Enthrallment: (Enthrallment Series Book 1)

by Meg Evans

  I eventually look at my phone and see an unread message from Charlie.

  Damn it, the birthday party’s tonight. I sigh with frustration and put the phone back in my purse without even reading the text.

  * * *

  Charlie is supposed to show up at six. I have a little bit over an hour to get ready. I can count on neither Maddie, who’s with Cynthia in Portland, nor Rach to help me prepare myself for the event. The latter is still angry with me, and unless I do something about it, the situation won’t change. After the birthday party, I should finally get myself together and make up with Rach for my awful behavior.

  Without wasting time, I put on my latest purchase—a knee-length raspberry cocktail dress. It emphasizes my slender calves without uncovering too much of my body. The fabric fits my figure perfectly: it isn’t too tight, making me look like I borrowed it from Maddie, nor is it too loose, making me look like I’ve lost twenty pounds and haven’t updated my wardrobe yet. The outfit isn’t that innocent, though—the neckline is pretty deep and reveals my cleavage. I don’t feel particularly comfortable in it, but when Rach saw me wearing it, she wouldn’t let me leave the store without purchasing the dress. She can be very persistent.

  Now it’s time to fix my messy hair. I decide to go for a knot bun that I keep in place with bobby pins. I top it off with a silver barrette. Finally, I put on my little pearl earrings, which Charlie gave me two years ago for my twentieth birthday. Even though I nurture no deeper feelings for him, it’s a nice thing to do considering he’s taking me with him.

  When I glance in the mirror to see the final effect, I’m pretty happy. I look better than I expected. Preparing myself on my own has some advantages: Maddie has the tendency to go overboard with makeup, whereas Rach is always so generous with products in my hair that afterwards it needs at least two weeks to recover.

  At six on the dot I hear the doorbell.

  “Holy cow!” Charlie greets me, his eyes popping.

  “What’s up?”

  “You look like a million dollars, girl.” He lightly brushes my cheek with his lips.

  “Oh, stop it.” I roll my eyes, but I like his compliment.

  Charlie looks presentable as well, despite his belly sticking out over his belt. He looks nothing like Dorian, who’s shaped like a Greek god, but I appreciate that he’s made an effort anyway.

  I’m doing it again—thinking of Dorian.

  I cast a lingering glance at their part of the house, sigh quietly and fasten the seatbelt while Charlie is pulling out of the drive. Heaviness settles in my stomach on the journey to Salem. I’ve never met Emily. When I accepted the invitation, I wasn’t thinking about who the birthday girl was, but it doesn’t matter in the end. I just hope it will all be worth it.

  When we pull up in front of the house where the party is taking place, the driveway is already filled with cars. My hands start to sweat when I realize how many guests must be inside. As we move along the pathway, I can already hear loud music, balloons popping and people laughing obnoxiously loud. What am I even doing here? I take a deep breath and walk inside with Charlie. This is going to be an interesting experience.

  * * *

  The first two hours fly by fast and I actually have fun. However, the moment when Charlie comes up to me, asking me whether I’d mind being the designated driver because he feels an irresistible urge to indulge in some whiskey, is the beginning of a disaster. He holes himself up somewhere with his pals and forgets all about me.

  That’s when the second stage of the evening starts. I make an attempt to have a conversation with some other guests, but since almost everybody is quite tipsy, I practically have no one to talk to. People here can be divided into a couple of groups: miserable drunks (dwelling on their dramatic life stories), crazy drunks (those who yell, jump on the couches, and lock themselves in the bedrooms for an obvious purpose), stiff drunks (those lying down on the floor unconscious), and sober people (out of which ninety percent have already gone home).

  As a matter of fact, the only sober ones left are me, two angry girls who’ve spent the last twenty minutes searching for their boyfriends who seem to have disappeared into thin air, and a red-headed guy with his eyes fixed on the TV set, watching a Marvel movie. I don’t particularly feel like starting a conversation with any of them.

  I’m so bored that I can’t help but pull out my cellphone and try to level up in Candy Crush. My iPhone is a better entertainer to me than anyone else in this moment. Over the next thirty minutes I get consumed by swapping the jellies on the screen to the extent that I don’t notice someone coming up behind me.

  “Hey, Zara. I see you’re having a great time as well,” says a very familiar voice.

  “Matt!” I lock my cell and bury it deep in my purse. “Yeah, I’m having a lot of fun. How about you?” I turn around and face his tousled blond curls and snow-white smile.

  “I meant that you must be totally bored if you’re browsing your phone at a party.”

  “Oh… my phone. Yeah, I was checking something super important.”

  Matt raises his eyebrow in disbelief.

  I could tell him that instead of voraciously matching tiles, I was looking up the latest news regarding the stock exchange or the presidential campaign. However, I’m too tired for that. “Fair enough,” I surrender, “I was playing Candy Crush.”

  Matt laughs, showing off the cute dimples in his cheeks. The last thing I want is to pretend to be somebody I’m really not. I’d rather be honest.

  “Who did you come here with?” he asks, gazing around the living room. He seems perfectly sober and alert.

  “With Charlie Robinson, but you won’t find him here.”

  “Why?”

  “I haven’t seen him for almost two hours, so good luck with that.”

  He’s standing only two feet from me, but I don’t feel intimidated. It’s unusual. After all, for a couple of months I’ve had a huge crush on Matt, and never had a tiny bit of courage to come closer than a safe ten steps away from him. I always preferred admiring him from afar. Now here we are, standing next to each other, and I don’t experience even a little pulse jump. Is that because of Dorian? Has he overshadowed my infatuation with Matt?

  “I’m sorry to hear you’ve lost your date.”

  “We’re friends,” I feel the urge to clarify right away. “He apparently brought me here to have a designated driver that will take him home when he’s incapable of standing on his own feet.” It’s meant to be a joke, but I have a hunch that it’s going to be the exact scenario in a little bit. “Where’s your date?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  Of course. I forgot that Matt is almost impossible to capture.

  “You’re your own designated driver, then.” I smile. “Unless you’re an Uber fan?”

  “Not at all. I don’t drink.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want to ever lose control. I’ve seen people who have, and it was no fun.”

  “How responsible.”

  “Perhaps.”

  I’m genuinely surprised that such a popular guy as Matt doesn’t drink at all. However, now that I know he hasn’t had a single drop of liquor, I suspect that the reason he’s approached me is the lack of other people who look like they’re still able to handle a conversation. For a second there I thought that maybe it was the charm of my dress that attracted him. Nevertheless, I’m thankful for his company. At least now I have an actual person to look at, not a screen full of tiles.

  “You study psychology too, right?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I think I’ve seen you at school a couple of times.”

  Only a couple of times?! I’ve seen you at least a thousand times.

  “If I hadn’t taken a gap year, we might have had some classes together,” I say aloud.

  “Why did you take a gap year? If I may ask.”

  “I just needed some time to figure things out,” I say, and grab a pretzel from the bowl.

  “No
thing wrong with that.” He also reaches for a pretzel. “I was considering doing the same thing, but in the end I changed my mind.”

  The conversation with Matt goes very smoothly. It’s my favorite part of the entire evening. Unfortunately, we only have ten peaceful minutes to speak before our chat is abruptly interrupted by Charlie appearing out of the blue. He staggers through the living room in our direction. He almost trips over an empty bottle of beer on the carpet, but, just in time, manages to grab the couch’s arm and keep himself standing.

  “Oh my God,” slips out of my mouth.

  “Hey there. Been a while,” Charlie says. His eyes swivel as if he can’t see straight.

  I wish I could punch Charlie in his drunk face hard enough to knock him unconscious for the next hour so that I could continue my nice chat with Matt without being disturbed. Sadly, what I’d love to do in my head and what I actually do are poles apart. If we don’t leave right away, Charlie will probably be swayed to drink the next round of whiskey, which would make him totally unable to stand on his own feet. Then we’d either have to stay here overnight, or I’d have to carry that drunk asshole on my back, which isn’t an option because he weighs about three times as much as I do. Clearly, I need to swallow the bitter disappointment, apologize to Matt, and simply leave now.

  Thankfully, Matt helps me drag dead-weight Charlie to the car.

  “Hopefully I’ll see you soon,” Matt says after we, not without difficulties, have placed Charlie in the passenger’s seat.

  He gives me a farewell peck on the cheek and walks away to his own car. I don’t buy his words. If he genuinely wanted to see me again, he’d ask me for my number to stay in touch.

  What did I expect from a guy who has the power of driving every girl he meets crazy? Did I think I would rocked his world?

  The way back home drags on; Charlie begs me approximately every five minutes to pull over, adding “I’ll puke if you don’t”. His words are remarkably convincing. It takes us almost an hour to cover a twenty-minute stretch of road. But the night doesn’t end when we get to our neighborhood.

  I pull into my own driveway. My plan is to take advantage of the fact that I’m home alone and give Charlie some time to pull himself together before he returns to his place. If I let him go right away, he’ll most likely run into his sick mom and raise her blood pressure with his current state. I don’t want her to share Mrs. McConelly’s fate—one heart attack in the neighborhood is more than enough for this year. Plus, I know that Charlie isn’t normally a drunk. I’ve never seen him like this before, so I want to make sure he’s okay.

  “Where are we?” Charlie mumbles, pulling himself up to gaze outside.

  “We’ve stopped by my place for a bit. You can’t go back home looking like a zombie; it’ll kill your mom.” I jump out of the car, go around it and help Charlie climb out through the passenger’s door.

  “We’re going to your house?”

  “Yes, my house,” I repeat louder, aggravated. “What’s wrong with you? Did you smoke something? How come you don’t recognize my place? You live two minutes away.” I shake my head with irritation.

  It doesn’t take long before I bitterly regret offering Charlie my help. He fastens himself to me, which I believe is supposed to be some kind of drunken hug, stops in the middle of my driveway and refuses to go further. We stand still for a minute. I’m not especially fond of his odd way of showing me his appreciation. Charlie stinks of booze, mixed with the reek of sweat, and he’s trying to touch me in places that he shouldn’t. On top of that, I’m pretty sure that we’ll lose our balance and wind up on the ground soon.

  “Zara, c’mon, I know you feel the same way about me,” Charlie says, treating me to his funky breath. He’s slurring, but I can understand what he’s saying.

  “Charlie, I’m begging you, don’t be pathetic, and stop making a laughing-stock of yourself.” I try to push him away, but he’s too bulky for me to move him even an inch.

  “Somebody’s pretending to be unapproachable. I love it.” He slides his hand down to my butt; I feel like vomiting.

  “If you don’t get off of me, I swear I’ll yell!” I warn him sternly. “What’s wrong with you?!”

  “Don’t even think that I’m going to let you go, sexy.” He smirks. “Do you know what I’d love to do to you?”

  Thank God I don’t know what’s lurking in his loaded mind.

  “Stay away!” I cry, once I realize he’s leaning toward me to give me a disgusting kiss. “Charlie!”

  Right as I’m about to kick him between his legs, I hear a voice coming somewhere from behind us. “Hey! Everything alright here?”

  I recognize that deep voice. I look up and see Dorian standing on the porch, facing us.

  “None of your business!” Charlie snarls. “Everything’s fine!”

  “Nothing’s fine!” I disagree loudly, still striving to loosen his grip and shake myself free.

  “Is he being disrespectful?” Dorian doesn’t wait for my response, but immediately scoots down the steps and around the fence. His glare burns through Charlie. I let out a huge breath; he showed up at the perfect time—right before Charlie placed his obnoxious lips on mine.

  “Back off, dude!” Charlie’s voice is seething with anger. “You’re butting in between me and my woman!”

  “I’m not your woman—”

  No sooner do I say it than Dorian seizes Charlie’s hands, freeing me from his grasp. He traps his arms and twists them behind Charlie’s back, entirely disarming him with one swift move. Charlie doubles over in pain. I don’t feel any mercy, though—I’m fuming.

  “What the hell, man?! You’re gonna break my arms!”

  “I don’t think you heard it, but Zara clearly asked you to get away from her,” Dorian says calmly.

  What an interesting twist of events. Last night I was trapped by Dorian’s strong grip, and tonight he’s turned out to be my savior.

  “Let go!” Charlie writhes in pain.

  “Now you be a good boy, go home, and leave your friend alone. Understood?” Dorian clutches Charlie’s hands even tighter. Charlie hisses. Dorian uses just the right amount of ferocity; he doesn’t let himself get carried away.

  “Okay! Okay! Fiiine… Jus… lemme go, man,” Charlie stammers.

  Dorian releases him with a shove, then turns to me. “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah.” I give Charlie the most disdainful look I can manage. “I should take him home. He can’t take two steps on his own. He wouldn’t even be able to crawl there right now.”

  On no account do I want Charlie near me in my empty house, but it doesn’t feel right to just leave him like this, no matter what stunt he just pulled.

  “I’ll help you.” Dorian slings Charlie’s arm over his shoulder, despite Charlie’s resistance; together we carry him to his front door.

  All the lights are off but the one in the kitchen. Mrs. Robinson must have been waiting for her son. Heaviness centers in my chest as I ring the doorbell. Last year she had a stroke, and the left side of her body has been paralyzed ever since. She’s been struggling every day to get by, and her son doesn’t make it easier on her.

  When the door opens a crack, I see a short woman peering at us through the slit. When her eyes land on Charlie, she’s taken aback. She tries to say something, but no sound escapes her throat. The door opens wider, and a chubby lady with cheeks that blend into her neck stands in the doorway. It’s Charlie’s aunt. I haven’t seen her since I was a child.

  “Jesus Christ,” is all she’s able to utter.

  “Hi, Auntie Jess,” Charlie says, at which her temper flares. She grabs him by his shoulder, pulls him forcefully inside, and shuts the door with a bang right in our faces.

  “I guess we’re done here,” Dorian says nonchalantly, like he didn’t just see the terminator.

  “Thanks for your help,” I say while we’re briskly walking back. “You didn’t have to do it.”

  “Don’t mention it. Do I w
ant to know how it came to this?”

  “It’s a long story.” I’m grateful that he lets the subject rest and doesn’t ask me to tell him. I just wish I could erase it from my memory forever.

  A silence hangs in the air between us. The unexplained course of our last encounter is like an invisible wall, parting us. I hate unresolved matters, so I gather all the courage I have and say, “Dorian, it’s a bit weird that today you helped me, but yesterday you were the one who attacked me.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.” His voice is gruff. “You’d better go straight to bed; it’s late. Anyway, I’m actually heading out somewhere and don’t have too much time.”

  I’m not happy with his reaction, but I can’t make him talk. “A date?”

  “Do you really think I’m going on a date in the middle of the night?”

  “Why not?” I shrug.

  “I already told you—I don’t date.”

  “Right! It totally slipped my mind.” I slam my forehead. “You never make any exceptions?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Why?” Dorian asks, as we finally reach my lit driveway.

  “Curiosity, that’s all.”

  “I already gave you the answer. Have a good night, Zara.”

  “Night, Dorian.”

  He walks away toward his Bentley. His approach to dating is weird. He treats it like some kind of a taboo that should never be brought up.

  There must be a reason for that.

  “What about those intense relationships, then?” I allow myself to ask, more loudly to make sure he hears me.

  “What do you mean?” He unlocks the car, but doesn’t get in yet.

  “What if I’m interested?”

  “Are you?”

  “Perhaps…”

  “You are,” he says, with no doubt in his voice.

  “Let’s say that it sounds interesting to me.” I attempt to sound seductive.

  Dorian walks around the car and stops by the driver’s door. He opens it wide, but before disappearing inside, he looks at me and says, “You’re not fit for that kind of relationship.”

  What does he mean by not fit? Do I not look good enough? Are my legs too short—is my butt not perky enough?! Or maybe I seem like a good girl who doesn’t ever go bad…