Hurting me is his way of releasing the anger he has for this whole bullshit situation. All I know is that he’s left this wide open, gaping hole in my chest that does nothing but ache.
Headlights appear behind me and when they don’t fly past like the rest of the cars have, I groan and I look back. It’s too dark to make out the car and with the headlights shining right on my ass, I’m practically blinded by it, but there’s no doubt who it is.
Fucking Damian.
I narrow my eyes and flip him the bird knowing this is his way of dealing with being caught in the middle. He wants to hate me for Slade’s sake but doesn’t have enough evidence to know why he should, so he’s stuck. He’s keeping loyal to me by following me home and making sure I get there safely while also remaining loyal to Slade and not actually offering me the ride.
I don’t need his help. I’m a big fucking girl and I’ve managed so far on my own.
I start walking backward and hold my hands out wide. “Fuck off, Damian,” I yell into the night, knowing that prick doesn’t drive anywhere without his window down. “I don’t need your help. Why don’t you go and run off to your boss, keep being his little bitch? Why don’t you suck his dick for him too? I know you’d like that, it’s pretty big, you know? Oh, wait. Of course, you already know.”
His only response is to turn his high beams on me which has my hand flying up in front of my face, trying to protect myself from blindness. I flip him off again, making sure to hold it there a few seconds longer than necessary, just to make sure he gets my point.
“FUCK YOU,” I yell, remembering that Damian can sometimes be a little slow so naturally, he’ll probably need that extra little push to help him really understand the message I’m trying to get across.
I turn back around and keep walking. All I want to do is get home and pretend tonight never happened. Wait, scrap that. I’m going to pretend this whole week didn’t happen. Who knows, maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow in Slade’s arms and realize it was all just some bullshit nightmare.
My feet continue dragging and I curse myself for drinking so much. I should have left the vodka on the table where it belonged. Soda would have gone down a lot smoother and also wouldn’t have had me stumbling around the fucking streets like an idiot.
I reach for the joint that I only managed to get halfway through during the party and place it between my lips as I pat down all my pockets, searching for that damn lighter. I find it tucked into the inside of my underwear and chuckle to myself and I attempt to get it out.
There’s a slight breeze blowing through the night so actually lighting this thing proves a little harder than my alcohol fuzzed mind can handle.
Within seconds of getting it lit, I inhale deeply and let out my breath, sighing as the hit is exactly what I need.
Damian finally gets the hint and I take another hit as his car starts speeding up behind me and fish tales around. I’m about to watch his stupid ass disappear into the distance when the car comes to a screeching stop, forcing its front tires up over the sidewalk.
Panic shoots through me.
This isn’t Damian’s Mustang.
I take a step back as my eyes scan over the black SUV. The windows are blacked out but my gut is telling me what I don’t want to know.
Lucien Valentine.
He’s finally come for me.
I take another step and then another.
My mind is telling me to run but my body isn’t responding. I should be halfway down the street by now, running back to the party where I can hide amongst the bodies. Hell, I should be getting to Blake to let him now Lucien is here. I should be running to Daniella to warn her, and hell, I should be getting my ass home to Shay and Ben to make sure that Lucien can’t hurt them either.
But Slade…
I need Slade.
The door opens and my breath catches as the fear cripples me. Why the hell can’t I run? I see his black shiny shoes first as he slides down from the driver’s seat. His expensive gray suit comes next followed by the face that haunts my dreams.
I swallow hard, hoping that can somehow help me to suck in a decent breath.
My whole childhood flashes before my eyes. Be seen and not heard. Maybe that’s why I’m not running. I’ve spent thirteen years feeling trapped, being their perfect poster daughter who obeys every last rule and when stepping out of line, I’ve suffered the consequences, and now it’s time to face the music because running away wasn’t just stepping over the line, I jumped across that bastard and made a mockery of it as I went.