Grey_The Encounter

by Allison White

  “Why are you even here? I thought you hated me,” he grits out as I put my phone back in my pocket.

  “I do,” I tell him and glare at him. “But David called me for a favor; he wanted me to take you home.”

  He looks shocked. “And you agreed?”

  I reluctantly nod. “But I’m regretting it.”

  He studies me for a while before sitting back in his stool. “You like me,” he sing-songs, flashing me his perfectly white teeth.

  I scoff and look at him incredulously. “I do not.”

  “So why are you here?” he asks, squinting his dark eyes.

  “Because he asked me to come, and I actually tolerate him more than you.” I give him a smug look, and he scowls at me while dragging the liquor bottle to his lips.

  “Grey!” I launch forward, reaching for the bottle, but he presses his hand against my cheek, like I did to him moments before, and raises his foot, so he is balancing on the two bar stool legs and downing the dark drink.

  “Grey,” Patch shouts from across the bar.

  Grey looks up, puts the bottle down, swipes his hand across his wet, dripping lips, and lets out an intoxicated giggle. “Whoopsie daisy.”

  I roll my eyes in annoyance and grab the bottle from him. “Listen, we can go back and forth all night, but I don’t want to, and I have classes tomorrow. Pay what you owe and tell me where you live.”

  “Someone’s eager to get into my pants,” he jokes and wiggles his hips around, flashing me a flirtatious wink. “But I’m not ready to leave. You can skedaddle if you want, though. Run off to David.”

  Is he seriously jealous right now?

  “I don’t want to go to him.” I pause and kick myself, but I tell him, “I came here for you, Grey, not him. Now, don’t make me regret this, and come with me.”

  He stiffens and shifts his head to regard me with an unreadable, but serious expression. “I hurt you. You wouldn’t come here for me.”

  “Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” I lift my eyebrows and put my hands on my hips. He pouts, and I tear my eyes away from his. My skin fizzles with heat, and I do not want to get swept up in those black eyes only to get hurt again. “Please cut him off,” I beg Patch, and he nods.

  “You’re cut off for the night, Grey,” he says in a firm voice, his large hands splayed out across the counter. His thick, auburn beard twitches as he sucks his teeth and regards his childish customer with a scowl that makes me shiver. He’s good.

  “Fine, meanie,” Grey spits under his breath, standing and stretching his back, letting out a loud yawn. “I’m tired, anyway.” He waves his hand dismissively at the bartender as I hold back an amused laugh.

  He stumbles when taking a step forward, but I rush to catch his lean figure before he can topple onto the ground.

  “Let’s go, not-so-friendly giant,” I tease him, wrapping a firm grip around his body and walking toward the entrance.

  He giggles and leans down, resting his chin on my head. “You make joke-joke.” He snorts, and I let the smile tugging on my lips take over.

  We’re almost at the door when that man who got in my way earlier steps in front of us, a not-so-pleasant expression scrawled across his wrinkled face. Why can’t he just leave us alone? Does he have some sort of issue with Grey, or is he just naturally this irritating?

  “Last offer of the night, sweetheart. Drink with me and drop the loser,” he snarls with a hint of a grueling smile.

  “No, thank you, sir.” Again, I am polite and even offer him a warm smile.

  “You really gotta learn some damn respect,” he grumbles, taking a step forward.

  “Fuck off, Rudy. She said no,” Grey barks before standing straight and shoving the man. Even though he easily towers over the man, he is knocked to the ground with a swift punch to the jaw. A loud cracking sound snaps in my ears, and I gasp in shock and fall to the ground.

  Instead of bouncing to his feet to fight back like I expect him to, he erupts into thick laughter that, with his closed eyes and blood spewing out of the corner of his mouth, makes him look and sound insane.

  “Haven’t you learned not to fuck with me, kid?” the man growls, and I look back to find him raising his blood-covered hand.

  “Wait!” I shout, and he bares his yellow teeth at me. “Please, I just want to take him home. He isn’t quite himself right now. I’m sure you two can resolve whatever issue you have, but not right now. Please…” I plead, trying to trigger a kind side to him—if there is one.

  I send Grey a glance, and the man follows my eyes, scrunching up his mouth, a link of spit dripping from his lower lip.

  “Hurry on out ’fore I change my mind,” he huffs and literally spits on the floor. I am not going to test this man, because I can see that he will take on Grey without so much as a punch in return. What is wrong with this guy beneath me?

  “Thank you, sir,” I mutter with a smile before looking down and grabbing Grey by his shoulders. I sit him up, stand, and push at his shoulders. He bends his knees and ascends, and before he can flop over onto his stomach, I grapple my hands around him and push him upright. “Come on, now…” I huff out before walking over to the door and propping it open with my elbow before he stumbles out.

  The night air causes my loose hair to whip across my cheeks and tickle the back of my neck. I scrunch up my face and try to use Grey’s hand to push them away from my eyes, but he ends up pressing me into his chest and stumbling back, pushing me against a graffiti-covered brick wall.

  He leans forward and grips my cheeks, his bottom lip tucked into his mouth.

  “Pretty,” he croons like a child, twirling a lock of my hair.

  Cheeks blooming with fire and my body heating up along with them, I clear my throat and twirl him around until my palms are pressed against his back, like I am pushing a boulder up a mountain.

  “Nope, no, I am taking you home,” I instruct him in a firm voice.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  After hassling a very drunk Grey for his home address for nearly ten minutes, I’ve come to the conclusion that I do not like this version of him. I don’t like his default version any better, but this version, hate it. Despise it.

  He’s been singing incoherent song lyrics and wobbling so much, you’d think he was walking around on stilts. I’ve fallen over two times, snapped at him seven times, and planned his murder—which I would make look like a suicide—twelve times. In all, I have been questioning why I even agreed to help this annoying, drunk jerk at all.

  It’s because you still like him, silly, says my subconscious.

  “Piss off,” I tell myself, rolling my eyes when Grey laughs and pokes my side. “Will you just tell me if we’re getting close or not?”

  He sucks in a large breath and bends back to stare up at the line of apartment buildings along the street. “We are almost there. Just feeeeewww buildings over,” he slurs and giggles in my ear. I straighten his relaxing posture as he sticks a long finger in my ear.

  “Stop that,” I shriek and try to hip bump him enough, so he’d get the message and stop. He only leans over me until I almost fall over, but he yanks me back up and whispers square in my face, hunched over.

  “You’re like…like a wittle mad chipmunk,” he whispers, then erupts into laughter, almost falling into a group of trashcans. Luckily, I catch him in time and let out an annoyed groan.

  “Yeah, well, this chipmunk is going to get madder if you don’t stop tipping over. It’s like you lose all sense of balance the moment you get liquor in your system.”

  “I want to get in your system,” he slurs naughtily in my ear, swiping his tongue up my earlobe. I shiver, gasp, and step on his foot, but he doesn’t cry out in pain. Unfortunately.

  He merely chuckles and whispers, “Are you drunk enough to let me fuck you?”

  “I didn’t even drink,” I tell him and pull away from him, my hair getting stuck in his fingers. He yanks me back, and I frantically q
uestion why I agreed to carry this drunk home. Before my subconscious could say anything witty in reply, I plug my ear and tell him, “You’re the drunk one here, Grey.” How close are we now?

  “Oh, yeah…” he giggles and snorts. “Drink one is me!”

  I stop us from walking and look up at a tall brick building that has grimy windows scattered across the farther up it goes. “Is this the building?” It looks like a loft building. “Grey, stop acting like my hair is your mustache and tell me if this is where you live.”

  He drops my hair and wraps his arms around me, whispering in my ear, “If I say yes…will you let me bump with you?” His voice is low and makes me freeze before he lets out a loud burp.

  “Grey!” I push his face away and pull him back before he can face-plant on the ground. “I’ll take that as a yes,” I grumble and stumble over to the entrance of the building. I haul it open and walk inside, dragging him in.

  He nearly pushes me over, but I lean against the peeling wall next the elevator and give him a death glare. “What floor do you live on?”

  He loudly sucks in his bottom lip and taps his chin like he’s concentrating hard. “Eighty-fourrrrrr…no, wait…um…two…hundred, or sixty-nine.” He giggles and pokes my cheek before whispering, “Do you want to bump sixty-nine with me?”

  “I’ll bump your damn head in a wall,” I mutter and close my eyes to gather my angry thoughts before I can lash out on him, which would get me nowhere. He really is quite the annoying drunk. “What floor do you live on, Grey?”

  “I need to tell you a secret,” he says, his expression serious. I take a deep breath and walk over to him. He grasps my shoulders, leans down, and whispers, “You have a cute ass. Like two dum-dum drops.”

  “Grey!” I push away from him in disgust.

  He closes his eyes, and his dimples come out to play as he waves a hand at me. “Floor eight.”

  I mumble curses under my breath as I turn around and punch the top number—eight. I cross my arms and stare at the metal doors as I wait. He leans his head against my shoulder, humming a song.

  I look away and hold back a smile before turning my head to the opening doors. I drag him into the metal shaft that is sprayed with graffiti and splashed with unidentifiable dark marks. He inserts and twists a key into a box before the elevator moves.

  The whole way up, he plays with my hair and mumbles words I don’t understand, laughing to himself. How much did he drink before I got to him? I want to ask him, but I’m afraid of setting off his weird, childish side that’ll just tease and make dirty jokes. I think I like this side of him more. He’s more tolerable than his normal self. Kind of.

  “Ding-dong!” he screams when the elevator stops, and the metal grater goes down. I roll my eyes and wrap my arm around him before stepping off the shaft and into the dark apartment. I reach my arm out and feel the wall, searching for a light switch. He hums, and I can feel him smiling with his cheek pressed against mine. I finally find the light switch and flick it on.

  Lights go on one by one, illuminating the large space. To my immediate left is a kitchen with silver granite tops and an industrial refrigerator. Up ahead is a wide living room with crimson couches and a black rug, with a platinum screen TV on a stand. To the right of the space is a dark hallway.

  Grey lives here all by himself? It’s huge.

  “Your beloved David owns the place. I bunk with him,” he explains as if reading my mind.

  “He’s not my beloved, Grey,” I assure him and pull him toward the hallway. He takes wobbling steps and hums while playing with my hair. “How much did you drink exactly?” I can’t help but ask, flicking on a light that trails down the hallway. There are two doors on the left, one in front of them, with another door straight ahead.

  “Mmmm, a glass or two,” he mumbles, his voice raspy.

  “Are you sure?” I don’t believe him. He is piss drunk, and I think he can hold much more alcohol.

  “Fine…maybe a few more…like—” He burps and whispers. “Ten, twelve maybe. You should have come. We could be doing the bump if you did.”

  “We are not going to be bumping anything,” I snap and stop at the two doors. “Which room is yours?” I just want to drop him off, so I can finally leave.

  “Left,” he tells me with a nod of his head.

  I walk forward and twist the door knob open. He flips on the switch and flops onto his bed. Snores fill the room the minute his face meets the pillow. A large breath of relief slips out of me. I lean against the wall and put my head in my hands. Now I can leave. Finally. I turn to the door, ready to go, when I hear him mumble in the sheets.

  “Don’t leave me.” It almost sounds like a plea.

  I look over my shoulder and scoff. “My job here is done. I’m leaving.” I have to remember what he did to me. I will not stay with him, because I don’t want to be alone in the same room when the urge to choke him is intensely strong. “Sleep tight, Grey.”

  “Please,” he cries out, and I stiffen with my hand on the door knob. “I—I need you.”

  “You should have thought of that before flinging me to the side for Diana,” I spit at him, grinding my teeth together. Anger flows through my body. I almost turn around and take it out on him, but the minute it flares through me, it dies down because he has his arms around me, his head in the crook of my neck.

  “Don’t leave me, Liv,” he croons, his voice sending a coat of warmth around me.

  My body almost relaxes into his arms, like it’s missed him. But I tense and whip around, sending my hand across his cheek. His head snaps to the side, and I look at him in shock and pure exasperation. I didn’t mean to do that. I never want to hurt him like he did me; I don’t believe I can ever do something as cruel as that. But it…I just couldn’t control myself.

  “I told you I was done with you. I only did this because David asked me to. You hurt my feelings, Grey! Do you understand how much I cared about you? How much I thought you cared about me? But the entire time you were messing with me. I refuse to be this plaything of yours, who you hurt over and over again to satisfy your sadistic needs. I’m leaving, and you will let me leave!” I shout and feel my entire face turn red. His eyes are wide, and his face is blotted with sweat.

  “I didn’t m-mean to hurt you,” he whimpers like a child.

  But I don’t buy it. He told me himself he’s a damn good actor. “Fuck you, Grey Wyler.” I turn around and open the door, but he shouts in frustration and turns me around. “Let me go, Grey!”

  “No!” he yells, and I stare at him, my chest heaving up and down from my heavy breathing. “I don’t want Diana or anyone else but you. I want you,” he says, his voice breaking toward the end. I stiffen when he gently caresses my cheek. “I’ve always wanted you, and just you.”

  “Grey, stop,” I warn him, looking into his hooded eyes.

  He leans down, and I panic and hit his chest, but he grabs my wrist and leans forward. “I know you want me too.”

  “I said to stop!” I raise my hands and push him. He stumbles back and falls onto the bed. “You hurt me! Why can’t you understand that? You had a choice to have me, but you chose her, and I’m okay with that. You deliberately strung me along just to get at me. But what did I ever do to you, hmmm? Was it because I was new and didn’t know any better? So you decided to see how far you could break me? Well, congratulations—you broke me! Now leave me alone and let me leave!”

  “No! No! I—I can’t do that! I like you, Liv. Please—please stay with me. D-don’t leave.” I turn around. It pains me too much to see him this way. This…hurt. But he hurt me; why should I stay with him, give him another chance? How do I know this isn’t just another sick plot to twist my heart and hurt me even more?

  “Goodbye, Grey,” I mutter, opening the door.

  “No!” he screams at the top of his lungs. I whip around when I hear the sound of skin slapping against skin. He is slapping his head and rocking violently back and forth. “Don’t fucking leave me, I
want you! Just s-stay! Just stay! Please, I ne-eed you…”

  “Stop hitting yourself, Grey,” I sigh and frown at him. I should leave. But I can’t find it in myself to turn around and walk out of this door. Not when a big part of me wants to race over and console him.

  But why should I when he hurt me? My heart is begging me to just leave him. He is unstable and could lash out at me physically. But I know he wouldn’t do that. And it physically hurts me to see him like this.

  “Why not?” He begins to laugh, and I watch him in confusion and pity. “I have been doing so this whole week because I can’t…be near you, and it kills me every damn day, more and more.” He flops back onto the bed with his head in his hands. “I feel like tiny leprechauns are dancing on my brain,” he mumbles.

  “I hope they’re wearing heels,” I mumble under my breath.

  “Trust me, they are,” he replies.

  “Why should I stay?” I turn around and watch him lean on his elbows, his head lolling to the side. He has to blink to focus on me. “Why should I give you the time of day to even talk to me after what you did?” I sound and feel exhausted because he makes me this way.

  “Because I need you,” he tells me in a shaky voice.

  “Why don’t I believe you?” I shake my head at him and watch as he rubs his face.

  “Because I push you away, but only because I want to save you,” he claims, and I scoff.

  “Why would you do that when you ended up hurting me in the end? You didn’t fucking save me when you broke my heart! So why the hell should I believe you now?” I say in return, and he pulls his hands away and pins me with his wild, black eyes.

  “Because I’m fucked up, okay? I’m not—fuck!” He jumps to his feet, and I flinch as he grabs his hair and shouts, “I can’t do anything but try to protect you, but—but I just end up hurting you. I do it because, because I didn’t want you to end up like Rose. I wanted to protect you.”

  “You slept with Diana behind my back when I thought we were growing into something more!” I counter. He sounds absolutely insane.