Page 45 of Heavy
“Get up!” one of his friends says as I grab hold of the bar and pull myself to my feet.
Sucking in a deep breath, I blink a few times to settle the room around me.
“I should’ve fucked your ass and then your mouth… put shit right where it belongs,cunt.” I lean in and slam my fist into Samantha’s brother’s nose. He stumbles, and in come his friends.
Being drunk during a brawl is not ideal, because I feel like I’m in a broken movie reel. One moment I’m landing a punch, and in a blink I’m hanging over the bar with someone smashing a bottle across my head.
I blink, and I’ve got one of them pinned to the ground, blood pooling from an open gash in my arm. The next, I’m fighting to get up when a wooden chair is smashed against my shoulder.
Suddenly a scream pierces my eardrum, and I shake my head, trying to clear it. The world spins between twos and threes before finally settling on a single image. What I see is straight out of my nightmares.
A broken beer glass that had been shattered now lays embedded into Samantha’s brother’s neck. I’m straddling his waist, breathing erratic, as he grabs at it and attempts to pull it out. Blood from the point of impact gushes out, and he gurgles something that I can’t quite understand.
I blink again and again.
I can’t go back.
Releasing a breath, watching his eyes slowly fade into darkness, heat builds up in my nose. A weight I’ve come to know too well pulls heavily on my shoulders.
I’m going to go back.
I’m sorry, Mom… Hopefully I’ll be seeing you soon.
The sound of the shower pulls me from my fucked-up memory, and when people say “I remember like it was yesterday”’ I understand it. It was so vivid, I swear it was happening in the present and I wasn’t dreaming. Last night at the bar really felt too familiar. I didn’t even make that connection until I was driving home.
Someone had shot off a gun which scattered the crowd. The guys who’d touched Calista didn’t stick around in the parking lot, and despite the hit to my head, I managed to drive the three miles back to the cabin—wobbly but in one piece.
After ordering Cal to eat and go back to sleep this morning, I crashed into bed and passed out. I should’ve taken something, maybe eaten or drunk some water, but all I needed was to lie down.
The sun is high above the cabin, but its orange rays still spill into the room. I can’t help but wonder why Cal is taking a shower in the middle of the day.
Throwing the sheet off, I climb out of bed and stretch my arms high above my head, nearly touching the ceiling. I drop them immediately when a sharp pain shoots through my right rib, vibrating through my spine. I move one hand to it, poking around. Nothing’s broken, just bruised.
I groan and look at the bathroom door as the water turns off. I’m curious if she was smart enough to—
“Fuck!” she whisper-shouts, and I get the answer to my unasked question. “Why doesn’t he have multiple damn towels in here?” There isn’t a linen closet in there, what the hell does she expect?
My towel is hanging over the shower, and I wonder if she’ll use it. I step closer, leaning against the wall beside the door and close my eyes as I listen to her.
There’s some shuffling, followed by the sound of cloth being dragged. I’m pretty sure she sniffs the towel, though she could just be breathing.
“Why does he smell so good…” Nope, she definitely sniffed my towel. When she groans, I can't help but smile.
Weirdo.
I hear her footsteps approaching the door, so I square myself to face it just as it opens inward. The sheer terror on her face makes my cock come to life. Then she lets out a loud, unfiltered scream. When she tries to slam the door shut, my foot catches it, keeping it propped wide.
As she registers that it’s me, she places a hand over her chest and closes her eyes, breathing in slowly to steady herself.
I give her a moment, and once she’s centered herself, her face morphs to anger. “Why the fuck are you just standing here in the doorway?! You scared the living hell out of me!”
Her eyes slowly shift from mine, down to my bare chest. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, holding it there as she hums softly.
“Heard you talking to yourself,” I say, leaning against the doorframe, blocking her from leaving. “Is that my towel?”
We need to discuss last night, but when we are both fully clothed. Her drinking like that is going to get her in trouble, and I won’t always be there to save her ass.
She turns a shade of pink, like a dusty rose—exactly the color of her lipstick the night of the dinner with her mom. It complements her lime green eyes perfectly. I won’t lie, I enjoy seeing it happen. Embarrassing her is going to constitute half my personality while I’m here in this cabin.
