away, but it’s impossible. Everything around me feels like a reminder of last night. The way they glance at me, the sly smiles—it makes me feel like they know something I don’t. That’s ridiculous, right?
Just as I sit at the table, Josh walks into the kitchen with one of his friends, Brice. I catch his gaze for a brief moment, and everything comes rushing back: the room, my nudity, his silence in the armchair.
- Josh (with a quick smile): “Hey.”
I reply with a simple nod, avoiding his gaze. My throat tightens. I need to get out of here, away from his eyes, away from the suffocating embarrassment that’s closing in on me.
- Jessica (quickly): “I’m going to get some air. Be right back.”
I set my half-full cup down and head briskly toward the door. Once outside, I take a deep breath of fresh air, but it does little to calm the whirlwind in my head. I pull a cigarette from my pocket and light it with shaky hands. I don’t usually smoke, but right now, I need something—anything—to ease this tension.
The drag of smoke filling my lungs soothes me a little, but Josh’s image still lingers. Does he know what happened last night? Maybe I’m just overthinking. Maybe he didn’t even notice me like that.
I lean against the outer wall of the house, the cool air helping to clear some of the fog from my hangover. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about last night… and this whole damn weekend.
As I take another drag from my cigarette, I catch the sound of murmured voices from inside. At first, I don’t pay much attention, but as I focus, I quickly recognize them: Josh and Brice.
I move closer to the wall, noticing that the vent carries the sound through, and I can’t help but listen. It’s probably nothing—just a casual morning chat between friends.
- Brice (in an amused tone): “So, dude… are you going to tell me what happened last night or what?”
My blood runs cold. Why is he talking about last night? I lean in even closer, my mind suddenly sharp despite the lingering hangover.
- Josh (hesitant): “Nothing happened, Brice… Seriously, you’re reaching.”
I let out a quiet sigh of relief. At least Josh is telling the truth. Nothing happened. But Brice doesn’t seem convinced.
- Brice (teasing): “Come on, man, you were in the same room with her. Something must’ve gone down.”
A wave of unease washes over me as their conversation continues. They’re talking about me—there’s no doubt. And it’s getting really uncomfortable. I shouldn’t be listening, but my feet feel rooted to the ground.
- Josh (after a pause): “I’m telling you, nothing happened. She was completely wasted.”
I freeze, hoping he’ll leave it at that, but Brice’s tone shifts, becoming more persistent.
- Brice (with a light laugh): “Yeah, but you must’ve seen her… if she was drunk, she probably did something crazy, right?”
My heart races, and I hold my breath. What’s Josh going to say? Is he going to admit that I was practically naked? I clench my fists, silently begging for this mortifying detail to stay buried in their conversation.
There’s a heavy silence before Josh responds, each passing second stretching unbearably.
- Josh (in a tense, resigned voice): “Yeah… I saw her.”
My heart skips a beat. It’s like all the air has been sucked out of my lungs. He saw me.
I fight to keep from dropping my cigarette, the shock rippling through me, but I slowly pull myself together. Yes, it’s mortifying that he saw me naked, but after all, it’s Josh—my brother. It’s not like it was some stranger or one of his friends. It’s weird, no doubt about it, but maybe I’m overreacting. I take a deep breath, trying to rationalize it all. It’s not the end of the world, is it?
After all, there’s nothing inherently wrong with it, even if the situation is awkward. He could have kept quiet about it, sure, but does that really change anything? I steady myself, reminding myself that he’s my brother, and at the end of the day, he’s still Josh.
I stand there, frozen, my sweaty hands gripping the cigarette as it slowly burns down. Brice keeps pushing Josh, and I know I should walk away, but my feet feel glued to the ground. I can’t stop listening.
- Brice (with a provocative laugh): “You didn’t have any trouble sleeping with her half-naked, huh? Come on, you must’ve gotten an eyeful! Jessica’s a real knockout!”
My heart races. They’re talking about me like I’m some stranger, like… I’m a fantasy girl. I feel horribly exposed, vulnerable, and every word coming out of Brice’s mouth makes me want to disappear. This can’t be happening. Not Josh. He’s going to shut this down, right?
But he doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches, and I’m left wondering what’s going through his head. I pray for him to change the subject, to refuse to go along with this. But when he finally speaks, his words make my blood run cold.
- Josh (in a hesitant voice, as if he knows it’s wrong): “Yeah… I saw her, and I have to admit, she’s…”
A knot forms in my throat. No, he’s not going to… Is he?
- Josh (awkward but continuing): “She’s got an insane body, man…”
I struggle to breathe. My thoughts are a chaotic mess. How can he talk about me like this? My body betrays me as a wave of unease washes over me, a sickening heat crawling up the back of my neck. I feel betrayed, yet I can’t tear my ears away from their conversation.
- Brice (laughing): “I told you! That girl’s got a dream ass. Like the kind of ass you’d never get tired of hitting every day.”
My stomach churns, but it’s nothing compared to what Josh says next.
- Josh (almost whispering, but loud enough for me to hear): “Yeah, no doubt… That’s the kind of ass you’d eat for breakfast, no questions asked.”
The ground feels like it’s collapsing beneath me.
It’s as if my body no longer belongs to me. Every word, every chuckle, tears me apart inside. They’re talking about me as if I’m someone else, as if I’m no longer a person but a fantasy—an object of desire. And it’s Josh saying these things. My mind struggles to process the reality of what I’m hearing.
I feel trapped, exposed, as if my nudity—something I thought was private—has been put on display for everyone. Worse still, Josh is part of it, joining in the crude jokes, reducing my body to nothing more than a target of lust.
- Jessica (thinking, devastated): “How did it come to this? Why… why is he saying these things?”
I wanted to believe it was just the alcohol, something I could forget about, but this is worse. They’ve seen me, judged me, and now I’m the target of their filthy fantasies. The discomfort overwhelms me, nausea rising in my throat as I stand there, paralyzed by this betrayal.
I pull away from the wall slowly, my legs trembling, my thoughts spiraling out of control. Every word still echoes in my head, the muffled laughter of Josh and Brice replaying over and over in my mind. My body feels like it’s on fire, but not with the warmth of shared desire—it’s the burn of shame, of humiliation. I can’t believe it. Josh actually said those things. About me.
I move farther away, trying to escape the scene, to put some distance between myself and that crude conversation. But the nausea won’t let go, and my thoughts betray me. He saw me. He looked at me. And now he’s talking about it, reducing me to some object of lust, something to fantasize about and judge. My own brother.
I feel my eyes sting with tears as I sit down on a bench further away. The cool air should calm me, but nothing can soothe the storm boiling inside me. I’m lost, completely shaken. Is everything I believed about Josh falling apart? How could he say that, think that about me?
Then, a thought crosses my mind, almost like a lifeline. Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe it was just… playing along. Yes, that has to be it. He was just pretending. Trying to fit in with Brice’s vulgar jokes, like he always does. Josh isn’t really like that. He must have just felt cornered, pressured to play the part.
It was just for show, to play along… He said those things because he had no choice, to avoid looking strange in front of Brice.
I focus on this thought, clinging to it desperately. Josh is my brother. He can’t really see me that way—it’s not possible. He must have said those things because he felt like he had to, to keep up appearances. After all, no one knows we’re brother and sister. He must have thought he didn’t have another option.
Yes, that has to be it.
I take a deep breath, discreetly wiping a tear from the corner of my eye. This doesn’t change anything between us. Josh did what he had to do to maintain the facade, that’s all. It was clumsy, horrible to hear, but it couldn’t be true. He doesn’t actually see me like that.
He said it because he had to play the part. That’s all.
But no matter how hard I try to convince myself, the unease lingers, clinging to me like an indelible stain. I can’t unhear what I heard, and some deeper part of me refuses to believe it was just an act. The doubt is there, rooted in my mind, and I don’t know if I’ll ever truly be able to erase it.
The sound of voices in the house fades as I sit there, alone, trying to make sense of how things spiraled so quickly. I want to forget, but the image of Josh—and his words—haunts me.