I start tearing through the apartment, my panic steadily increasing as I work through each room. Through the bathroom doorway, I spot her long legs, motionless. No, no, no.
When I round the corner I see her propped up against the side of the bath, her vacant glassy eyes staring at nothing, and for one horrible moment, I’m sure she’s dead. Then she blinks slowly and tries to focus on me. Her nose is bleeding, the blood running over her lips and down her chin. The front of her white dress is covered, the red staining her chest like a gunshot wound. Shit, that’s a lot of blood. She looks away from me again, fixing her stare straight ahead as she lifts a bottle of Jack to her lips, taking a long swallow.
“Blake?”
She glances up at me, a small smile pulling at her lips as her eyes drift closed.
“Rhett,” she rasps. Her fingers grip the bottle so hard her knuckles turn white, and then she takes a heavy swig before dropping the bottle onto its side. It’s clinks against the tile and whisky sloshes everywhere, filling the room with the smell of Jack Daniels.
I drop to a crouch in front of her, my heart clenching at the sight of her because how can I fight this? I can’t. This is self-inflicted and she can’t even find it in her to care for herself.
This right here is the shit she hides so well, the mess that lies underneath the sparkly façade of Blake McQueen.
I don’t know how to deal with her, but I can’t leave her like this. Bending down, I scoop her up, one arm under her back, the other behind her knees. She doesn’t fight me as I lift her small frame and place her in the bath.
She pulls her knees up to her chest, wrapping her slim arms around her shins. Blood streaked strands of golden hair fall forward, shielding her face.
Taking the shower head off the wall, I turn it on. When it’s the right temperature I start to wash her. The water cascades down her body in a pink tinged, bloody path. She allows me to wash her, never resisting or uttering a word.
I unzip her dress and pull it over her head, dropping it into the bottom of the bath. When I’ve washed her hair and face and removed all traces of blood, I wrap her in a towel and carry her to her bedroom.
I don’t know how much she’s taken. Should I take her to the hospital? Her lack of reaction to anything is scaring the fuck out of me. I’ve seen people on drugs, hell, I’m not a saint, I’ve taken drugs myself. The problem is, everyone reacts differently.
“Blake, I need to know how much you took.” I stroke the wet hair off her face, griping her jaw and forcing her to look at me.
Her eyes meet mine, unfocused, as though she’s not really seeing me. There’s a beat of silence and then she suddenly throws her arms around my neck, her body heaving with sobs. Her towel falls down and I pull her against me.
“I’m sorry,” she cries. “I’m sorry.”
I don’t even know what to say to her, so I just pull away and find her some clothes to sleep in. I dress her and lay her down on the bed, pulling the duvet over her, but when I stand to leave, her fingers latch onto the front of my shirt.
“Stay,” she begs, her voice a raspy whisper. “Please.” I should walk out that damn door and I should keep on walking. She’s not strong enough for this, I’m not strong enough for this because somewhere along the way I think I fell in love with this girl—I realized that the moment I thought she might be dead. I should know better than anyone that the ones who love us hurt us the most, even if they don’t mean to. With a sigh, I strip down to my boxers and turn off the light, climbing in next to her. She reaches for me and winds her fingers through mine as she presses her face against my chest.
I feel a tear hit my skin, rolling down my ribs. I’m angry, but I won’t let her break. My fingers thread through her hair, stroking through the long strands.
I hold her as she drifts to sleep, but I can’t sleep because all I can think about is the fact that I can’t do this.
29
Blake
When I open my eyes, it feels like someone has rubbed sand into my eyeballs. My mouth tastes like a small rodent curled up and died in it and my head is pounding. Light creeps around my curtain and I flinch away from it like a vampire. It takes me a few moments, but slowly, clarity starts to kick in and the memories surface. My parents, Felix, my epic blow binge.
My nose hurts, and I recognise the familiar scratchiness in my throat. I roll over. The bed’s empty, but I know Rhett has been here, the sheets smell of that fresh citrusy scent with the undertone of masculinity that always has my body tightening in recognition. He came back for me, and as much as it thrills me to know that he cares, I’m also ashamed that he had to come here.
I drag myself to the bathroom, each step triggering a jarring pain in my head. Glancing in the mirror, I almost recoil. I look like something someone just scraped off the pavement. My hair is a mess, my skin pale with dark circles under my eyes.
I splash cold water on my face and brush my teeth before going in search of coffee and painkillers.
The empty baggie sits on the coffee table along with the fine dusting of white powder. Shame and guilt wash through me, making me feel like the world’s shittiest person.
When I step into the kitchen, Rhett is standing with his hip propped against the counter, a mug in hand, looking lost in thought. His hair is wet, as though he just got out of the shower, and he’s topless, his jeans unbuttoned. I feel like shit and he manages to look like that.
“Hey,” I whisper, my voice raspy.
His eyes flick to mine and there’s a moment where I can’t look away. I can’t breathe. I can’t think of anything that isn’t him or those golden eyes. The familiar connection crackles between us before his expression becomes closed, shutting me out. My heart squeezes painfully.
He doesn’t say anything as he watches me and the tension in the room builds.
“How are you feeling?” he asks flatly.
My gaze drops to the ground, unable to see that cold look in his eyes any longer. “Fine.” I nod my head once as if to affirm this to myself. Honestly, I’m not sure who, of the two of us, I’m trying to convince more.
I don’t feel him approach until his warm palm wraps around my neck. His lips press into my hair, his hot breath blowing through the messy strands.
“Last night…” He hesitates.
“I’m so sorry,” I breathe. “You came back early, and I just…I couldn’t…” My voice hitches.
“I can’t do this, Blake.” He cuts me off, ice leaking into his voice. It feels like my chest is being ripped open and it physically knocks the wind from me. He drags a hand over his face, and when his eyes meet mine, for the briefest second, I see a flash of pain in them.
“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.
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.
30
Blake
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 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 drunk 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 Milly 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 drunk, 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?
31
Rhett
Miles McQueen looks up from his 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 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. 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 w
hite. “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 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 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 straight for self-destruction 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.”
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