ECSTASY

by KV Rose

  I laugh a little, but I can’t even manage a good denial. Despite the orange juice and the sex that I had and texting Alex and telling him I loved him, I’m still exhausted.

  Or maybe all of those things are making me more exhausted, despite my mother’s words about looking “less tired”.

  “He was hot, Zara,” she says, leaning back in her seat. “Really tall, and really hot.” She quirks her mouth to the side. “What was his name again?”

  My cheeks are growing warm and I kind of want to start talking about him. I’m surprised she even remembers, but she’s always been good at paying attention to me, even in her absences. But I’m glad she doesn’t remember his name.

  There’s the article about him breaking that guy’s nose on the field, and the shit about his dad in the papers. No, thanks.

  Even though, between the two of us, I’m the fuck up, Mom wouldn’t see it that way.

  “It’s not him, Mom,” I lie, even though I’m desperate to gush about him. To talk about his thick hair and his dark eyes and God, he is so fucking tall. And how kind he is and what he wants to do with his life and how he’s helping his mom and how he sounds kind of like a dick sometimes, but he actually has the most forgiving heart of anyone I’ve ever known.

  Yeah. I want to say all that shit, but I don’t say any of it. Besides, I still have to work out my own shit before I can think about having a stable, steady relationship with Alex Cardi. We might have said we loved each other, but that was in a sex-induced haze of lust.

  I see you.

  I hear his words in my head, and I can’t stop the little smile on my lips. I avert my gaze from Mom, but she already saw it.

  But then again.

  Eli said those same words.

  “Oh, hon,” she says, her words a breathless sigh. “I wish you’d talk to me about him. Unless it was the tattooed boy. You can talk to me about him too though, you know?”

  I flick my gaze up, my stomach twisting into knots thinking about Eli. Thinking about that night at the beach. But Mom must read something else in my expression because she says, “Zara, don’t tell me you have feelings for him too.”

  “What?” I ask, taken aback. “No, I don’t, I—”

  “Two boys, Zara?”

  My face flushes, and I feel uncomfortably warm even though I’m in jeans and a white tank top twisted into a knot, exposing the lower part of my waist. I pinch the thin material of my shirt between two fingers, fanning myself, and Mom grimaces.

  “I’m sure only one of them really wants what’s best for you. They can’t both love you equally, Zara. And you probably can’t love them both either.” She sighs. “Two boys are trouble, hon. Trust me.”

  “Mom, it’s not like that.”

  She shrugs her narrow shoulders, tapping her nails again against the table beside her plate of salad. “I know things, Zara. It’s why I’m the top agent in Monkey Junction.”

  I mean, I guess I can’t argue with that stat, so I just keep quiet.

  “Do they know each other?” she asks, quirking a brow.

  “Mom, it isn’t…” I trail off, glancing out the wooden blinds beside us. The sky has grown dark, and I take in the cars in the parking lot beyond the rocking chairs on the covered porch outside.

  I blow out a steady breath, turn to face her again. I don’t love Eli. But I can’t really tell her what happened between us, and Alex. I can’t say all that shit. But I guess I could go about it in a roundabout way. See what she thinks of it all.

  It wouldn’t hurt to confide in Mom. Not everything, obviously, but getting a little advice couldn’t hurt.

  “Yeah,” I tell her, straightening in my chair, elbows on the table, hands clasped together beside my barely touched burger. “They know each other.”

  “Are they friends?” she pries. There’s no judgement in her eyes, and considering her marriage track record, I guess there wouldn’t be.

  “Yep.” At least they used to be. Until me.

  She shrugs. “Well, I might not know exactly what’s going on, but speaking from experience, I can tell you this.” She leans in closer and my heart pounds in my chest. “One of them doesn’t want you, Zara. One of them only wants to see if he can take you away from the other. That’s part of the appeal.” She levels me with her gaze, and I feel her next words like an arrow to the heart. “Once he gets you, he’ll drop you, and it’ll hurt like hell when he does.”

  Alex: I miss you.

  Alex: A lot.

  Alex: You okay, princess?

  I’ve stared at Alex’s texts for half an hour, thinking about Mom’s words. I should’ve confided in her long before this shit show. I don’t know what’s going on with Eli and Alex because I didn’t have the nerve to ask him, but I guess that’s another thing we’ll have to clear up when he gets back.

  Me: I’m good. Miss you too.

  I exhale deeply, about to toss my phone back in the drawer of my nightstand when another text comes in.

  My stomach drops, and I sit up in bed, flinging my covers off.

  It’s from Eli.

  Him: Be there in ten.

  That was eight minutes ago.

  Fuck.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  For a second, I think about him fucking me so hard at the beach house, how he wouldn’t stop. How he liked really hurting me.

  I think about it, and cold fear washes over me. But I’m not that girl anymore. I’m not afraid. I’m going to deal with his ass once and for fucking all, and then I’ll be done with him. I’ll be done.

  I sigh, looking down at what I’m wearing. I’m in short black shorts, a loose pink tank that barely covers my damn tits and considering I don’t have a lot of those to begin with, that’s saying something.

  I open my closet door to grab a hoodie when I hear knocking at the door.

  My phone starts vibrating in my hand. Eli is calling.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  I run a trembling hand through my wavy hair, taking a deep breath as my heart pounds a nervous rhythm in my chest.

  It’ll be okay.

  I need to end this anyway.

  It’s not like he’s going to fucking kill me or something. Eli might be crazy but he’s not actually a psychopath, I tell myself like I might believe it.

  My phone starts buzzing again, I toss it on the bed, and slam my closet door closed. Fuck the hoodie.

  “I’m coming!” I call out as he starts beating on the door again. I glance out the open blinds in the living room. It’s pitch-black outside. The clock on the stove says it’s eleven. And beside it, on the counter, are all of the liquor bottles I lined up earlier. Half a dozen.

  I didn’t take a single fucking sip. I was planning on throwing them out in the morning.

  Instead of alcohol, I finished another carton of orange juice.

  I’m different.

  I’m stronger.

  I can do this.

  I get to the door just as Eli starts hammering away at it again. I bet he thinks I’m high.

  Surprise, surprise. This might be one of our first sober conversations.

  I unlock the door, throw it open, the cool October air rushing in.

  He cocks his head at me, phone in his hand. Arching a dark brow, he glances behind me and asks, “You’re alone?”

  A shiver of something like fear runs through me at those words, and at the way he looks me up and down. The way my nipples harden with the cold and I want to cover myself and close the door and tell him I’m not doing this right now.

  “I’ve missed you so much.” He slips his hands into the pockets of his black hoodie. “I’ve been meaning to tell you… I’m so sorry.”

  I laugh, not moving from the doorway. “Thanks for the apology. But things are done between us. We’re done. You’re insane, and you lied to me, and you betrayed me.” I jerk my chin, indicating the stairwell at his back. “We through now?”

  He smiles at me and I feel my knees going weak, my heart pounding so hard in my chest.
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  Then he says, “I’ve got some more things to say,” and he shoves past me, hard, checking me with his shoulder.

  I don’t move from the doorway, the door still open. “Eli.” I hate the way my voice shakes. “Get out right now.”

  He doesn’t even turn around to look at me. He just says, “Close the fucking door, Zara, or this is going to get really messy.” His words scare me.

  My hands are trembling. I think about running. But then he says, “It’ll only take a second, okay?” still without looking at me.

  Just a second.

  I can do a second, and then he’ll be gone from my life for good.

  Slowly, I shut the door. Lock it back.

  When I turn around, he’s right there. His eyes are on mine like he’s looking for something, trying to read me. Maybe trying to see if I’m fucked up.

  I offer him a small smile that I don’t feel. My mind is racing, but I feel bold, too. Stronger. Now I’m facing the consequences of my own actions, which might be a first for me. This time though, there’s no way out. There’s no pill or shot or high to chase. This time, I’ve got to deal with this shit all by myself.

  And I will. I’ll deal with him.

  “I’ve missed you,” he says again. He reaches a hand out to my face and his touch feels electric, like it did that very first time he came alone to my apartment.

  The memory makes my face heat and he must see it because he grabs my chin and tilts my head up when I try to avert my eyes.

  I can smell him. That delicious coconut and citrus scent. It reminds me of the sea.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks me.

  I arch a brow, try to turn my head from his hand but he holds tighter. “About the last time I saw you,” I admit. About how you hurt me. How you fucked me over.

  “Are you still mad at me?” he asks, incredulous, like he doesn’t believe it. Like he doesn’t deserve my anger.

  I grab his wrist, try to pry his hand off my face. He just tightens his grip, painfully, and I dig my nails into his skin, trailing up over the tattoos on his hand.

  “Let go of me.”

  He does. Shocking the shit out of me, he drops his hand and looks down and I exhale a silent sigh of relief. Maybe this won’t go how I think it will. Maybe this will be much better. Maybe he came here to tell me he missed me, but he realizes we are not good together. That we need to cut each other off for good.

  But instead of doing any of that, he grabs my arm, and yanks me into the kitchen, shoving me against the counter where my back hits a bottle of alcohol that slides into another, thankfully not falling to the floor.

  He takes hold of both of my arms, leans down close, and I must be fucking paralyzed with nerves because aside from a small gasp that escaped my mouth when he shoved me in here, I say nothing. Do nothing.

  “What’s going on, Zara?” he asks me, the mint of his breath caressing my mouth. “You don’t seem very happy to see me.”

  “I—”

  He clamps his hand over my mouth, his eyes narrowing. “You’ve let this go a little far, huh, Za?”

  “Eli.” The word is muffled beneath his hand, and I hate that his name is shaky on my lips, but I hate that I let him in even more. I shouldn’t have done this. He has the power to ruin me and we both know it.

  He drops his hand from my mouth.

  “Get off of me,” I snarl at him.

  He laughs, grips my arm tighter, but then, throwing me off again, he steps away, toward the door.

  I back up, still against the counter but moving down, toward the fridge. Toward my room.

  He doesn’t move.

  He’s standing between me and the door and unless I want to jump out the window, he knows he has me trapped.

  “What are you talking about? Going a little far?” If I run, if I try to attack him, he’s just going to feed on my fear. Maybe I can talk my way out of this.

  He smiles at me, that charming smile I’ve watched him flash dozens of times, never knowing he was actually a fucking monster.

  “I admire your effort, baby girl, but I know you don’t really want him. And now you let him stay the week with you? Let him try to sober you up?” There’s real anger in those questions. It makes me feel physically sick. I didn’t think he actually cared. I thought this was all a game. A game for a boy with strange tastes. But he’s mad?

  “I don’t know what—”

  “I think you should stop playing games now, Zara.”

  But now it’s my turn to be angry. The rage flushes white hot through me, and that rush of irritation that I’ve felt all week comes back in full force. I push off the counter, turn fully to face him. His eyes light up with amusement because he wants this fight.

  “You don’t get to do this,” I tell him, pointing his way. “You fucked this all up!”

  He steps forward, but I don’t falter, even as he cocks his head, his expression still full of amusement as he listens to me.

  “You don’t get to come back here after you fucking fucked me over. And besides, I’m fucking done with you. I am so done with you.”

  “You wanted me.” His tone is plain, his words simple. “You still do.”

  I close my eyes tight, trying to think. To breathe. Dammit, I really want some more orange juice. Or, more than that, I want to chug down one of these damn bottles beside me.

  “Come on, baby girl, this was the plan all along.” His voice is soothing and when I open my eyes, he’s a foot from me.

  I try to swallow down my rage, my confusion. My fear. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  He swipes his hand over the counter, sending all the bottles of alcohol I have lined up crashing to the floor, glass bursting into pieces. But he doesn’t stop there. The glass crunches under his shoes as he steps toward me, yanking me by the collar of my shirt, my bare feet on the broken glass, sharp pain stinging under the arch of one foot. I whimper but he doesn’t seem to care. He doesn’t let go and he doesn’t look down.

  “I gave you space,” he breathes down close to me. “I let you breathe. I let you...live. I didn’t know all this time you wanted me to take it away from you.”

  I grab his hand, digging my nails into his skin. But he suddenly sweeps his leg behind mine, knocking me off my feet. I fall against the glass, shards digging into my back. My lip trembles, tears springing to my eyes as he kneels down, too, still fisting my shirt.

  “I didn’t know you wanted me to suffocate you, Zara. I didn’t know you wanted me to kill you. Why didn’t you just fucking ask?”

  He leans down close, and my head is inches from the glass that’s currently slicing into my back, only his grip on my tank top holding me up, and my own core muscles, straining.

  “Now I know, Zara.” He runs his tongue over my mouth. “Now I know, and I won’t ever fucking forget it. You want to be treated like a stupid bitch without a brain?” He yanks me up until my forehead is pressed against his. “I can do that for you.” He kisses me but I clamp my lips closed.

  Fuck him.

  “The thing about Alex, baby? He shows his crazy. But me? I like to hide mine. I like the fear in your eyes right now because you once thought I was something better. You once thought I was the good one.” He laughs, pulling on my lip with his teeth. “With the three of us? There’s no such thing.” He lowers me down onto the glass, pinning me down with his hand on my chest. “You should’ve known better, Za.”

  The glass digs into my scalp, my back, my thighs. The pain is burning, stinging, sharp. “Let me up.” My voice is little more than a whimper.

  Eli laughs, pressing me further into the ground. “I don’t think so, baby girl. Not yet. Not until you remember what it was like.”

  I frown, the pain momentarily numbed with my confusion. “Remember what what was like—”

  “I know you’re stupid but you’re not that fucking stupid, Zara. Remember what it was like when I met you. What it was like when you were all over me and you wanted to do anything I asked. When
you let me hold you down in that pool? When you agreed to this, Zara.”

  My stomach twists. The pain of the glass makes my eyes water. “But this is…this is all wrong, Eli. You know this is all wrong.”

  His hand shifts to my throat. “Yeah. You fucking knew that, too, huh? But you wanted to experience everything, didn’t you, baby girl?”

  “You fucked me over. You fucking fucked me over and—”

  “I gave you an out.”

  “No. No. Fuck you. You have no right. No fucking right!” I try to scramble upright but glass lodges itself into my palm and I hiss between my teeth, Eli still pressing down on me.

  “You think Alex is gonna treat you right, Za?” He switches his grip, jerking me up to my feet. My back is on fire, and I feel blood warm and wet on my palm. Eli’s forest green eyes darken as he pulls me into him, glass crunching under his shoes, slicing into my feet. “You don’t fucking know him like I do. And he doesn’t know you.”

  “But I know you. I know you and I know you’re a sick fuck, Eli Addison. Fuck you. Get out of my house.”

  “End things with him.”

  “No.” My jaw clenches. “No. You’re fucking sick, Eli. You’re fucking sick and you need help—”

  He slams me against the counter, then wraps both hands around my throat, fingers digging into my skin as he leans over me.

  My heart is going to shoot out of my chest. Eli was always this quiet, simmering darkness. Always. It’s why I was drawn to him. It’s why I fucked with him in the first place.

  But he was more than that. So much more.

  He was fucking insane.

  My mom’s words echo in my head. “One of them doesn’t want you, Zara.”

  “If you don’t break up with him, I will kill you. He can’t even stand watching someone else fuck you, Za. How’s he going to put up with your bullshit?” His hands dig deeper into my throat, and my head starts to swim, brain desperate for oxygen. “Only I can do that, baby girl.” He brushes his lips over mine. “But you know what? I kind of like you like this. Stealing your breath.” He turns his cheek against my mouth. “I kind of like feeling nothing where your life should be.”