Rebel

by Lauren Lovell

  “What?” I growl.

  “Go and see for yourself.” She throws over her shoulder.

  32

  Blake

  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 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. “I’m coming!” 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 pathetic around him.

  “Who did that?” he demands, and it gets my back up immediately because it’s none of his 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 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 you’re 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 I’m trying to drink it away.” 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 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 little 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 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 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 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 folded 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 warning.

  Four hours, two movies, and an unsuccessful Rhett Torres Facebook stalking session later 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. 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.

  “Are you talking to yourself now?” Rhett sounds like he’s away from the door.

  “Why are you still here? I’m going to call the police and say you broke in here.”

  He laughs. “I’m sure they’d love a call from their favourite resident. Plus, we both know you have weed in here. You aren’t calling them.”

  “Fuck you!” I shout. “I have a joint here, that’s it.”

  “Enough to get arrested.”

  “As it happens, I quite like the strip searches. Especially that last time, he was so very…thorough.”

  He ignores me.

  There’s a beat of silence and I consider going out there, but the thought of having to face him makes my stomach bottom out. I stand up and walk to the door, pressing my forehead against the wood. “Please, Rhett,” I say quietly. “Please just leave.”

  I hear his footsteps on the wooden flooring growing louder as he approaches the door. “I can’t, Duchess.”

  “No one hurt me. You don’t have to do the whole alpha thing, okay?”

  I hear him sigh. “Why are you lying to me?”

  I turn and press my back to the door, sliding down it. The massive floor length mirror opposite the door throws my pitiful reflection back at me. I pull the collar of my jumper down and see the black bruises covering my throat.

  I rarely cry, but apparently I’m all about the tears
today. A sob tears free from my throat and I slam my hand over my mouth, trying to stifle the awful sound. Tears track down my cheeks. I don’t even know why I’m crying. I guess this is what it feels like when you hit the bottom of that long descent into oblivion. I’m not upset that I got attacked, it was my own fault, a chain of bad reactions and decisions. I let my parents get to me. I let them push me to that point where a bag of blow seemed like the only way out, it cost me Rhett, and then I let that push me over the edge all over again.

  All I feel is this all-consuming misery, and I wonder how the hell I got here?

  “Duchess,” Rhett says quietly from the other side of the door. “I’m sorry.” I say nothing as I stare at my reflection, at the pathetic girl staring back at me. “I shouldn’t have left you.”

  “Why not?” I croak. “You said yourself I’m a mess.” I laugh. “Just a statistic waiting to happen, a brat with daddy issues. It’s who I am,” I say sadly because I’m not sure I want to be that person anymore.

  “This is not who you are, it’s just what you do.” Hurt ripples across my chest. “You’re better than this, Blake.”

  I feign a small laugh. “Of course I am. That’s why you left.” The thought that he sees beneath my shit and still left, well, that’s far worse than thinking that he just left because I’m a mess. The hurt feels like a vice around my chest, so I lash out. “Shit. Please go, Rhett. I don’t want you here! Stop trying to psychoanalyse me and just fucking leave!” Another traitorous tear slips free. How does he do this to me? Make me feel so strong most of the time, but with the ability to render me so weak?

  “Open the door, Blake,” he says, and for once it’s not a demand, it’s not quite a request, but…

  I don’t want to see him. That’s a lie. I do want to see him, which is precisely why I shouldn’t. But I can’t stay in the bathroom all night.

  I stand up and flick the lock off, slowly opening the door. His eyes crash into mine with that crippling intensity of his. He stands with both hands braced on either side of the frame, his broad shoulders filling the doorway.

  There’s a moment of silence, an awkward pause, and I drop my eyes to the floor, swiping at the tears that won’t fucking let up.

  “What do you want from me?” I ask.

  He steps forward and I stop breathing. He lifts his hand and cups my cheek. “You.”

  I pull my face away from him. “You made your decision. So if you’re only here because Milly made you feel guilty, then we’re good. You don’t need to feel guilty.”

  He places a finger under my chin, forcing me to look at him. “I’m here because I love you.” And there it is, those three words, eight letters that change everything. They shouldn’t, but god, they do.

  I love him. He makes me feel safe and without sounding cheesy, he makes me want to be better than this. I don’t feel the need to be the train wreck of a person when I’m around him, but what scares me is if he leaves. Nothing is forever, but in such a short period of time, he’s become my new addiction. He has shaken me to my core.

  He has the ability to devastate me with only a few words. Love is power and destruction wrapped up in a need so fierce it’s undeniable and unavoidable. Love is the natural addiction of the human soul, and we will willingly risk any amount of pain for just a fleeting moment of its blissful high. It’s this that keeps me from telling him I love him, as though if I don’t say the words it won’t be true and his hold on me won’t be absolute and all consuming.

  He gently brushes his thumb over the bruise on my jaw and presses his lips to mine. Our kisses are usually hungry, desperate, full of burning hot passion, but this is different. He kisses me like I’m breakable, precious. He cups my face, teasing my lips until my breaths become pants. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer and running my tongue along the seam of his lips. He pushes a thigh between my legs and releases my face, running his hands over my waist. His lips trail down my jaw, over my neck, before lightly nipping at my throat, making me flinch. Shit that hurt.

  He pulls back. “Sorry.” He tugs the collar of my jumper down before my brain can catch up and stop him. He freezes, the look in his eyes turning from lust to anger in a heartbeat. No, anger would be too tame, rage—unfiltered, about to lose his shit, rage.

  He grabs the hem of my top and yanks it over my head, forcing me to turn in a circle, and when I’m facing him again, I’m pretty sure he’d be going to jail if he could find the guy.

  “Tell me who did it.” His breaths are ragged as he clenches and releases his fists repeatedly.

  I frown and bite down on my lip. “I don’t know,” I whisper.

  “You don’t remember?”

  “No—I mean, yes.” I wish I couldn’t remember. “It was my fault.” He waits and says nothing. “Look, just leave it. Please. For me?”

  He shakes his head. “Did he…did you…” He drops his head forward, struggling.

  “Look, I was drunk and stupid. He walked me outside, and then he kissed me. I slapped him, and it pissed him off, so he hit me.” I explain. “He was probably just drunk.”

  “Did he rape you?” he blurts and that word just makes me cringe.

  “No! I nailed him in the nuts right after he gave me this.” I point at my cheek. “I can look after myself.”

  “You can tell me where you were, or you can be difficult, but I will fucking find him, Blake.”

  “Fuck me, two minutes and you’re doing your…thing.” He cocks a brow at me. “The macho thing.”

  He gently brushes his fingertips over my bruised throat, his eyes locking with mine. “Have I ever bruised you, Duchess?”

  My skin breaks out in goose bumps under his touch. “No.” I whisper. “You would never hurt me.”

  He nods his head. “I would never hurt you.” He repeats. His jaw clenches. “So what gives some asshole the right to think he can touch what is mine?”

  My core tightens, my pussy clenches, and wow, have I really become one of those girls? Shit. He’s making me as much of an animal as he is.

  I smile. “It makes me hot when you talk like that.” I slip my hand beneath the hem of his shirt and press my palm to his stomach, scratching my nails over his skin.

  He grabs my wrist, halting my movements. “Nice try.” I huff and yank my hand from his grasp. “I have to go take care of this, but I will be back, and then we’re going to talk.”

  “About what?” I sigh.

  “Everything.”

  “I think less talking and more doing would be better.”

  He laughs. “Duchess, you can have my body.” He grabs the back of my neck and kisses my forehead. “After you talk.”

  Turning around, he walks out of my room. He’ll never find that guy, right? Oh, god, if he does, I’m pretty sure he’s going to kill him.

  33

  Blake

  A couple of hours after Rhett leaves, I hear the key in the door, then see Milly’s head poke around the corner of the hallway.

  “Don’t kill me, please,” she says. “I was mad.”

  I sigh. “I should kill you.”

  “Did he come here?”

  “Yep.”

  “So where is he now?” she asks, looking around as if I’m hiding him somewhere.

  “He saw this.” I point to my face. “Where do you think he is?”

  She grins. “Beating the fuck into that piece of shit?”

  “Milly!” I throw a cushion at her. “He’ll probably get himself arrested for assault.”

  “And you care? So does that mean you made up?”

  I throw my head back against the sofa cushions. “It’s complicated.”

  She drops onto the sofa next to me, resting her cheek against the back of the cushion, and brushing my hair behind my ear. “Nah, you love him. Love makes things uncomplicated.”

  “Is that why you went to him?”

  “Fuck no.” She snorts. “I went to him because I was pissed that he left and I wanted him to know what I thought of hi
m. I might even have tried to kick him where it hurts if he didn’t scare me so much.”

  “Okay, you’re forgiven.” She might be the best friend a girl has ever had.

  “Sweet, I’m going to order take out. Want some?”

  “Sure.”

  I jolt awake when I feel something brush my cheek. Looking up, I find Rhett standing over me. I’m laying on the sofa with Larry curled up by my feet.

  “What did you do?” I whisper. I search his face, looking for any trace of a fight, but there is none until he drags his hand through his hair and I notice the red and purple marks across his knuckles. I sit up and take his hand, inspecting the split skin. “Rhett…”

  He perches on the edge of the sofa and pulls his hand away, cupping my face as he touches his forehead to mine. “No one touches you, Duchess,” he says through clenched teeth. I can feel the tension radiating off him and that dangerous side of him is very close to the surface.

  “How did you find him?” I whisper, as though giving the words volume might set him off.

  Pushing to his feet, he walks towards the kitchen. “I have my sources.” Unbuttoning his shirt, he goes into the kitchen, taking a beer and an ice pack from the fridge. He comes back and sits on the end of the sofa, pulling my feet onto his lap. “Okay, talk.”

  I frown. “About what?”

  He places the icepack across the knuckles of his right hand. “How about you start by telling me how you managed to get yourself arrested?”

  I sigh and tilt my head back, focusing on a spot on the ceiling. “My fucktard parents released a statement saying I had gone into rehab.” I pause. “And then they call me over there to tell me I have to lay low for two weeks, so their story pans out.”

  He presses his lips together and nods slowly. “Why now?”

  I snort. “Exactly. For once in my life, I was actually behaving. Isn’t that ironic? Apparently the press got bored and The Sun released an ancient picture of me falling out of a car.” He cocks a brow. “Yeah, don’t ask.”