by Stacey Nash
Jerking my hands into the space between us, I shoved away from him, but Christian’s hold was too strong. It didn’t break. “Get your hands off me.”
He didn’t. He must have thought forcing me to hug him would make everything better.
“Let her go,” Savvy yelled, and Christian’s hold on me released slowly, reluctantly.
The jerk had held me on purpose, and my arm stung where his fingers had dug in. His gaze dropped to my chest again and without a second thought, my hand connected with his cheek in a ringing slap.
Christian reeled back then lunged forward, his hands gripping my arms again. “Livie,” he pleaded.
“Get your fucking hands off her.”
Logan.
Suddenly he was there, prying Christian’s fingers from my left arm.
A look of pure hatred came over Christian’s face, highlighted by my hand print shining on his left cheek. “Are you with him now?” My glance caught Logan’s, and Christian said, “You are.”
I’m not sure how it happened but somehow his fist slammed into Logan’s face and my man skidded backward a few feet. “Creep,” I growled, punching Christian in the chest. My other fist followed the first, and he was like a solid brick wall, but I kept pounding into him. “It’s none of your damn business who I’m with.”
Someone pulled me away, and I struggled to get free. But Logan was there, punching my ex in the face when I couldn’t and damn, Christian deserved it.
“Logan!” Dane’s voice boomed from behind me. He swooped in, pushing between the two guys with a hand on each of their shoulders.
But Christian shoved him away, and then neither one was paying Dane any attention. People crowded around. Logan hurled a fist that connected with Christian’s chin. And my ex bounced right back, socking Logan so hard I heard a crack. A circle had formed around them as everyone on the dance floor stopped to stare. Dane grabbed Logan by his shirt and yanked him back.
Christian took the second’s reprieve to make eye contact. “He’s not right for you, Olivia.”
The anchor on my arm fell away and I surged forward, flying at Christian in a Miss Piggy-style move. Two moments after my body slammed into his I was surrounded by iron-tight arms.
“Logan,” Dane growled. “With me. Now!”
“Bastard needs—”
“Right now, damn it.” Dane’s voice was too close to my ear and too loud. Savvy shrank as either her or I moved further away. I didn’t feel like I was moving, I felt like I was being held. I fought to get away, but my feet couldn’t find purchase. They were dangling in the air. Where did the ground go?
“Logan,” Dane warned, right in my ear.
They’d moved away and I couldn’t see a darn thing through the crowd.
“Time to leave.” A voice I didn’t know.
“Come on, Logan. Let it be … for Jordan,” Dane said, his voice vibrating through my back where he’d pinned me to him.
There was another loud crack, like a fist thunking into solid bone, and the unfamiliar voice snarled, “I’ll throw you all out if I have to.”
Must be a bouncer. I stopped fighting against Dane, and he growled, “For Christ’s sake, Logan, if not for Jordan then for Kayla.”
“Fuck,” Logan growled, and he sounded different; still angry, but different.
I don’t know if it was Dane’s tight grip on my middle or the tension of the fight, but I felt like I needed to vomit.
“Let me go,” I demanded, but Dane didn’t. He tucked me into his side and started walking. Everything spun and then we were outside. A strong arm tight around me, holding me up because my legs were like liquid. Abso-freaking-lutely useless.
“Get in the car,” Dane ordered and a door squeaked open. He dropped me onto the back seat and closed the door. Good lord, I was tired. Maybe if I just closed my eyes the sick feeling would disappear. Another door opened and closed.
“Logan?” I asked.
His arm curled around me while he reached for the seatbelt with his other hand and buckled me in. The car started, but how was it moving when Logan was beside me? It wasn’t the future; we didn’t have hover cars, yet. Didn’t matter. I collapsed against his shoulder and closed my eyes.
My arm shook. A gentle nudge at first then a little more fiercely. Groaning, I opened my eyes and the world spun. Whoa, not good. I snapped them shut again.
“Wake her up. We’re home.” Was that Dane? What was he doing?
The cushiness of the seat fell away from underneath me. The world really was spinning. Lurching almost. A warm firmness appeared under my cheek. Logan? I drew in a deep breath. Yep, Logan. Curling into him, I left myself drift off again.
They were shouting.
Everyone was shouting.
I forced my eyes open and Logan sat on the couch across from me. His ugly brown couch at his apartment. I tried to smile, but my mouth didn’t want to co-operate with my thoughts. There was blood on his face, all across his cheek which was red and swelling. He needed to ice it. I should grab him some from the freezer. As soon as I could make my tired legs work. Whatever made my thoughts connect with my actions wasn’t working. Good lord, I was drunk.
“You’re no better than Dad,” Jordan shouted.
A door slammed and I flinched. Not physically, but mentally. Maybe I only blinked. Logan reefed his shoe off and tossed it. A loud crash sounded then another as the other shoe followed.
“Need to go home,” I said, but my voice wouldn’t work loud enough.
“You two need to calm the hell down,” Dane said. “Put Olivia to bed, man, then get your shit together.”
The front door slammed.
The room continued spinning, but my eyes were too heavy to care.
****
My head pounded like the beat of a bass drum. Surely each thud slammed my tender head against concrete and my mouth, good lord, it felt as if something had curled up inside it and died, sucking all moisture out in the process. I groaned and pulled myself into a tighter ball. Bad idea. My stomach lurched violently at the movement.
An arm flopped over me and my eyes sprung open to a cream wall covered with music posters rather than the white painted cement render of my college room.
I was at Logan’s.
In his bed.
With him.
I’d stayed overnight.
And I’d slept.
My lungs burned. I’d stopped breathing or something. I gasped in a lungful of cold air and my eyes stung just as badly as my throat. This wasn’t happening, couldn’t be happening. I just couldn’t.
Logan would have seen everything.
So much for a quiet night with only one drink. I was such a Cadbury. Just a glass and a half and I was plastered. How the hell had I wound up here instead of at my place? If I was so drunk I couldn’t remember getting home then my little disorder no doubt would have reared its embarrassing head.
Who was I kidding all this time?
I couldn’t have a relationship. I couldn’t be with Logan if we couldn’t share the same bed. I was broken beyond repair and there was no way that would ever be okay.
I swung my legs around and sat up. My tummy felt like a roiling ocean. Ignore it. I grabbed my boots off the floor and tugged them on.
I couldn’t be here.
I couldn’t ever be here, and I sure as hell couldn’t turn around and see Logan’s face. The sight of him sleeping peacefully would be too much to bear. I hugged my arms around myself and the huge t-shirt that had somehow found its way onto me, then I tiptoed to the door. My dress was slung over the back of the couch and my purse lay on the coffee table. I snatched up both.
“You can’t do this to him again,” Jordan said. He must have been in the kitchen.
Holding my breath to stop the ache in my throat from exploding, I didn’t turn around to face him either. “I won’t.”
And I wouldn’t. This would be the last time I walked away from Logan, ever. Just like it would be the last time I was ever in this apart
ment. Logan deserved so much better than the issues I brought to the table.
As I pulled the front door closed behind me, and walked down the drive, the tears came. Unable to hold them back anymore, sobs tore from somewhere near my heart and with my dress in my hand, and still wearing my shoes from the night before, I took the walk of shame back to Oxley.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
There’s only so long you can stare at the same sentence before the words in it disconnect from one another, then those words start to lose all meaning.
We need to talk about last night.
Talk was an ambiguous word. It could mean that he wanted to have a two-way discussion, or more likely he had something even shorter than that text to say. In which case, he’d be the only one talking.
Yeah, those seven words scared the life out of me.
We: there was no we anymore.
Last night: it had happened, and there was no way I could make it unhappen.
Need to talk: I sure as hell didn’t want, let alone need, to talk about it. The only things that could be said would be words like, ‘I can’t see you anymore’ or 'What in the hell were you doing’ or ‘I should have believed those rumours’ or maybe even ‘You felt yourself up right beside me’.
People say masturbation isn’t a dirty thing; it’s natural, everybody does it, and it’s just a part of life. I couldn’t agree more. But when you have no control of over what you do to your own body and in the presence of whom, it sure as heck feels dirty. And right now, I felt dirtier than a prostitute straddling her third client of the night.
I didn’t want to talk about it. We were over and that’s all there was to it. I couldn’t be with someone with my condition. It just wouldn’t be fair to expect understanding. Expect sleeplessness. I needed to face the fact that I’d be alone forever. I’d sink everything I had into a career.
Cradling my phone in my hands, I stared at the screen for so long the words blurred. Again. He’d sent this message two hours ago—it had been almost three hours since I’d walked out, and I felt like my heart was bleeding. I hadn’t responded, because I couldn’t. How do you tell someone you cared about over text message that it’s over?
You didn’t.
That was the cowardly way out. Equal to walking out at six a.m. I wasn’t ready to face him yet. Heck, the way I’d been feeling last night, I was pretty sure that I loved him, and that only made this whole thing a billion times worse. I shouldn’t have let myself get into such a mess. I curled myself into a tight ball under the covers on my bed, and holding the phone to my chest, I cried.
Like the words, time blurred.
Sometime later there was a knock on my door. I’d been expecting it, but that didn’t make it any easier. I pulled my head under the covers as Logan bashed on the door and said my name. I wasn’t ready for his talk. I still didn’t know what to say. It stopped after a few minutes and a silent sob tore from my aching throat. Then my phone rang. I stuffed it under my pillow, but it was too late.
“I know you’re in there, Olivia, I can hear your phone. Please …” Something broke inside of me, right near where my heart lived. “Let me in.”
I covered my face with my hands and held my breath to keep everything inside of me. I couldn’t … I couldn’t look him in the eye and share that knowledge. I’d have to eventually, but not right now.
Logan stayed out there way longer than I thought he would. He didn’t knock again, but I knew he was there because I could hear him talking. At first I thought he was speaking with someone in the hallway, but when I crept to the door and slid down against it, I could hear his words more clearly. They were like a mantra.
“Please … stop running.”
I turned around and pressed my cheek against the cold wood, my palm right beside it, and I didn’t try to stop my heart from tearing.
****
Maybe it was a sick obsession or maybe it was a need to know for certain; a desperate plea that maybe, possibly, there was an iota of hope that I could be with Logan.
That I wasn’t really broken after all.
I twisted the computer around to point at my bed and opened up the program Google had directed me to for the job I wanted to carry out, then I clicked the appropriate buttons, switched off the lights and climbed into bed. My heart beat a nervous rhythm. There was so much relying on this single night.
That’s probably why sleep didn’t come easily.
I tossed and turned and tossed some more. I thought about Logan and about last night. How I was a coward for walking out on him while he slept. How I could have possibly gotten that drunk. There was the vile shot then the cocktail Logan gave me. The lemonade from Savvy must have been laced too. Heck, maybe I’d had more drinks than just those three. My memory was a little hazy after we started dancing, just flashes here and there, not a solid block from point A in time to point B. That somehow made me more nervous. I couldn’t even remember how I got to his house, or why I would have suggested going there instead of coming back here.
I sat up and yanked my hair back off my face, twisting it into a braid. Maybe a glass of water would help me to settle. I tiptoed out of my room and down the hall. It was late, but there were still doors open and lights on. Thankfully none I had to pass in order to reach the kitchenette. I filled my glass from the tap and made my way back to my room. Just as I reached for the door, I saw it.
A bunch of autumn leaves pinned to my door.
My heart constricted at the message he’d left me and I pulled the door closed behind me, switched the light off and crawled back into bed, my mind torturing me with happy images of Logan. The day he’d taken me to the waterfall, the afternoon at the lookout, the first time we’d made love. The stupid giant love heart I’d drawn in the autumn leaves. All the inconsequential hours spent doing absolutely nothing special. But that was just it. Time with Logan was never not special, and I was lucky to have stolen the little bit of precious time that I had.
He’d eventually left this afternoon. I felt terrible for not letting him in, but I couldn’t stand to see the look on his face when he told me what happened last night. What I’d done in his bed. Beside him.
I needed to stop thinking about him if I was going to make my mind sleep.
One hundred.
Ninety-nine.
Ninety-eight.
Ninety-seven.
Asking someone to love you when you kept them awake every night doing inappropriate things just wasn’t right.
Ninety-six.
Nor was it something I could ever do.
Ninety-five.
Ninety-four.
The countdown continued.
****
I woke up slowly, then with a sudden jolt as my mind kicked into gear and I remembered the webcam pointed at my bed. I shot up and pressed stop, then hovered over the program, staring at the frozen image of me reaching for the mouse. The frigid air bit through my thin PJs and my skin broke out in goose bumps. Why was it always so flipping freezing here? It only took another few seconds of hovering before I caved and dove back into the warmth of my bed. It was as if I were torn in two. Part of me was dying to watch the footage and see how the night had played out, but the other part was scared out of her mind of what she’d see.
I couldn’t hide in bed forever though. Or maybe I could. Maybe if I stayed here long enough, shoved my head deep under the covers, I’d wake up and it would have all been a bad dream. Or rather, a nightmare.
Not likely.
I hauled my butt out of bed along with the top blanket, and wrapped it around my shoulders, then with a resigned sigh, plonked myself in the swivel chair and clicked play. The night vision was kind of weird. Everything was in shades of grey and even though I was a shadow, I was clearly visible. The covers made me a mound though. Hopefully they wouldn’t make it too hard to see. In retrospect, I probably should have cranked up the heat and slept on top of them. With each passing minute of nothing but the dark shape that was me tossing and turning, the
anticipation made my empty tummy shiver and my legs bounce. I skipped through the first hour then sat and watched for about fifteen minutes. It was worse than reality TV.
Nothing happened, and I guess that was good.
I picked up my phone and the screen was black. Dead Flat. Sighing, I put it on to charge. Then, with the video still playing, I started moving about my day; shoving books into my bag together with my purse and a few pieces of fruit. I still felt like crap and didn’t want to face a day of classes, especially not Socio, but with each passing minute the image of me peacefully sleeping remained on-screen, and my mood felt a tad brighter. Maybe Logan and I weren’t doomed after all.
I picked up my brush and ran it through my long hair, untangling the knot—
I froze.
I was moving.
On-screen.
The covers almost … were they dancing? My heart dropped into my toes and I moved closer to the computer. The me on-screen had her head tipped back, her face away from the camera and her chin pointing upwards.Her back arched like a she couldn’t get enough. Sound came from the speakers, but it wasn’t clear enough to make out. I swallowed against a dry throat and turned the volume up.
Moaning. And not the kind you do when you’re in pain. With a shaking hand, I clicked stop and fell onto my bed.
It was true. All true.
The nightmare wouldn’t end.
I couldn’t wake up because this was my reality.
I touched myself when I slept, and my life had gone to crap because of it. There was no coming back. I wouldn’t be begging forgiveness from Logan.
It was over. For real.
Sometime later when my phone buzzed against the desk, I opened my eyes enough to stare at it until it faded to a black screen. Even after, I couldn’t drag my gaze away. Not until it buzzed again bringing the message on-screen to remind me I hadn’t seen it earlier. Time to turn that feature off. I didn’t need the second buzz. Heck, I didn’t want the first. I dragged myself out of bed and picked it up.
A text from Logan.
Don’t skip class because of me.
I couldn’t summon enough anything to care. I tapped on the text which took me to our message history. There were a string of texts from him to me. A lump jammed in my throat, but I was a glutton for punishment so I read them all.
