by LP Lovell
“I need you.” I breathe. I need him to know before it all crashes and burns around us.
He drops his head forward and takes a deep breath. “I care about you, that’s the problem. You’re like a flame that burns so brightly I don’t realize you’re slowly sucking all the oxygen out of the room.” A single tear slips free sliding down my cheek and I swipe at it angrily. “You’re just too fucking messed up for me, Blake.” He says.
Nail in the coffin. That desperate, broken part of me that needs him is screaming at me to do something, to fight this, to stop it, but I can’t, so what’s the point in trying?
I bite my lip and nod. “I understand.” I lift my gaze to his face that is still masked in a cold expression that breaks my heart. “Thanks, for everything. Let yourself out.” Six words that can’t possibly sum up our relationship or what he is to me. Cocaine is destructive, but he’s become my replacement, and like all drugs, he’s equally addictive, equally destructive, and with the loss of him, I feel the same maddening need already threatening to grip me in its clutches.
Turning away from him, I try hard not to run to the bathroom as tears fight their way to the surface. I close the door and click the lock before I twist the taps, drowning out the sound of my guttural sobs. I grip the edge of the vanity as everything in me shatters. I can’t do this. I just can’t. Everything feels too real, too raw, too exposed.
I let him in, I let myself need him.
I hate that he renders me this weak in his absence. I want to run out there, to beg him to forgive me, but I know that this attachment I have to him isn’t healthy or normal. I can’t keep it up. He will break me sooner or later, better now.
The need is clawing away at me until I feel like I want to tear my own skin off. I’m nose diving head first into this desolate, dark hole and I can’t seem to find even a glimmer of light. I have no one. My own parents don’t even love me.
Fucking hell, pity party for one. I drag myself from my bed and swipe at the tears under my eyes. I’m not doing this. They will not do this to me, he will not do this to me. He’s just like them, wanting me to be something I’m not, wanting to fit me into this box. At least, he pretends he wants what’s best for me, unlike my parents who can’t even feign that much.
Fuck them all.
My head is spinning violently. I stagger as I collapse into a booth, resting my elbows on the table. The music vibrates through the floor, shaking my very bones. There’s a low buzz in my ears, and my vision is dipping in and out. Everything feels so far away as if I’m removed from everyone and everything. I smile and sway to the music in my own little world, my bubble, where I can’t feel anything but happy.
Something touches my leg and I lower my eyes to find a hand on my thigh. I frown and slowly swing my gaze up, following the length of the person’s arm until I’m met with a broad smile.
“Hey.” The guy says, but his voice sounds muffled. Actually, everything sounds muffled. “You’re really beautiful.” Something brushes across my neck. I don’t want him to touch me—I don’t think. I don’t know.
He leans in and sweeps his lips across my throat. When I close my eyes, I see Rhett kissing my neck, running his hand up the inside of my thigh. My lips part and a breathy moan escapes me. But when I open my eyes it’s not Rhett. I frown as my mind reels in confusion.
“I…I have to go.” I push up from the couch but sway and fall back into it.
“I’ll walk you out.” He takes my arm, leading me out before I can object.
My surroundings become a blur, and I know I should do something, but I can’t. I have no control. Someone pulls me through a doorway, and I have no idea who it is.
As soon as I’m outside I drag in a heavy lungful of the fresh air. I lean against the side of the club, and the damp, course brick scratches across my exposed skin.
“Come on. We’ll find you a taxi.”
“Where’s Milly and Felix?” I ask him.
“You were on your own, sweetheart.” He smiles at me. “It’s just you and me.” The next thing I know he’s pushing me into a doorway and his lips are on mine. It takes me a few seconds to react, to think. I slam my lips shut and turn my head to the side, but he grabs my hair, pulling it painfully. I hiss out a breath and he tries to shove his hand up my skirt. There’s a moment where my mind bails completely, maybe it’s in shock. I don’t know. All I can hear is Rhett’s words echoing in my ears. You think you’re untouchable but you’re not. As I hear the stitching pop on my skirt, the fog seems to clear. I use all my strength to shove him away from me, and then I slap him, hard enough that the sound seems to echo off the surrounding buildings.
“Bitch.” The blow strikes the side of my face hard enough to send me reeling as I cling to the wall to stay upright. My vision swims in and out of focus and my jaw explodes in pain. He hit me. He fucking hit me. In the blink of an eye, I feel very fucking sober.
Before I can recover, he wraps his hand around my throat, slamming my head back against the wall. His hold on my neck becomes tighter until I’m gasping for air. And just when I think he’s going to kill me, he releases me and forces his disgusting lips over mine again. I do the only thing I can think, hearing Felix’s voice in my ears. If a guy ever attacks you, you kick him in the balls as hard as you can and run.
I pull the scattered pieces of my conscious back together and knee him between the legs with as much force as I can muster. It’s not an absolute ball breaker, but he falls to his knees and cups himself. I dart past him and he grabs for me, his short nails raking over the back of my leg.
When I hit the paved street, I take my shoes off and run, leaving them there. Tears prick my eyes as my feet pound the wet concrete. I don’t stop running until I see a taxi. I stick my hand out, hailing it. Luckily, I didn’t bring a bag, just some money and my phone both of which are shoved inside my bra.
By the time I get home, my face and throat feel like they’re on fire. I open the front door and as soon as I’m inside, I break down, sliding down the closed door and pulling my knees to my chest. I can’t stop shaking as the tears pour down my face, and it’s shit because I thought I was made of tougher stuff. He was just a guy, like every other guy, trying his luck. It’s my fault for being alone and too high to be able to make a sensible decision. Rhett was right, I’m a train wreck.
“Blake? Thank fuck, I was calling you. I was worried about you.” I press my forehead against my knees and refuse to look up at her as she approaches. “Are you okay?” I can’t answer that, because I’m not, but I really want to be. I don’t want to be this person.
She drops into a crouch in front of me, covering my hands with her own. “I tried calling Rhett but his phone just went to answerphone. I figured you were together.”
I slowly lift my face, and her gaze flicks from my eyes to my jaw, her expression tightening. “It’s not Rhett.” I croak.
“Oh, my god. What happened?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk about it. I just need to go to bed and forget this happened.” I whisper.
I go to move and she holds her hand out, helping me up. “Your feet are bleeding and your dress is ripped.” She lifts her eyes back to mine. “Babe, you don’t have to tell me, but please, whatever happened to you, report it.” She chews her lips nervously. “It…it wasn’t Rhett was it?
“What? No! I was high, still am. I’m not talking to the police. Just…let it go.” She releases my hand and I head to my room, stripping out of my damaged dress and stepping into the shower. I need to wash the sweat and blood away, but also the feel of his hands on me. The worst thing is I was too out of it to even know what he looks like.
When I step out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, Milly is sat on my bed holding an icepack. She turns on Troy, which may just happen to be my all-time favourite film, and snuggles in bed with me. I fall asleep on her chest while she holds the ice pack on my face. Who needs men when you have friends like Milly?
Miles McQueen looks up from h
is desk when I walk in. His eyes narrow and he clasps his hands together on the desk in front of him. As with every time I’ve seen him he’s immaculately presented, his silver hair combed back, his ten-grand suit without a single crease.
Some men are born with power and others acquire it. McQueen was born with it, I acquired it.
I don’t want to fucking be here anymore than he wants me here, but this thing with Blake, I’m in too deep. Seeing her like that the other night, it affected me far more than it should have. It’s eating away at me. And now…now she loves me and I feel like shit. If I can get out now, then the pair of us might just make it out of this in one piece before we destroy each other.
I drop into the chair across from him and prop my ankle on my knee, brushing a piece of lint of the leg of my pants.
“Rhett Torres.” He practically spits my name. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I smile, feigning an air of confidence even as my stomach twists violently. Everything about this feels wrong, but what choice do I have?
“I have a proposition for you.” I start.
He laughs humourlessly. “Whatever proposition you have for me; you can keep it. My daughter may appreciate your illegal background, but I do not.”
“Ah, but your daughter really does appreciate me, in every possible way.” I smirk. “So you are going to sit here. You are going to listen to what I have to say, and then, you are going to help me.”
He opens his mouth to say something and then slams it shut, leaning back in his chair and gripping the arm rests so hard his knuckles turn white. “You have two minutes.”
Two minutes to try and salvage something good from this situation.
Fucking Miles McQueen, he’s an asshole and he doesn’t deserve a daughter like Blake, but fuck, he likes to push me. I storm into my office and slam the door, only to find Milan sitting on my couch.
I drag a hand through my hair and take a seat at my desk. “I’m busy, Milan. I don’t have time for this.”
“I swear to you if you hurt her I will do hard fucking time for what I’ll do to you.”
I frown. “What? Look, people break up, Milly. It’s shit, but she’ll get over it.” She stops pacing and narrows her eyes at me as if studying me.
“I can’t believe you bailed on her.” She mumbles, shaking her head.
“I did not fucking bail on her!” I shout. “She can’t even help herself!” If only she knew. Part of me wants to walk away from her, regardless of the consequences to myself, because I know it will be best for her in the long run. But the other part fucking wants to be with her, even if I know we’ll crash and burn eventually. Even if it’s only for a moment in time. She’s mine.
She stops and leans over my desk, bringing her eyes level with mine. “I took you for an intelligent person. Do you not think that there’s a reason?” She asks. “I will tell you this, and what you do with it is your choice. The one thing that will send Blake running for the coke is her parents. They rejected her, and now, so did you.” Her gaze softens. “If you can’t see how deeply unhappy Blake is, then you’re fucking blind.” And with that, she turns away. “And you had best hunt down the cunt who hurt her, or I will.”
“What?” I growl.
“Go and see for yourself.” She throws over her shoulder.
I wake up to banging on the door, which, as usual, falls in line with the banging in my head. I roll over and glance at the clock. It’s midday. I would be worried that I’d wasted half the day if I actually had anything to do, but I don’t.
I crawl out of bed and pick up the bottle of cheap vodka that’s on the bedside table, taking a heavy swig and coughing. Oh, god that is so nasty, but not as bad as the hang over will be if I don’t drink it. My eyes start to water as the alcohol stings my split lip. You know you’ve hit the low when you can’t even be bothered to leave the house for alcohol or drugs and are reduced to some cheap as fuck vodka. Come to think of it, why is this even in the house? It tastes like rubbing alcohol.
The banging continues and I walk down the hall towards the door. “Felix, that had better be you, and you had best have something on you!” I shout, unlatching the door and swinging it open, only to come face to face with Rhett.
He folds his arms across his chest looking down at me. His eyes hone in on my lip, then my jaw and his expression becomes murderous. “What. The. Fuck?” He snarls through gritted teeth. I have no idea what my face even looks like, but it hurts, and the vodka on my lip smarts like a bitch.
I don’t need this now. I don’t need him. I go to slam the door straight in his face, not because I don’t want to see him, but because it hurts, his rejection hurts. He throws his hand out, shoving the door back open.
“Oh, no, we need to talk.” He barges his way inside my apartment.
I have to walk away because I can’t look at him. His face is too perfect, too beautiful. I want to kiss him and slap him at the same time, and then I want to slap myself for being so fucking pathetic around him.
“Who did that?” He demands, and it gets my back up immediately because it’s none of his fucking business.
I turn to face him and he stops, close, too close. I hold up a hand. “Okay. We really don’t need to talk. We’re done. I’m none of your fucking concern, and you certainly aren’t any of mine. Now get out.” My heart splutters painfully in my chest, so I pick up the nasty vodka and take a heavy swig. He eyes the bottle like it’s a rattlesnake. I just want him to look how I feel, like something in him is broken, but he doesn’t. He looks perfect, just like he always does. I want to break him. I want to hurt him. “This…” I wave a finger in his direction. “Is why you should never fuck a one-night stand more than once.”
“Is that why your drinking vodka in the middle of the day? Because I was just a one-night stand?”
Oh, the bastard is so sure of himself. “Noooo, I’m drinking vodka because I just woke up, I have a hangover, and there’s no blow in the house.” He steps closer to me, taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilting my head to the side. I rip my face from his grip. “I’m fine.”
He drops his hand to his side and glares at me. “You are not fine, Blake. You’re a fucking mess.”
I snap. “Fuck you, Rhett! Who are you to judge me? Your own fucking brother is a drug dealer.” His eyes flash and I can practically see the shutters slam down. “Oh, you thought I didn’t know about that? Well, I do.” He drops his gaze to the floor, clenching his jaw. “You know, I liked you, until you became just like everyone else, judging, trying to change me, trying to fit me into your perfect fucking box.” I rant.
“I just want you to grow the fuck up and get over your daddy issues!” I flinch as if he’d just slapped me. “You bitch about your fucking dad, and yet all you do is destroy yourself, just so you can stick it to him.”
“You know nothing about me.” I choke.
“I know enough that I find it fucking sad that you do this to yourself, that you’re still so bothered by your parent’s opinion that you’ve become this.”
A stray tear tracks down my cheek and I wipe it away quickly. “Leave.” I whisper.
His fingers brush my cheek and I jump away from him as if he’d burned me. “I want to know who did this.” The anger in his voice is barely concealed.
“Have you forgotten? I’m a druggie, an alcoholic, a fucking mess.” I spit. “I probably walked into something, fell over, started a fight. Who knows?” My stomach tightens as my mind flashes through images of that man choking me, back handing me. I tug at the collar of my jumper, pulling it higher.
“Tell me.” He demands.
“Look, are you going to leave?”
His eyes lock with mine, that domineering intensity pouring from him. “No.”
“Great.” I pick up my bottle of vodka and go to the kitchen, opening the cupboard. The fact that I live on take away food is not helpful right now, but I spot a bag of crisps and grab them. He watches me the entire time, with his arms fol
ded across his chest. And when I make my way to my room he follows me. I’m not arguing with him, there’s no point. I won’t win.
I grab my iPod and laptop from the bed and take everything in the bathroom before slamming the door in his face and locking it. I’m just going to wait him out.
“My mind is coming up with really nasty reasons as to why you’ve taken food and your laptop in the bathroom with you.” He says from the other side of the door.
I sit on the closed toilet seat and cross my legs, pressing my hand over my mouth to try and stop the broken sobs that are trying to break free. “You might like to watch porn and have a snack while you take a shit but I don’t.” I try to put strength into my voice, but the truth is, having him here is harder than it should be. “I’ll be here a while. You should just let yourself out.” I tell him.
“I’ve got all fucking day, Duchess.” Prick.
It’s then that my phone pings with a text from Milly: So, I might have paid Rhett a visit and he might be coming over. Sorry! Xx
Great. Thanks for the advanced fucking warning.
Four hours, two movies, and an unsuccessful Rhett Torres Facebook stalking session and I’m bored. I haven’t heard any movement on the other side of the door, but that doesn’t mean anything, and I should have known he’d have more patience than me. I’m debating giving up when I spot the hamster’s furry little form squish under the door. I’ve named him Jackie, after Jackie Chan, because he’s a stealthy little ninja who slips in unseen by anyone but me apparently. So now everyone thinks I’m crazy, or high. He makes me smile though. He’s sort of just living free range in the flat. I feed him and Larry hasn’t eaten him yet.
“Hey, Jackie. I brought you crisps.” I throw one on the floor near him and he jumps before cautiously approaching it. He grabs it and sits up like a little meerkat, shoving bits of crisp in his cheeks. He’s actually really cute.