“Maybe you should’ve done another line,” Bryan laughs again. “You’re a little less insane when you’re high.”
Except, I am. Or I think I am.
“Not real. It’s not fucking real. Get a fucking grip, Maddox.” I whisper again, trying to ignore him and the fact the puddle is growing, and it hasturned thick and red. Like blood.
Shit!Why the hell is this happening again?
“Jesus Christ,” Bryan grunts, standing from the table. He walks over to me, grips me by the shirt, and pulls me through it. I know it’s not real now. I know there isn’t really blood on the floor. But I swear toGod I feel it slick under my feet, making me nauseous. He pushes me to his vacated chair with a huff. “Do whatever the hell it is you need to do to stop this shit. So we can leave this shit hole. Since you seem to be as trapped here as you were by whatever the hell you keep seeing on the floor.”
I drop my head in my hands. The urge to pull my hair out comes over me strong.
“These are shit,” he pushes the notebook to me.
My head throbs relentlessly. To the point of blinding pain. “I can’t write. I can barely fucking see.”
He pours me a drink and slides the envelopes to me. I imbibe in the poisons hoping they’ll work fast to stop my racing thoughts. A hundred thoughtscomeall at once. Reality and fantasy—or nightmares—blend together into one picture in my mind with all the colors running together.
I toss back another drink, stumbling my way to the bed. The room spins as I nearly collapse on top of my guitar. My stomach flips, the contents threatening to spill. I close my eyes, fighting back the bile, and wait for sleep to take me.
Never to ask why
Seven weeks ago
I slip out of Quinn’s room later that night. After sharing the dark and the dirty, we got dirty in the dark. But it’s just sex. It has to be. So sleepovers are out of the question.
Even if I want to stay.
I pull her door closed and make my way to the kitchen for something to drink and food. As I’m standing at the counter dressing my sandwich, the hairs on my neck stand on end. “You can stop playing boogeyman, you fucking creeper.”
“Aww, but your forced acknowledgment is more amusing,littlebrother,” he quips.
Even with my back turned, I couldsee the smirk on his face. “You’re annoying as hell, you know?”
“Yeah? Must be in our DNA.”
I turn to put the food and fixings back in the fridge. “You remind me of this pop song that played in your club. Something about why you so obsessed with me. Was that written about you? It feels like it was.”
“What are you doing, Maddox?”
“I’m trying to eat a sandwich.”
“Don’t pretend with me, Maddox. You know damn well what I’m asking. What are you doing with Quinn?”
“My memory is a little foggy. Maybe with a little play by play I might remember. But don’t worry that pissy little head of yours. The fuck up won’t break the princess. She knows it’s just sex.”
“Never called you a fuck up.”
“You didn’t have to. You see the magazines? I’m front-page news. Maddox Masters breaking hearts and destroying pussies worldwide. Good shit.”
“Done feeling sorry for yourself yet?”
“Just stating facts.”
He looks atme with an arched brow. He’s irritated, but he’s like a dog with a bone. “Like it or not, Maddox, I know you. I know all there is to know about you.”
My skin begins to crawl with his words. The panic from earlier threatens to reappear. I clench my jaw tightly in an effort to keep it contained. “You don’t know shit, Bastian. You only think you do because you’ve always had some lackey watching me.”
“Yeah, the memory must be bad if you forgot all our conversations. I don’t need lackeys to know you, only to keep tabs on your bullshit so I can keep you safe.”
