Tijuana Burger Girl (A disturbing novel you shouldn't read)

Chapter 5: Rot Pocket

Content Warning (Please read before scrolling!):

In the last chapter, there was a burger left sitting out in the hot sun for hours with flies all over it, and Alicia [in her drunken, high-on-molly state] thought it was a good idea to cram all the meat and toppings into her vagina so she could smuggle it from Tijuana to the United States for dinner later. She did all that while she was blacked out and, as such, has no recollection of doing so. One can only imagine what would happen if a woman forgot that there was a spoiled burger [that's unknowingly teeming with fly eggs] stuffed inside of her birth canal...

If that wasn't a big enough hint for what lies ahead, you should NOT continue reading if the idea of having rot and maggots in intimate places makes you uncomfortable. Final warning: If disturbing/gross reads make you squeamish, please—for your own good—do not read past chapter 4 of Tijuana Burger Girl!

Enjoy the read!

Tuesday

Aside from instantly being greeted by flu-like malaise, body aches, and a light tickling sensation between my legs the moment I awake from a bizarre dream, I feel waaaay more out of it than I normally do following a deep sleep. Loopy almost. Like, my mind is hazy and I feel like I can't form a coherent thought to save my life, sort of like that time I mixed alcohol and Xanax.

Even though I'm lying still, something deliberately tickles my thigh and labia again, so I grab the sheets with the intent of lifting them only to get distracted by this funky odor lingering in the air. It smells like Payton forgot to take out the trash, but the scent is too strong for it to be coming from the kitchen. Releasing the sheet that I don't remember why I'm holding; I sit up a bit and start sniffing around to figure out where the stink is coming.

While slowly panning my head from right to left, my gaze falls on the bands of sunlight striped on the wall across from me. Suddenly, I can't remember why I was sitting up or sniffing around, so I lay back down, pulling the sheet up over my shoulder, still staring at the bands of light.

The sun is up, but I can't tell if I've been sleeping for a few hours or if this is a new day. I don't have a clock in my room, so I grab my phone from the other side of the bed, hit the power button to wake it, and lay there staring at it for several seconds waiting for the screen to illuminate.

Wait, why am I staring at a black screen? I hit the power button and wait for it to wake the screen.

I press the power button and wait.

I press the power button and wait.

Out of nowhere, it dawns on me just how many times I've done this only for my cell to not turn on.

Wait... maybe it's dead, I think, holding down the power button this time.

My eyes glaze over as I slip into a daydream about nothing, the mental equivalent of TV static.

Judging by the ache in my thumb, I've been holding this button down for over a minute, and the screen has yet to come on. The battery's dead, I think, squinting when I realize just how delirious I am. It feels like I took too many weed edibles again. I reach for my charger, wincing from how achy my muscles and joints feel. But I didn't eat any last night... I just smoked... Right? I vaguely recall Payton telling me about how I popped molly and drank a bunch the other day. Maybe my brain is just fried from doing molly multiple days in a row and drinking way too much during the last roll.

Right as I grab my charger cable, something tickles my inner thigh—something that's certainly not the bedsheet or fabric of any kind. A second later, my body shivers pleasantly from more tickling against my clitoris and folds.