I hit the street with a dull thud, the air evacuating my lungs in a rush.

“Oh, fuck me dead,” I groan, my scattered mind happening upon one of Lock’s favorite phrases.

I roll to my back, my hip grating over the rough asphalt, and wrap my arms protectively around my stomach.

I don’t know why, since the damage has clearly already been done. Still, I find a morsel of comfort in the gesture.

The revelations of my little car ride wash over me anew, anxiety building with each relived memory.

I’ve really gone and fucked up this time.

I raise my hand, letting the back of it hover before my face. The ring sparkles innocently in the sunlight, as if it isn’t the cause of my current predicament.

“Who do you think you’re fooling?” I ask myself, echoing Anton’s words. “This is all your fault.”

I groan. All I wanted to do last night was have a little fun. I wanted to drop all the commitments I’d fallen into and just fucking live how I’m happiest.

Now I’m married, laying in the street, while bruises sprout up across my body and I chat with an inanimate object.

Yeah, I fucked up big time. It bears repeating.

I let my hand fall back to my stomach, instead staring fixedly at the blanket of sky above me. Fluffy clouds roll slowly across my field of vision, shapes forming in their perfect forms.

I stare at them, willing myself not to think.

I need a moment of peace, and laying in the street might not be the ideal place for it, but you work with what you’ve got. Honestly, if any cars approach me, they can fucking go around me.

I need this.

My eyes zero in on a particularly large cloud, its crisp white body resembling a bear. I trace its shape with my gaze, looking for details in the blank form.

Ding, ding!

The sound of bells assails me, sharp and piercing in the silence.

I tune it out, instead searching for more pictures in the sky.

Ding, ding!

I growl.

Can’t a girl get a moment of peace?

Frustrated, I turn toward the noise, my breath catching in my throat as I witness its source.

Speeding toward me, going much faster than one might expect, is a huge group of bicyclists. Their eyes are clearly fixed on unseen destinations ahead, their feet not even slowing against the pedals.

I cringe, frozen in place like a deer in headlights.

So this is how it ends.

Getting run down in the streets of Amsterdam. By bikes, nonetheless.

Well, at least I won’t have to work through my feelings for Anton; that’s somewhat of a relief.

My stomach lurches as I feel myself being lifted, hands gripping hard to my arms.

I open my eyes, expecting to see Anton. In fact, I can already hear myself forming my snide comment to him despite him saving my life.

My heart wars between disappointment and relief when I instead find my girls.

“What the fuck, Percy?” Sammi shouts, fear etched across her face.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Becky demands, the first vestiges of her disapproving mom face making an appearance.

Mysti just stares at me, her eyes wide and stunned.

“Not trying,” I say. “Just maybe not entirely opposed to the idea.”

I laugh at the disbelief that pulls at their faces.

“Oh, calm down. I was just frozen, is all. I wasn’t expecting a gaggle of bikes to come flying at me.”

“A gaggle is geese,” Mysti offers, her eyes still stretched wide.

“Yes, I know.”

I look pointedly at their hands still clutching me in their panic.

With apologetic looks, they loosen their grips. My arms ache from the intensity of their hold.

I inspect my dress, brushing dirt and God knows what else from the now soiled material.

“What happened?” Becky asks, looking in the direction where Anton’s car disappeared.

“Oh, you know, not much. I just remembered who I married, is all.”

“Oh shit! You did? Who?!” Becky asks excitedly.

I roll my eyes.

“Anton.”

Their faces display varying stages of shock, eyes all locked tightly on me.

“Oh my god,” Mysti chokes out.

“Well, that explains a lot,” Sammi offers.

“Does it?” I ask, only a little sarcastically. “Because honestly, I think I just have more questions now. Like—what the fuck was I thinking? And how did I allow this to happen?”

“I don’t know, Percy,” Sammi says, shaking her head.

“Well, I think it’s sweet,” Becky offers.

I stare daggers at her.

“Sweet? How so?”

“Well, you guys obviously care about each other. Maybe drunk you just knew a little better than sober you.”

I have no words.

Drunk me is an idiot. Clearly.

I shake my head.

“Yeah, I don’t think so, Becks.”

The girls exchange glances. Mysti shrugs in response to some unstated question.

“What?” I demand, taking a step closer to them.

Sammi apparently decides to be ambassador, raising her hands in peace as she steps toward me.

“Nothing, Perce. It’s just—I mean, is it really such a bad thing? Silver Fox seems like a really nice guy. You do seem to like him…”

“Of course I like him. I like all my guys.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No. No buts. I like him just fine. Love, on the other hand? You guys know that I only really love you all. There’s no way I have those feeling for Anton. No. way.”

Sammi shrugs now, looking back at the other girls in defeat.

I groan for what feels like the hundredth time already today.

“Would you guys stop trying to make this into some bullshit love story? We got drunk and decided to get married. It doesn’t mean a damn thing. I’m going to get an annulment. There’s no happy ending here except the one I have myself. Okay?”

“God, Percy. It’s not like anyone here’s ever felt like this before. Did you completely forget who I’m married to?” Sammi says sternly. “Maybe you need to trust yourself a little more.”

Mysti steps forward next, smiling fearfully like I’m about to bite her.

I’m almost entirely certain that I won’t. Though…I guess that really depends on her.

“Percy, I think Sammi’s right. And I’m just not sure that this is as horrible as you’re making it out to be.”

“Of course it’s horrible. I married my fucking fiancé!”

I hear Becky’s muffled laugh. Sammi’s eyes roll in response.

“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean!”

They nod—hesitant, sure—but it’s something.

“Okay, good. Now that we’re back on the same page, I need some help figuring out what comes next.”

They nod again, all of them looking beyond reluctant.

I get it. They’re romantics. To them, every story’s a fucking love story.

I love that about them; it’s endearing.

When it doesn’t have to do with me, of course.

My story’s not one that ends with wedding bells, though. I know this with absolute certainty.

My story ends with screams of ecstasy. It ends with me deep-throating the cock of some other gorgeous billionaire. And then another.

My story’s just that—my own.

I don’t have room for anything more than that.