Page 10 of Heavy
Taking the towel, I turn and make my way back down the hall. “Be gone in the morning, doll face, or I’ll call Daddy to come pick your ass up.”
She doesn’t say a word and I slip through the master bedroom door, slamming it shut behind me. The whiskey in my hand feels heavier as I approach the bed. I lift the bottle to my lips and fall back onto the mattress.
I’m out again. Not free, but I’m out. Let’s see how long this fleeting sense of freedom lasts and whether it can outrun my attempts to drink myself into an early grave.
5
Calista
Isleptonthecouch; that was after I placed the rocking chair in the doorway to the hall. As if that would stop a man like him from getting to me. I think because of that I didn’t sleep very well.
As the sun begins to creep through the windows, I start to wake, albeit groggily. It takes me a few groans and moans to fully situate myself in the moment. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I hunch over and bury my face in my hands. The events of the night before flash through my mind like a movie—albeit a scary one—but because I’m sick, I enjoy every second of it.
That man is a fucking gladiator. He must work out every day without fail because there’s no way his muscles don’t have muscles of their own. The nipple piercings, adorned with the same jewels I wear, caught my attention just as mine had caught his. Along with his defined ‘V’ that led straight to a ride I know would satisfy me to no end, I'm surprised I didn't start drooling.
When he had me pick up his towel, I seriously contemplated accidentally knocking my head against his cock. Though I kept my eyes closed like the scared bitch I was, I could still smell his musk mingled with cedar body wash.
I’ve not had sex in several months, and I’m a horny slut.
He exudes danger—no, he screams it. I have no doubt that his hand could easily wrap around my throat, and with just a simple squeeze, threaten my life.
I’m messed up. My good girl appearance is nothing but a façade. I crave the violence that comes with danger. It’s not entirely my fault, or at least I don’t think it is. I shouldn’t feel a rush of arousal at the thought of him stomping on me. But did I secretly hope he would place his bare foot on my shoulder and shove me down onto the towel last night?
Yup.
Did I hope he would have found me attractive enough and, like in those books Gene tells me about, come into the living room and fuck me while I was sleeping?
Yup.
I’m sick, just like they said I’d be. He probably has some disease.
I’m here for a reason and need to stay focused on it.
Knocking off the knitted blanket, I head into the kitchen. I know there’s a coffee machine in here. I just need to find it and pray to some god that it still works. Maybe I should pray to the one sleeping in the master bedroom.
After rummaging through half the cabinets, I finally locate it—dusty and forgotten. This will be the first thing I replace; I need my single-cup maker. If that makes me a snob, so be it. Pots of coffee go to waste, and I only drink one cup to avoid messing with my energy for the rest of the day.
As I scour the rest of the kitchen, my heart sinks. I find absolutely no coffee. I’d even drink the expired stuff if it came to that. I need it to get through the day and face—
“I swore I told you to be gone.”
My head snaps back and my shoulders stiffen. Swallowing, I slowly turn to face the man whose voice sounds like he’s summoning a thunderstorm.
The rocking chair has been moved aside, and I can’t help but feel a jolt of terror at how quietly he must have done it. He runs his hands up through his short black hair, rubbing the shaved sides, and when his piercing blue eyes meet mine, I notice faint red lines spreading into the whites. I’d assume he’s hungover, but as he strides toward me, he doesn’t stumble or bump into the counter.
“You can’t kick me out of my own house.” I’m not as aggressive as I was last night with my responses. He just surprised me, and I wasn’t as prepared as I thought I’d be for an encounter like that. “You should go.” I wish my voice carried more confidence, but it only echoes my vacillation.
“Call Eamon.” He invades my personal space, reaching past me to open the cabinets. We aren’t touching, but I can feel the heat radiating off him, sending a wave of unease through me. It’s like a warning, daring me to run before he burns me.
Ironic, really.
“How about—” My words cut off as he swings open the cabinet right at my head. Thankfully, I’m short enough to duck a bit and avoid getting smacked. That’s my cue to step back entirely. I know my expression is incredulous, but he just turns and gives me a bored look. “—introductions.”
He rolls his tongue across his front teeth, grabs a blue plastic cup without even glancing at it, and shoves it under the faucet. “No.”
“I’m Calista.” Fuck him, I’m not backing down.
Rolling his head away from me, he turns on the water and begins to fill up the cup, saying nothing.
