OnlyEverYou_SDavis-eBooks

by Davis, Siobhan

  Horror washes over me like a bucket of cold water. “Get the fuck off her!” I roar, grabbing Valeria by the wrists and pulling her off Zeta. I drop to my knees beside her, but she’s unconscious, and an icy hand has a vise grip on my heart. “Zeta.” I place my hands on her cheeks, leaning down close to her ear. “Zeta, baby, can you hear me?”

  Lopez crouches over her from behind. “Shit, dude, is she okay?”

  “What the fuck does it look like!” I yell. “This is all your fucking fault. Just leave her the fuck alone!”

  “Step aside.” Powell’s voice is commanding, and the assembled crowd parts, letting her and Price through. Powell kneels beside me, pressing her finger to Zeta’s neck before placing her palm over her forehead. “Get hold of Carina. Tell her to bring her first aid kit,” she instructs Price. He walks off with his mouth pressed to his walkie-talkie, and a few minutes later, the nurse comes rushing into the room.

  “I need some space,” she says, pointedly looking at me. Price and Watson have already cleared the room, escorting everyone else back to the pods, where they’re on lockdown, but I begged Powell to let me stay, and surprisingly, none of them argued with me.

  “Ryder. Let Carina check her out.” Powell pulls me to my feet, pushing me back a little as I watch the nurse check Zeta’s vitals.

  “She might have a concussion. I’d like to keep her in the infirmary overnight so I can watch over her.”

  “Should we organize an ambulance?” Powell asks, causing shards of terror to run riot inside me.

  Carina shakes her head. “I don’t think it’s necessary, but if anything changes, I’ll let you know.”

  I’m forced to watch as guards slide Zeta onto a stretcher and carry her out of the room. I begged Powell to let me sit with her, but there’s only so many times she can bend the rules for me. She’s adamant that I need to return to my cell, but she promises to stop by later to update me on Zeta’s condition.

  Nighttime has fallen, and there’s still no word. I’m going out of my mind with worry. Grabbing clumps of my hair, I pace back and forth across the tiny cell, grateful we’re not at full capacity right now and that I have my own space. I’ve had to share a cell countless times in the past, and it’s not always a pleasant experience. Sometimes, having company is nice, provided the guy isn’t a total asshole, but other times, like now, I’m glad there’s no one else in this room to witness me falling apart.

  This is all my fault. All I do is hurt people. If Zeta wasn’t my best friend, and the girl I’m crazy about, Lopez’s interest in her would’ve faded by now. But he continues to sleaze over her to mess with my head. What happened this evening would never have happened if Zeta was blending into the shadows like she’d planned all along.

  The image of her lying on that floor, her face pale, eyes closed, body unmoving, plays repeatedly in my head, fueling my self-hatred, anger, and frustration.

  I lash out, needing to feel physical pain, welcoming the raw, throbbing ache as I pound my fists into the concrete wall, ripping my knuckles, my skin bleeding. I pummel the wall, imagining it’s Lopez’s face, until I’m breathless and spent, my limbs exhausted, my body sweaty and limp as I fall to the floor, consumed in a blanket of remorse.

  And, as I scream out in my sleep, assaulted by images I’ve managed to avoid these last few weeks, I know this is my punishment for daring to hope.

  CHAPTER 8

  Zeta

  My head still hurts like a bitch, and I’ve an obvious raised lump at the back of my skull, but I’m lucky it’s only a mild concussion and not anything worse. Guess I should be grateful I’ve a hard head. Carina, the nurse, summoned a doctor to the facility to ensure I didn’t need hospitalization. He prescribed strong pain meds and two days of bed rest, so today is the first day I’m returning to a normal routine.

  I’m well used to my own company, and I spent most of the time sleeping or reading in bed, but I’ve little concept of time in here, and the two days felt more like two weeks. I’ve really missed Ryder, and I’m so looking forward to seeing him as I make my way over to our usual table in the cafeteria.

  I’m the first one here, so I flop into a chair, keeping my head down as I eat my breakfast. “You’re alive!” Luc quips, pulling out the chair across from me and sitting down. “Are you feeling okay?” he adds more solemnly.

  “I’ve a killer headache, but I’m fine otherwise.” I look up at the counter and over my shoulder. “Where’s Ryder?”

  Luc’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat and he squirms in his seat. “He, ah, he’s not sitting with us today.”

  A bad feeling sweeps over me and my stomach dips to my toes. “Why not?” Is he mad I tried to yank Valeria off him? I’m pretty sure he wasn’t happy about her kissing him although, in the moment, I just reacted on instinct, rage spurring me on. The image of her kissing him made my blood boil, and I didn’t like to think of her taking advantage of him like that either. But maybe I read it wrong? No. No, I didn’t read it wrong. I know Ryder doesn’t like her and that he’d never willingly kiss her.

  “Because he’s an idiot,” Luc replies, shooting me a sympathetic smile.

  Just then, I spot Ryder’s messy blond head over the far side of the room. My appetite vanishes as hurt and anger spear me on the inside. He’s back at the table with Lopez, Valeria, and their crew, looking like he never left. “He chose them over me?” I’m unable to keep the note of betrayal from my voice.

  “He thinks he’s protecting you by staying away. Like I said, he’s an idiot.” Luc reaches across the table, squeezing my hand.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t really either, Zeta. Ryder’s deep, you know?” His nose scrunches up. “And that’s as much as he told me.”

  “Why are you here?” I ask, my tone harsher than it should be. Luc isn’t the one I’m mad at. He’s just the one caught in the firing line.

  “Because I’m your friend.”

  “You’re his friend, and you should go sit with him. I don’t need you. And I don’t need him,” I hiss, drilling my eyes into his sad ones. I don’t mean it, but it’s the anger speaking, and pushing him away before he chooses to leave will hurt less in the end.

  I was foolish to think things would be different in here. Once a loner, always a loner. I know how to deal with that because I’ve had plenty of practice.

  But this?

  This cold, cruel rejection is something I’m not equipped to deal with, especially with the pounding pain pummeling my skull.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Luc stubbornly proclaims, picking up his plastic fork and pinning me with a determined look. “I don’t care if you want that or not. I’m staying right here.”

  Over the course of the next week, Luc is like a faithful little puppy, and I both love and hate him for it. I don’t want him falling out with Ryder on my account, but that’s exactly what’s happened. After my initial anger faded, I tried to speak to Ryder the next day, but he brushed me aside, telling me he didn’t want to hang with me anymore. Luc was furious with him, and they almost came to blows.

  I wish now that I’d never befriended Ryder, because having his friendship and then losing it is ten million times worse than never having known it at all. My life is gray and monotone without his larger-than-life presence in it.

  Boredom is a real problem, because I’ve got so much spare time on my hands, and I hate how my mind wanders when I’m not occupied or distracted. I’ve stopped going to the common room in my free time because it hurts too much to see him in the corner by himself, playing his guitar and purposely ignoring my gaze.

  Valeria sends smug smiles my direction any chance she gets, and it takes enormous willpower not to fly at her in retaliation. But I keep my head down and withdraw into myself, like I should have done from day one.

  Luc still sits with me in the cafeteria despite the nonexistent dialog
ue between us. I admire his loyalty and wish I could tell him how much I appreciate it, but I just want him to patch things up with Ryder and leave me to lick my wounds by myself.

  I’m feeling so many different things, and I return to my usual form of venting. Emotion pours out of me in the form of words, and I’m furiously scribbling lyrics into my notebook any chance I get. It’s always been one of my coping mechanisms. Anytime I needed to retreat from the real world, I buried myself in music, and I’d write song after song after song, my agony bleeding onto the pages. I’ve written hundreds of songs over the years, but I’ve no idea what happened to my notebooks. Whether they’re still back at the house with him, whether they were confiscated as evidence, or whether he threw them out along with the rest of my stuff. But at the rate I’m going, I’ll have them replaced in no time.

  The song Ryder wrote for me plays in a continuous loop in my brain, and I’ve now written lyrics to it. At night, when I miss him the most, I lull myself to sleep with those words reverberating in my subconscious.

  My nightmares are a nightly occurrence again, and I don’t get more than a few hours’ sleep before I’m jolted awake crying and screaming. I know I’m spiraling into a dark place, and I’m not sure I have the resilience to fight it this time.

  “You look exhausted,” Dr. Reynolds says as I walk into the room for our weekly session.

  “Hello to you too,” I deadpan, collapsing onto the couch with a sigh.

  “How much sleep are you getting at night?” she asks, pulling open a file on her desk.

  “About three or four hours,” I truthfully admit, too fucking tired to lie.

  “You can’t function on that little sleep, Zeta. You’re dead on your feet.”

  I know what’s coming next, and I prepare myself for it.

  “And the only way you’re going to get a handle on your nightmares is if you discuss what happened that night.”

  “No.” I cross my arms over my chest, jutting my lips out in a pout.

  “What is it you’re so afraid of?” She leans forward on her elbows. “I’ve read the court transcripts. I know what happened—”

  “So why do you need me to say it?!”

  “Because I want to hear it from you. I want to understand exactly how it happened.”

  “I was arguing with my mom because she was a slut who paraded a line of foul-mouthed assholes through our house every fucking minute of the day and night, and I was so sick of it! I just wanted it to stop!”

  “So you stabbed her with intent? To make her stop?”

  “Yes!” I lie, throwing my hands into the air.

  She clasps her hands in front of her. “I don’t believe you. I know there’s more to it than that.”

  “Believe what you want,” I snap, standing. “I’m done for today. I want to return to my cell.”

  I sob into my pillow that night, and it feels as if there’s an endless pool of tears growing inside me that will never be exhausted. My feelings when it comes to Mom are so conflicted. I hated her, but I loved her, and I hated that I loved her.

  She wasn’t always a bad mom.

  When I was younger, when my daddy was still alive, she used to adore me, and I was as happy as little girls should be. It all changed after Daddy was killed in action. I know now she was depressed and grieving, but I didn’t understand that as a kid. It felt like abandonment. And after she met my jerk of a stepfather, she completely changed.

  I can see now how it’s all his fault.

  He preyed on a vulnerable woman.

  Got her addicted to drugs and started pimping her out.

  I hated Mom for being so weak, and I never had a kind word for her, but she was too heartbroken to fight for herself or me. I hate that she died thinking I thought the worst of her.

  I can’t take any of it back now, and I wish I could. Because she deserved my love and my understanding. My support. Maybe if I’d taken the time to look behind my hurt and my anger, I’d have seen the truth.

  She’s a victim as much as I am.

  And she paid the ultimate price with her life.

  I vented and raged at the wrong person.

  My stepfather is the one who deserves all my anger. He ruined my mom’s life, and now I’m letting him ruin mine.

  I want to make this right.

  For Mom and for me.

  But I’m terrified that in trying to make it right I may only make it a thousand times worse.

  CHAPTER 9

  Ryder

  It’s been one month since I last spoke to Zeta, and it’s feels like a lifetime. To say I’m missing her is a complete fucking understatement. I’ve never known loss quite like this. Every day, I’m tempted to throw caution to the wind. To say the hell with it and beg for her forgiveness. But then I remember her ashen face on the floor, and I’m reminded of why I’m doing this.

  Associating with me will only get her hurt. This way, I won’t have the chance to ruin her life, and I can keep both Lopez and Valeria off her back. It hasn’t been easy, and the lies I’ve told have stuck in my throat as I’m saying them, but if it keeps her safe, then I’ll repeat them as often as I need to.

  Doesn’t mean I don’t regret it or wish things were different because I do.

  “Still can’t believe she’s got the clap,” Lopez mutters, looking forlorn, as he watches Zeta jog around the yard.

  “Tell me about it. It sucks,” I agree, keeping the lie alive.

  “At least you found out before she gave it to you,” Valeria says, cutting into our conversation. “And if you’re lonely, sugar, I can help take the ache away.” She runs her hand up my chest, and I puke a little in my mouth.

  Lopez glowers at her, snatching her hand away from me. “Like hell you will.” He slaps her butt. “This ass is mine.” He grabs her crotch. “This pussy is mine.”

  He seems to have forgotten Officer Watson in his little assessment. He made a deal with him last year that is still in play. If Watson leaves the laundry room unlocked and distracts the other guards while Lopez and Valeria are fucking in there, then he gets a ride or a blowjob for his efforts.

  Valeria swats Lopez away. “You were the one who said we weren’t exclusive.”

  Lopez hauls her into his chest. “That only applies to me. You’re not allowed to fuck around.”

  He’s a fucking dog, but I’ve got to hand it to him—he sure knows how to wind her up.

  She wriggles against his chest, and steam is practically billowing out of her ears as she tries to break free of his hold. “You fucking asshole. I’m done with this. Done with you.”

  “You’ll be done when I say you’re done.” Popping the button on her shorts, he slides his hand into her panties, and thirty seconds later, she’s panting and squirming against him. I look away, not wanting to witness him fingering the fuck out of her in broad daylight.

  He’s lucky he has Watson on his side, or he’d never get away with half the shit he pulls. The moans and cries coming out of her mouth sour my stomach, and I wish I could walk away. “And, if I want to fuck other girls, I’ll fuck other girls,” he adds, a couple minutes later, plonking his butt down on the bench beside me as Valeria cries out in a fit of rage.

  Her heavy breathing sputters out, and it’s clear he didn’t let her finish as a form of punishment for daring to challenge him. She stands in front of him like a time bomb ready to explode. “I fucking despise you. Go screw the disease-ridden bitch, and see if I care.” She storms off, dragging the other girls with her, as Lopez chuckles.

  “If you’re no longer—” Torres doesn’t get to say any more than that.

  “No!” Lopez snarls. “V’s off-limits.”

  “Ah, come on, man. That’s hardly fair,” Kelly cuts in, like the brainless dimwit he is. “Pussy’s in limited supply around here. If you don’t want to fuck her anymore at least let one
of us.”

  “Are you totally fucking braindead?” Lopez sneers, rising to his feet.

  I stand, ready to intervene when some innate sense drags my gaze to the far end of the yard, just in time to watch Valeria kick her leg out as Zeta runs past. Zeta trips over, falling face-first toward the ground. I’m already running before my legs have registered the movement. I watch, aghast, as Zeta faceplants the asphalt with nothing to cushion her fall.

  Powell blows her whistle, and I spot her running toward Zeta out of the corner of my eye. I reach her first though. She’s curled onto her side on the ground, whimpering and rocking gently as she cradles her face in her hands. Blood trickles through the gaps in her fingers, causing my heart to stutter.

  “Zeta.” I drop to my knees as déjà vu hits me hard. “Let me see.” I place my hand over one of hers, gently unfurling her fingers.

  “Get away from me,” she cries.

  “Let me through, Ryder,” Powell demands, crouching down beside me.

  Reluctantly, I step aside. Powell helps her sit up, and my stomach twists into knots when I see the state of Zeta’s face. Blood pumps out of her nose, and it’s clearly swollen—it might even be broken. Cuts and scrapes cover her beautiful face, and blood drips down her chin, soaking her white polo top.

  “Oh, dear. Look what a mess you made of your pretty face,” Valeria taunts.

  I’m all up in her face before she notices. “Shut your mouth, you stupid bitch!”

  “Ryder!” Powell sends me a cautionary look as she helps Zeta to stand. “Stand down.”

  “It was her fault.” I jab my finger into Valeria’s chest. “She deliberately tripped Zeta up.”

  “It was an accident, jerk face,” Valeria spits, keeping up the pretense.

  “Don’t make it any worse for yourself, girl.” Powell eyeballs her. “I saw the whole thing go down.”

  Price arrives then, grabbing hold of Valeria’s elbow. “Time for a little solitary confinement.”