“Well, well, well, my little terror clearly looks like she’s out to play tonight,” Brantley mutters, sidestepping Nate and making his way to me.
I feel his hands on my waist, but Nate’s eyes are what I feel the most. He’s not touching me, but he doesn’t need to. That’s just Nate. That’s me, and that’s him, but whatever we have, it’s not enough for me to forgive him. I still don’t understand his wrath when he locked me in the cell, and until someone tells me why, I’ll continue to not understand it. He turned feral, and I saw the worst of him, but lately, he has also been showing me more of the side that made me fall in love with him to begin with. I hate it. It’s so much easier to hate him when he’s being mean.
“Play, she will,” I whisper, swallowing the remainder of my drink anyway. Nate’s eyes are still on mine. I hate that I’m a slave to the way he makes me feel. I don’t like not being in control, and that’s exactly what he does to me—he takes my control. When he watches me, he doesn’t just look at me. He studies me, examines me, strips the flesh from my bones with a simple squint of an eye.
I quickly shove past everyone and make my way into the kitchen in search for something with an actual taste instead of drinking lighter fluid.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket and I answer it without checking to see who it is.
“You’re at Brantley’s, aren’t you?” Madison says through the phone. I go to open my mouth to tell her that I was going to actually mention that to her, but she cuts me off. “Don’t. I understand, Tillie. I just wish—I wish I could talk to you.”
“You can, Madison. Whatever is going on with the two of you, you know that I’m always here and I understand—”
My response is cut short because the front door opens, and Madison and Tate walk through, dressed to the fucking nines.
Tillie
I rush forward tripping on my two left feet and tipping over glasses on my way.
Madison smiles before throwing her arms around my neck.
“Madison…”
“Is he here with someone?” she asks.
“What? Who?” I ask, confused. My face falls when I realize that she’s talking about Bishop. “Mads, no. What the fuck? No!”
“Are you defending him?” Tate adds her two cents.
I still, my eyes going straight to her. “How about you step the fuck off, Tate.”
“Both of you shut up, please?” Madison exhales.
I shake my head, my eyes going back to Madison. I’m angry. I don’t know why, but I’m angry at her. I know it’s unreasonable, but a big part of me understands this life on a whole level that these two girls will never understand—and that makes me protective. Protective over not just Nate and Brantley, but Bishop too. I love Madison, she will always have my loyalty, but she needs to stop with the drama.
“Madison, I won’t shut up. You can tell Tate to leave if she’s not willing to shut her trap.” I glare at Tate. “Shut your mouth about shit you don’t understand, or leave.”
Tate rolls her eyes. “This isn’t your house, Tillie. They aren’t your friends!”
“Actually, she’s right, Tate. What she says goes. You can get the fuck out if she doesn’t want you here,” Brantley interjects with tranquility, his presence falling heavy on my back.
Tate eyeballs Madison, who is now standing silent. “Are you going to let them talk to me like this?”
“Like what, Tate? You came in here from hearing just one story, and trust me, I get it. We both love Madison, but I don’t think you’re good for her right now.”
“Oh, and you are?” Tate sasses, glaring at me.
I’m about to punch this bitch. Maybe it’s because Nate and I are in a vulnerable position and I don’t feel like dealing with Tate dropping to his unholy feet, or maybe my patience with this girl has snapped and I no longer care, but whatever it is, I can’t deal with her right now.
“Madison kne—”
Madison turns to Tate, snapping at her. “Shut up, Tate! Just meet me in the car or go and get a drink.”
I watch as Tate huffs and storms into the house, going straight for the kitchen, but she sidesteps when she finds herself in the living room instead. She’s never been here before—not surprised.
“Sorry,” Madison exhales, rubbing her hands over her face. I look over my shoulder to face Brantley, whose focus is solely on me. He pins me with a stare, bringing his bottle to his mouth.
I nod, a silent conversation passing between the two of us. He nods his head and leaves, stumbling slightly. Is he drunk?
I fight the urge to chase him and see what’s going on. What is with the people—myself included—in my life. We’re all a fucking mess, but maybe that’s why we all found each other, because we were all lost on the same path.