Ruin My Life (Mangled Masterpieces #1)

18. Win

18

Win

I ’ve entered a level of hell customized specifically for me. It’s decked out with every kind of liquor imaginable, questionable vape pens boasting fruity scents and dark corners where I’ve counted a minimum of five drug deals. But even though my hands are shaking uncontrollably and my mouth is watering for a hit or a bottle of something, my vices aren’t the main attraction at this theme park of torture.

Hands that aren’t mine slide up the smooth, toned expanse of Remy’s chest. Fingers toy with the buttons of his shirt as someone else's thigh slots between—

Nope.

I can’t stand here, strangling a bottle of water, watching someone rub all over him.

Whispers in my mind slice through the music.

One drink will take the edge off. He’s made it clear he doesn’t want your broken, pathetic, miserable ass. You’re not worthy of him anyway. Too damaged. Too heavy. Too traumatized. If you bump a line, you’ll forget you have nothing to offer but baggage —

“There you are!” Andrea’s friend shrieks.

Yep, I’m definitely in hell.

She giggles and taps her martini glass to my water. “Cheers!”

The guy with Remy wraps a muscled arm around his waist. I’ll give it to the fucker, he’s gorgeous— more attractive than the dealer I let use me in exchange for drugs.Crazy how much can change in such a short period of time. I’ve gone from fucked up on everything imaginable to chugging bottles of water while trying not to have a panic attack.

Fucking thriving .

“Why do you look like you’re about to cry?” Blondie asks.

Because I am.

The relationship I have with myself has never been a healthy one. For a time, I thought I could smother the voice in my head with drugs or booze until it eventually died. But as soon as the buzz wore off, that voice returned to full volume. So I’d try something stronger. And when one substance couldn’t drown it out on its own anymore, I mixed them. The cycle wrestled me into a deadly chokehold, promising an early grave.

I can’t deny that the idea of ending it all sounded like relief.

One drink. You can’t survive this without something.

“You wanna dance?”

I look down at this five-foot-nothing girl with doe eyes. She flings an arm in the direction of Remy and the lucky bastard grinding against him.

“You keep watching the dance floor,” she insists, “So I figured you were waiting for someone to ask you.”

She may not be a man, but she’s got balls .

I sigh, “I’m gay.”

“Cool.” She shrugs. “So are we dancing or not?”

I blink at her. She rolls her eyes and grabs my wrist, hauling me along with surprising strength.

I dig my heels in as she angles for Remy.

She whips around, brows pinched.

I shake my head. “Not by him.”

The look she gives me confuses me more.

“Isn’t that the point?”

Maybe she misheard me over the music. This chick has to be plastered by now.

“He’s with someone.”

“And? You want him, right?”

Point for Blondie.

“It doesn’t matter,” I protest as the song switches to a slow, seductive beat.

“Andrea said you’d be a stubborn pain in the ass,” she grumbles and yanks me again. Where the fuck is this girl hiding these muscles?

Speaking of the deviant who’s responsible for this shitshow…

“Where is Andrea?”

Blondie waves at the mass of writhing bodies. “She’s busy with some dudes, ok? Now can you stop stalling and let me work my magic?”

Since stepping into this place, I’ve been on the verge of relapse until this pushy blonde decided I was worth rescuing.

Deflating, I nod.

A megawatt smile stretches across her face. She bounces on the balls of her feet, spinning around to drag me toward Remy—

Who’s glaring at her.

I bite my lip.

Two points for Blondie.

“Sully!” She squeals, “Look who finally agreed to have some fun!”

Hazel eyes flick between us, confused and irritated. The guy he’s been dancing with notices Remy is now stiff as a board and turns to discover the reason. Immediately, he shoots daggers at me.But I don’t give a fuck because I have my sunshine boy’s attention and I’m not wasting it. I smirk at his failing attempts to hide his disdain.

“You hate dancing,” Remy yells over the music.

I pretend I can’t hear him and lean forward. “What?”

He wrinkles his nose. Elbowing his dance partner aside, he yells again, “You. Hate. Dancing! And seriously? Melody?”

I cup my ear. “You want to dance with me?”

Oh, that pisses him off. My grin widens.

My new bestie, Melody, is already chatting up Remy’s neglected buddy.

A hundred fucking points for Blondie.

I hook a finger through the belt loop on Remy’s hip and tug him closer. He slams a hand on my chest.

I’m trying really hard not to moan.

“I know what you’re doing,” he growls, the pungent, almost metallic scent of liquor on his breath.

He’s wasted .

Circling my thumb on the waistband of his jeans, I hold his furious, glazed stare.

“And what’s that?”

His hand flexes against my sternum, the blunt ends of his fingers digging in.

“Marking me.”

I track a bead of sweat disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt, skimming a finger across his Adam’s apple. It bobs.

In his ear, I murmur, “This isn’t marking, baby, but I’m more than willing to cover you in hickies and bites so the whole world knows you’re mine.”

He scoffs, regaining his space, but a gorgeous flush has bloomed on his cheeks. “I’m not yours. ”

“You were once.” I stare directly into those golden green eyes. “You will be again.”

I don’t know what I expected but it wasn’t for him to rip away from me and shove through drunk partiers toward the exit.

“Fucking fuck,” I mutter and chase him into the humid night; the club music dampens the moment I’m outside. Remy races for the parking lot, stumbling off the sidewalk—

A car horn blares.

I catch his arm. “Jesus, Remy, what the fuck?”

He spins around, wet eyes spilling over and a snarl on his lips. “You don’t have the right!”

He’s got me there.

I’ll let him scream at me all night, but I need to get him home and he’s not cooperating. Logic has left his beautiful head; he’s upset and drunk and about to jump in front of another damn car. I grasp his hand as he wriggles like a worm.

“Let go of me!”

“Baby, you’re gonna get hit—”

He shoves me. “No, you don’t get to call me that,” he whimpers, head shaking back and forth, over and over. “You had me. You fucking had me, Win, and you— you fucking left me.”

His choked sobs are bullets riddling my body, but I take them, one after another because he needs to say them.

“I didn’t want to.”

He grips his hair by the roots. “Stop, please, just fucking stop, I’m begging you.”

I approach him like a cornered animal. “Alright, just let me get you home safe.”

His face contorts in anguish. “I’m the worst person.”

“What?” I ask, caught off guard by the sudden switch as I gently guide him off the sidewalk toward the Rover. “No, you’re not—”

He jerks away again. Christ, I need to leash him.

“I am!” he yells, arms thrown wide. “You’re in recovery and here you are taking care of my drunk ass. You know what’s worse? I thought it’d be too much and you’d leave, but you didn’t so I kept drinking because being around you hurts too fucking much.”

I’m bleeding out.

Rocks scrape my throat raw.

“I know.”

His back hits the trunk of the SUV and he slumps. Cautiously, I touch his shoulder, nudging him to the passenger side and open the door for him. He sways before plopping into the seat. I try to buckle him in, but he swats me away.

Once I’m behind the wheel, I ask, “How much did you drink?”

“Too much, obviously,” he scoffs, kicking a boot up on the glovebox. “My medication makes me a lightweight.”

I want to hug him and strangle him simultaneously.

“That’s fucking dangerous, Remy.”

He flips me off like a twelve-year-old.

“Did you even eat the dinner I left you?”

“I don’t want your food,” he huffs.

I grind my teeth.

He’s a mess.

And I’m the reason.

Remy plays with the radio, sniffling and muttering to himself the entire way while I struggle to suppress burning tears. By the time I park in front of his apartment, he’s dozing off.

Circling the car, I ease the door open. He sleepily blinks at me like he can’t figure out if I’m real or not. I extend a hand to him.

He grimaces, pushing me away to weave clumsily upstairs, clinging to the railing with me right behind him. He misses the top step—

My arm bands around his waist.

“Careful. ”

“Fuck you.”

I pinch my lips.

It takes him five whole minutes to find the key (he only has three but he won't let me touch them) and unlock the apartment. I’m on his heels, over the threshold so he can't slam the door in my face.

My steps falter.

He cleaned.

The under-cabinet lights cast a soothing glow over the open-concept space. The kitchen counter is clear of clutter and a candle sits in front of the sink beside an orange prescription bottle. Even the blankets on his couch are folded, a neat stack of psychology textbooks resting beside his laptop on the coffee table.

From his bedroom, Mitz releases an excited meow in greeting. Remy drops to his knees in the center of the apartment as she trots to him. He scoops her up, burying his face in her fur.

“Why do you live by yourself?” I ask, opening the refrigerator and grabbing the unopened box of Indian food.

“Because I’m tired of people.”

I start the microwave. “But you used to hate being alone.”

He pauses. I glance over my shoulder to find him flat on his back, staring at the ceiling as Mitz makes biscuits on his stomach.

“At least if I’m alone, I don’t have to pretend I’m fine.”

The microwave beeps.

Bracing myself on the counter, I force an inhale through my nose.

Hold it.

Release .

Removing the food, I approach him and squat to his level.

“Eat. ”

He rolls his head to glare at me.

“No.”

I set the food down and Mitz leaps off to investigate.

His eyelids droop.

“I hate that you’re here.”

I sigh, “Yeah, I know.”

But he rambles on like he didn’t hear me. “Because as soon as you leave, I’ll miss you.”

He’s slowly murdering me.

Tears leak from the corners of his eyes. “I missed you so fucking much. I hated myself for it— still do. Now you’re back and it hurts more than when you were just a memory because I don’t know you anymore.”

I can’t breathe around the gaping wound in my chest.

Silence descends.

His breathing slows.

I brush a lock of hair from his forehead. His eyelids flutter.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

He allows me to drag his deadweight to the bedroom which is decorated in shades of navy and grey; a few framed scenic shots of his favorite hidden beach spots line the walls. He collapses in bed with a groan, curling on his side as Mitz hops onto the pillow.

I perch on the edge of the bed and watch him drift off.

“I missed you too,” I whisper. “So much it drove me to madness.” My eyes sting, emotion clogging my throat as I run my fingers through his tousled brown waves. “I meant what I said. I didn’t want to leave you. It was like ripping my heart out.” I stand on unstable legs. “I couldn’t stay, and I want to tell you why but I’m afraid. So fucking afraid… and as much as I want you to know who I am now, I won’t burden you unless you ask.”

A tiny line forms between his brows while the rest of his features slacken. I’m shattering as I brush my lips over his forehead. Soft skin and the scent of his shampoo smother me in a wave of nostalgia. A past I’m not able to relive. A present I’m forced to endure. A future I'm not allowed to share.

"Ask me, baby,” I choke, “Ask why I broke our promise.”

But he doesn’t because he’s fast asleep.