by Bethany-Kris
“Dad’s coming over today. Said he might be able to convince you it’s time to go home. Thought you might like a heads up.”
Zeke cocked a brow when Cross glanced at his friend. He heard Zeke’s unspoken words—the ones he had to read between the damn lines.
Here’s your chance to go if you need or want to before he gets here.
“Got another couch for me to sleep on for the week?” Cross asked.
Zeke shrugged. “I can find you somewhere.”
“Yeah, do that.”
“I should warn you, though …”
“What?”
“Dad said if you keep this shit up, Calisto might just send someone out to hunt you down and bring you home anyway.”
Cross made a dismissive noise under his breath. “He can try.”
“Wake your ass up, principe! I know you’re in here.”
Cross groaned, and yanked the blankets higher over his head. He wasn’t even sure whose fucking couch he was sleeping on that morning—it had been changing from day to day. Whoever had a party, or whoever invited him to stay.
He wasn’t fucking picky.
He just didn’t want to go home.
“Cross, don’t make me come further into that house.”
“Hey … hey, man, wake up.”
Somebody shook Cross’s shoulder hard enough to wake him from the hungover stupor he was currently in. The blinding sunlight coming in from the windows told him it was well into the day. The sight of the light instantly made his stomach want to revolt.
Too much liquor.
Too much of everything else.
Fuck his life.
“All right, Cross, don’t say I didn’t fucking warn you.”
“Man, get up before that guy tears my fucking house apart.”
Cross looked up at the guy standing over him—Tim, Jim, or fuck, who knew? “Who?”
“Principe, your step-father is waiting outside. Make it easy on me, or I have permission to stuff your ass in the trunk of my car. Compliments of the boss.”
Fuck.
“Go away, Rick,” Cross snarled.
Stupid ass enforcer.
The guy still wouldn’t leave Cross alone.
He’d made it three weeks. Three weeks of just … being. Alone. No responsibilities. Recharging. Getting used to being just him without Catherine.
It was not a nice place to be, he learned.
“Fuck.”
That was all the guy who owned the couch said.
Then, the blanket that was covering Cross was ripped off. Cross found himself locked in a staring contest with Rick, but he refused to move.
Rick spoke first.
“Again, your step-father is outside. He says enough is enough. You’ve been gone long enough—not answering calls, or checking in. Scaring your mother half to death. He’s done with your nonsense. Move your ass without me needing to do it, or I will personally stuff your stupid self into the trunk and drive you home. I’m sure it’ll be a nice lesson for you, you spoiled little shit.”
Cross glowered more.
Rick was unaffected. “Get up.”
“Fuck you.”
“Hard way it is, then.”
Cross cocked a brow at the enforcer. “You touch me, and you die.”
“Are you going to get up?”
“Is Cal really outside?”
“I guess you’re either going to get up and find out for yourself, or I’m going to carry you out there. Which one do you want to choose?”
Cross walked himself out there.
Calisto was waiting.
Neither of them spoke for days after, though.
The Spiral
Catherine POV
“Catherine!”
Catherine ignored her mother’s call, and snagged her bag from the hallway. Her shit was all over the house—discarded wherever it had fell from her hand when she was done with it. Usually that would be something that irritated her mother to no end, but lately, Catrina stopped trying to say anything at all about it.
It wasn’t doing any good.
Catherine still left her shit here and there, and Catrina’s yelling only fell on deaf ears. After all, she needed interest and desire to do something. Especially when it came to picking up her things, or keeping stuff clean.
Lately, Catherine had none of that.
Shrugging the bag over her shoulder, she headed down the stairs. Her mother continued calling her name, and Catherine kept ignoring her. She was almost to the front of the house when Catrina finally caught up with her.
Damn.
Almost made it.
“Catherine,” her mother said one last time before Catherine had enough.
“I’m going out.”
Maybe if she just told her, then Catrina would leave her alone. Her parents seem to be doing that a lot lately. As if they didn’t know what to do with Catherine, or how to deal with her behavior. Even the mood swings came at the most difficult, and unknown, times.
She was up, and then she was down in the next damn minute.
Her mind could be free, clear, and good. And then the next day? She could be dark, her thoughts blackened with rage, bitterness, or hate, and her body became tired. Tired of existing, and tired of trying. A deep ache in her heart that always seemed to travel through her bones never really left, even on the good days.
But the thoughts?
Her black emotions?
Those were the very worst.
Those were what frightened her the most. She had somehow become a vision of herself that she no longer knew, and one she didn’t recognize. A vision that sometimes couldn’t be bothered to try, not even to brush her hair. And on other days, that same vision would be of a young woman who used makeup and fake smiles to hide tear stains, and memories that never quite let her go for very long.
She could barely stand to look in the mirror a lot of the time because who was that woman looking back at her? She didn’t know who it was.
Certainly not her.
Or, it wasn’t who she wanted to be.
It wasn’t even close to who she used to be.
“Going where?” Catrina asked.
“Out,” Catherine said.
“Catherine, the least you can do is tell me where exactly you’re going to be tonight.”
Was that the least she could do?
Catherine figured the least she could have done was get out of bed that day. Because hell, most times, even that was a chore she didn’t want to do. And so, she had done exactly that. She was out of bed, she was talking, and being somewhat pleasant. She figured that should have been good enough for her mother, all things considered.
Catrina moved past her daughter, and blocked the front door. It wasn’t like her mother to be so physical, but a lot of things had changed lately.
The biggest of those changes being Catherine herself.
“Tell me where you’re going,” Catrina said, “and then you can go.”
“To a party,” Catherine said.
“A party in the city.”
“That’s what I said.” Catherine shrugged. “So, now you know where I’m going. I told you, like you wanted. Move, and let me go.”
Catrina didn’t move. “Your father doesn’t want you leaving the house. You’re supposed to be grounded because you snuck out three weeks ago.”
“Well, Daddy isn’t here, is he?”
“He will be, and what am I to tell him, then?”
Catherine stared hard at her mother, unmoved. “Honestly, Ma, I don’t give a shit what you tell Daddy.”
“Catty.”
What did her mother want from her?
Catherine didn’t know.
She didn’t have anything left to give.
“Please let me go, Ma. I just need to get out of this house.”
She needed to breathe.
She needed to feel something else.
She needed to do something else.
For a long while, the two women stared at each other. Ne
ither of them said a word. A good couple of minutes passed before Catrina finally stepped to the side, and gave her daughter access to the front door.
“Be here when your father wakes up in the morning,” her mother said.
Catherine agreed.
She also lied.
It was just easier.
Catherine’s vision swam with all of the things in front of her. Dancing people, rooms and hallways, and the unfamiliar.
The unsafe.
After everything, she should know better than to be in a place like this, doing the things she was doing. Hadn’t her rape taught her that?
It never failed.
Even in the safety of Catherine’s own mind, her thoughts blamed her for what happened. Like a poison that wouldn’t stop spreading, her thoughts seemed intent on never letting her forget. No matter what she did.
Alcohol made her blood thick. Weed made her mind light.
When she was drunk or high, or both at the same time, then she no longer had to feel. Nothing that would hurt her, anyway. Nothing that would lead her back down a black hole of nothingness that constantly squeezed around her heart, and her mind. A black hole that left her empty, cold, and so alone.
She should have been working. That’s what she’d come here to do in the first place.
Funny …
Catherine couldn’t remember the last time she actually came to a party to deal like she was supposed to. So far, her cousins hadn’t figured out a lot of the shit she was doing. Partying, and whatever else.
She knew the moment Andino or John learned that she had fallen into this abyss, the first thing they would do would be pull her back out of it.
She wasn’t ready for that yet.
She didn’t want to deal with that yet.
She couldn’t deal with herself, yet.
Someone called her name from within the crowd of drunken teenagers, but she didn’t know who. Catherine waved a hand high, figuring that would be enough.
It wasn’t like she came here to talk.
She didn’t get drunk to be social.
Now, she didn’t want to be anything at all.
Catherine tried to remember how many times this month alone that she had gotten drunk, high, or both. It was a bigger number then she cared to admit.
It was a problem.
She knew that.
But what could she do?
How could she stop?
This was easier.
So much easier.
Catherine weaved through the people, and found her way back into the hallways. She found a staircase that let to the upstairs of a house that she didn’t recognize.
Whose place was this, anyway?
Who fucking knew?
Not her.
She didn’t care, either.
Catherine found one room upstairs that wasn’t being used by someone else. It looked like a bedroom, not that she cared. She closed the door, and dug out the cell phone from her purse. For a long while, she only stared at the black screen.
She was too drunk, too high …
Way too fucked up.
She should have called her father, or mother. She came here to forget and not feel, but the only thing she could think about was how bad she didn’t want to be there anymore.
Funny how that worked.
She should have called someone and asked for help. It was the only thing her parents asked of her, really. They knew something was wrong, but they didn’t know how to deal with it. They no longer knew how to deal with her.
Catherine understood that all too well.
She no longer knew how to deal with herself.
And worse was when she was like this, when she was so lost like this, there was only one thing she knew to do. There was only one person who could make her feel slightly better when she was like this.
Was it selfish?
Did she care?
There was only one person she cared to call. He always answered. He was always saving her. Even when she hurt him.
Cross.
The Save
Cross POV
Despite the thick fog of dreams keeping Cross firmly stuck in sleep, he still somehow heard the ringing of his cell phone. Faint and barely there at all, the ringing drove him from the dream, and had him peeling his eyes open to find the darkness of his bedroom staring back at him. For a split second, he wasn’t even sure why he had woken up, but the phone rang again.
A familiar tune.
One meant for her.
So then, he knew …
“Shit,” Cross mumbled.
Rolling over, Cross waved his hand blindly to find the phone on his nightstand. Finally, he had it in his grasp. Putting it to his ear, he buried himself back beneath the blankets as he answered the call.
“Catherine,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.
“Cross?”
Damn.
He knew what she was going to ask before the words even left her mouth. Maybe it was the high, light way her words came out, but the whine that lingered in her tone. Catherine only sounded like that when she was drunk, or high.
He hated it when she sounded like that.
It always meant bad things.
“Are you at home?” she asked.
Cross tossed the blanket off, and scrubbed a hand down his jaw. “Yeah, in bed.”
“Oh.”
Soft, and unsure.
Like she was scared.
Cross hated that, too.
He could hear the thumping music in the background, and the muffled laughter of people. A door slammed, and the noise lessened in the background for a moment.
She was not at home—that much was clear.
A party, likely.
Something she had been doing far too often, lately.
“Well, okay,” Catherine said, “I’ll let you—”
“Where are you?”
“In the city.”
Cross stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom. “Mmm, yeah, but doing what?”
“Working.”
Lies.
She rarely worked when she went out, now. Catherine thought he didn’t know, but he did. She was dealing more and more at school. It was concerning because it was dangerous. He didn’t really get a say, though, because they weren’t something anymore.
Not officially, anyway.
She called.
He went.
She cried.
He saved.
Like a circle that never ended.
Apparently, tonight would not be the night it ended, either.
“Give me the address,” he said. “I’ll be there in an hour or less.”
“You don’t have to.”
Yeah, he did.
“I’m already out of bed, Catherine.”
That was a lie, but it was only for her benefit.
Catherine whispered the address.
Cross finally got out of bed.
“I’ll be there soon,” he promised.
“Okay.”
Cross’s house was still dark and quiet when he finally got back. Only, he wasn’t alone like he had been when he left.
Catherine, not as drunk or stupid as he thought she might be, stayed close to his side as they navigated the halls of the Donati home. Her fingers wove with his as they slipped into his bedroom.
He took extra care to make sure they were quiet. Sure, his parents’ bedroom was one floor higher, but sometimes, all it took was a floorboard creaking to wake up Calisto.
Cross was in no way interested in explaining why Catherine was with him, how much she had been drinking, or anything else. His parents would not approve. They would tell him to send her home.
He couldn’t do that.
Not when she asked to stay.
Cross barely got the bedroom door closed before Catherine was shedding her clothes. In only a bralette and panties, she crawled into his bed, and disappeared under the blankets. She did all of that without even saying a word.
He e
xpected nothing different.
Sometimes, she was all too predictable. She just wanted him close, but not too close. She wanted to feel him near, but not too much of him.
She was up.
She was down.
Like whiplash coming for him at every fucking turn, he no longer knew how to handle it, or what to do.
Sure, he wanted to help.
He just didn’t know how.
Instead, Cross did this. He went when she called, he made sure she was safe, and he kept her that way for as long as he could.
Catherine would disappear into his blankets and bed until she was ready to face the world again. Cross made sure she always had the time to do exactly that.
No matter what.
“Cross?”
Her quiet, muffled question had him crossing the bedroom.
“Yeah, babe?”
From beneath the blankets, he heard her ask, “Will you get in bed? I’m cold.”
Sure, she was.
He knew what she wanted.
He kicked off his shoes, and stripped down to his boxer-briefs. Climbing into the bed, and hiding beneath the blankets like she had done, Cross found Catherine staring at him.
Maybe he understood why she did this all too often with him.
Maybe it made more sense.
The world looked nicer under here.
With only her …
It was safer.
Silently, he reached out and pulled her in tight to his body. His arms cradled around her like a cage keeping her safe, and warm.
Catherine buried her face into his chest, and let out a soft sigh. “Thanks, Cross.”
Her unspoken words were far louder.
She had a problem with talking lately.
“No problem.”
Questions rattled around in his mind—things he needed to ask, but could never seem to say. It wasn’t like him to be so reserved with anybody, but that was the thing.
Catherine wasn’t just anyone.
She was her.
She was his.
He wanted to know if this was the last time he would have to go pull her from some house party, but he didn’t think it would be. He wanted to ask if they were ever going to get back to being them again, but was a little scared of the answer.
Her parents were probably wondering where she was. No doubt, Cross would be the one to take her home again in the morning, while at the same time, trying to avoid the burning glares Dante Marcello tossed his way.
