Chapter 24 Shane
SHANE
The first thing I’m aware of is the dull pounding in my head that starts at the base of my skull and radiates out with every beat of my heart. The next is how dry my mouth and lips are.
With more effort than it should take, I open my eyes. Dim light floods my blurry vision, and it feels like my eyelids are made of sandpaper as I blink a few times to try and clear not just my vision, but also the heavy haze of confusion surrounding me.
Little snippets of memories come flooding back to me as I try to piece together what happened last night.
I remember pregaming in Paxton’s room and going to The Crypt, but not a lot after that, and the bits and pieces that are coming back to me make zero sense.
Why am I picturing a cartoon bunny holding a giant meat cleaver like some sort of serial killer? And why do I keep seeing the female mains from the Archie comics twirling butterfly knives like they’re batons?
Slowly, I roll onto my back and take stock of my body.
My head is pounding, and my stomach is queasy, but other than some wicked dry mouth and crazy dry eyes, I feel okay.
As far as I can tell, I’m not hurt at all, and I’m alone in my bed and still wearing my underwear, so I probably didn’t get up to anything beyond than getting fucked up and crawling into bed so I could pass out.
But how did I get back to the house? There’s no way I could have walked home, not if I was blackout drunk. Did someone drive me? That would explain the vague memory of a black car that keeps popping into my head, but it doesn’t explain why I’m seeing the car in a secluded lot surrounded by trees.
Whatever. It’s probably not an actual memory, and my brain is just trying to fill in the blanks. I’m sure someone gave me a lift back, and I’m just making shit up because I don’t remember what really happened.
My head protests as I roll it to the side to check my bedside table, and I’m surprised to see my phone plugged in.
That’s weird. I barely remember to plug it in on a regular night.
Moving slowly to make sure I don’t make my head or stomach worse, I push myself up into a sitting position and look around my room.
The only thing that’s even remotely out of place is the way my clothes are draped over my desk chair and not piled on the seat like they usually are after a night of drinking, but that’s it.
The queasy feeling in my stomach settles a bit, and I carefully lean over and unplug my phone so I can check the time and my notifications.
“Fuck,” I mutter when I see my lock screen.
At least drunk me remembered to put my phone on silent last night, because I have half a dozen texts and three missed calls.
The texts are from guys in the house, but the calls are from my mom, and knowing her, she’ll keep trying until I answer.
Hastily, I open my texts so I can let her know everything is fine.
Shane: I just saw your calls
Shane: I was out with the guys last night and it’s a bit of a rough morning
Shane: is it okay if I call you back when I’m a little more awake?
She reads the texts before I have a chance to exit out of the thread, and a little bubble pops up as she answers.
Mom: Of course. Thanks for letting me know everything is okay. You know how I am lol
Mom: I’m glad you had fun
I shake my head at the line of emoji she added to the end of her message. She only does that when she’s having a good day, and some of the hollow feeling in my stomach lessens.
I send back a smiling face and the heart emoji, then flip to my text thread with Paxton.
He’s sent me a couple of videos. Hopefully those will help fill in some of the blanks from the night.
The thumbnails for them are too dark to make out any details about what might be on them, and I click on the first one.
“What the fuck?” I ask my phone as the video starts playing.
It’s shaky and dark, and the angle is off, so I can’t see anyone’s faces, but there’s no mistaking what’s on my screen.
Jace is standing beside me as we face off with someone, but that’s not the part I can’t look away from.
That would be how Jace is casually spinning a butterfly knife like some sort of serial killer.
My face flushes hot as memories from the night I got up close and personal with that knife flood back to me, but there’s something about the video that’s also triggering a different memory.
“I know it’s going to be a good night when I get a chance to show Betty off.”
Did I have a conversation with Jace about his knife being named Betty? That explains the weird visual I got of the comic book character playing with butterfly knives.
The video stops playing, and I click on the next one.
It’s even darker, and just as shaky, but this one seems to have been taken through a window and zoomed in, so the image is fuzzy and disjointed as the camera tries to keep focused in the dark lighting.
It’s harder to make out exactly who’s in this video, but there’s no question that the guy on his knees in the overgrown grass is me, and the guy beating the hell out of three other guys who are attempting to fight him is Jace.
I can’t see his face or any discerning features through the grainy video, but I recognize the way he moves, and the casually cool way he flicks his hair back from his face as he beats them into submission is a move I’ve seen him do countless times over the years.
I have no idea who he’s fighting, or why, and zero clue why I’m out there with him. I wait for a memory fragment to hit to help me figure out what the fuck happened last night, but there’s nothing.
The video stops, and I play it again, my focus zeroing in on Jace and how easily he takes on the three assailants.
The way he moves is strangely beautiful and almost hypnotic. There’s no hesitation on his part, and every hit, block, and sweep of his foot is just as sure and confident as he is.
But why is he fighting them? And who the hell are they? Did he piss them off, and I just happened to be there, or is he fighting them on my behalf?
Blowing out a frustrated breath at the gaping holes in my memories, I play the last video.
This one was taken through the same back window and is just as dark and shaky as the others, but it’s not as zoomed in, so it’s less grainy.
It starts with Jace kneeling in front of me. I can’t tell if we’re talking because of the quality of the video, but I can clearly see when he puts me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and stands in a fluid motion.
I watch, dumbfounded, as he carries me toward the trees and disappears into the woods like he doesn’t even notice my extra weight.
The video ends, and I scan the texts under it.
Paxton: what the fuck????
Paxton: are you okay?
Shane: I’m fine
Shane: just woke up
Shane: and I have no idea what the fuck happened. I don’t remember any of that
Thankfully Paxton doesn’t seem to be near his phone, and instead of scrolling through the other texts I got last night, I toss my phone on the bed beside me and slowly swing my legs over the side.
I need to get some water and take a piss.
I’m halfway to my bathroom when there’s a sharp knock on my door.
“Yeah?” I call, then clear my throat when my voice cracks like I’m going through puberty all over again.
“It’s me.”
Jace?
I stare at the door for a few beats, then stumble over to it.
“’Sup,” he greets when I swing it open.
“You forgot the fuck nugget,” I say reflexively, and my cheeks and neck flush hot for some stupid reason. “Or whatever other fun nickname you usually tack onto greetings.”
He grins. “Didn’t forget, but I figured I’d be nice since you probably feel like shit right now.”
“And when has that ever stopped you?” I lean against the doorframe as the world around me spins.
“Never. But there’s a first time for everything.” He holds out a bottle filled with a cloudy liquid. There’s no label on it or any brand names to indicate what it is.
I eye the bottle warily.
“It’ll help with the hangover.” He shakes it at me. “I promise it’s not poison. It’s just an electrolyte mix.”
I flick my gaze between him and the bottle a few times.
“Here.” He uncaps it and puts the rim to his lips so he can take a few swallows. “Now do you believe it’s not poison?” he asks and screws the cap back on.
I take it from him, and the little jolt of electricity that zips up my arm when our fingers brush is so strong I barely manage to stop from jerking away.
“So,” I start awkwardly. “About last night…”
“Last night?” He asks innocently.
“I don’t remember much of what happened. Or really anything after a certain point. But I…”
“You…” he prompts when I fall silent.
“Never mind.” I clutch the bottle to my chest and offer him a weak smile. “Thanks for this.”
Now isn’t the time for this conversation. Not when I’m barely functional and standing in my doorway in my underwear.
“No worries.” He shoots me a little smirk. “I called down to the dining hall, and they’re going to send something up in about thirty minutes. Is that enough time, or do you want me to tell them to wait a bit longer?”
He ordered food for me on top of bringing me an electrolyte drink? What universe did I wake up in?
“That’s fine,” I say quickly when I realize that I’m staring at him like a moron with my mouth hanging open. “Thanks,” I say again.
“No worries,” he repeats, and my cheeks and neck flush warm for an entirely different reason when he drags his heated gaze up and down my body.
“Good talk,” he says in a sultry voice that makes my stomach clench and gives me one more hot look that sets my blood on fire.
Dazedly, I close the door and stare at the dark wood for a few beats.
Did I wake up in a parallel universe? Because nothing that’s happened since I opened my eyes makes any sense at all.