3. A Hell of a Kiss
A Hell of a Kiss
Isla
I'm so fucking selfish.
So god damn fucking selfish.
My best friends in the whole world have all found the happiness they've been searching for.
Bel has not one but two men who would burn this world down for her.
Charlie and Mike are having a baby, for Christ's sake.
While every ounce of my being wants to be happy for them, a voice in the back of my head screams that I don't get to have those things. I don't get or deserve happiness. I haven't found my person and my future because I'm not worthy. I'm just a broken person who left my purpose behind.
That's what my parents would say. I left behind the reason I was put on this earth, and because of that, I'll never find joy. Love. Because I fled from the future chosen for me, a virginal white wedding with someone suitable , now I'm cursed to walk this earth until I die alone.
If you were living the way God wanted, you wouldn't be unhappy.
I can see the light inside of you has dimmed. You might think you're happy, but true joy can only be found living within the path.
Mother's voice radiates throughout my skull, the only coherent thing when the room around me spins, and I clutch onto the desk before me. Whether I'm happy or sad, up or down, her deceptively gentle voice whispers in my ear in the dark of night that I'm wrong.
Bel and her boys went to bed hours ago, but I just can't. The only time the world spins faster than when my eyes are open is when they're closed. I knew I should have stopped drinking hours ago, but I just couldn't.
Feeling fucking sorry for myself. Again. Instead of being happy for my favorite people in the whole world. Not only am I ruining my own night, but I'm liable to ruin theirs, too.
The tears haven't stopped flowing since I collapsed on the floor of this room. My room. Bel's men are so devoted to her, so god fucking damn obsessed with her, that they built me my own room in their home, dedicated space just for me. And I'm going to ruin it by thinking about myself.
Between dinner last night, and presents today, I gave every ounce I had to feign happiness for them.
And I am happy for them all. If I had to choose between their happiness and my own, I would choose theirs every single time. But in the quiet of the night, when no one else has to bear witness, I can fall apart and be sad for me.
I'll never have those things. A family. Someone who would pick me out of every living soul in the world. I'm not worthy of someone who could devote themselves to me that way.
I've tried. Jesus fuck, how I've tried. Men. Women. Everything in between. I've loved them all. They've just never loved me back. Because the problem is never them. It's always me. I'm too much. Too messy, too needy, not needy enough, too uptight, too wild, too loud, too tame. Everything I am is always wrong.
Every mask I've worn to win someone's love slips eventually, and they see the truth underneath. I'm nothing. No one.
Stumbling into the bed to try to fall asleep again, this is the thought that plagues me the most:
I deserve no one because I am no one.
I have no fucking clue what I was so sad about.
This is great.
I haven't stopped moving in three days other than to sleep.
Drinking, shopping, strip walking, clubbing, after-partying, repeat.
Five days. We've been partying and playing and adventuring for five days.
Fritz is the only person who doesn't seem tired of it at all. Caspian wanted to check out days ago, and Bel wasn't far behind him. I know they just wanted to go home and fuck, which, like, fine, I get it. But they have a literal eternity to do that. And I only have right now.
So Fritz and I have dragged them out even when they've groaned and complained. Fritz understands the need to live in the now and hide from the thoughts that might make themselves known if you stop moving for too long.
Plus, "We're in Las Vegas and its New Years Eve! What else would we do?"
My bestie's man backs me up immediately, dragging the two sourpusses out the door behind us, already having a plan for the night lined up.
It's my last night in town, and I'm just not willing to think about what that means for tomorrow. I can't, or this night will be over too quickly and devolve into a sobbing, drunken slumber party on their ungodly massive couch with a pint of ice cream. But that's not fucking happening. So with all the energy I've got left, I drag my best friend by the hand, shouting, "We've got one more night to fucking rage, so let's go!"
Fritz supplied another limo and I question again what kind of strings someone like him could pull in a city like this. A fucking limo on the craziest night of the year, a stack full of VIP tickets— a literal fucking stack. We had Bel close her eyes and pick one at random, landing us at one of the biggest parties of the New Year with our own VIP table.
All Fritz had to do was make a quick phone call, and we were assured all the space and liquor we could need for a night of debauchery and fun.
One minute, we're standing in their living room, and the next, we're in the limo, already pouring drinks. The moment of clarity hits me like a train, and I realize just how desperately I need to slow down. It's too early in the night to be missing time.
I pour some dark liquid, which I think is whiskey, into each of our cups, watching without any thought attached to the action as I swallow mine down and pour another. Wasn't I supposed to be slowing down? Okay. Starting now.
Bel's too-perceptive eyes meet mine, and I subtly nod my head. I'm fine I try to communicate. She knows me well enough to know that I'm not, but at this moment, there's nothing she can do except play pretend with me for a little while longer.
Another fuzzy time jump brings us to the entrance of the club. I may have switched to water for the rest of the drive, but there's no way to be sure now. Something niggles at the edges of my existence, something that belongs but doesn't. I find myself searching for the mystery energy, the whisper of otherness.
My eyes drift to Caspian's, and I remember that day weeks ago when it turned out that he was tailing us and keeping close to Bel. I shake off the discomfort, rationalizing that I must just be feeling the awareness of being close to two demons at all times now. That awareness, the feeling that someone is watching me, is a constant now that they've been around me so much.
The other member of our party grips my arm, fear crawling all over his face, "Isla. Please don't kill me! I swear I didn't invite him." The rest of his pleading disappears into the air around us, that awareness becoming crystal clear as I sense the other demon that's unfortunately been a constant pain in my fucking ass lately.
With a nonchalance I don't feel, I ask who he's talking about, keeping up the charade that this prick hasn't taken up residence in my mind for the last week. Longer, if I'm being honest with myself. Which I'm absolutely fucking not because if I was, I would have much bigger problems to face.
That velvet, low voice reaches my ears, the taunt of it something that only exists between the two of us, everyone else wholly oblivious to it. Eamon greets our party, giving Bel a quick hug with a dark drink already in his hand, acting like he has any right to crash what is supposed to be a fun night.
His laughter and fun-loving energy make me want to throttle him. How fucking dare he come in here and ruin my night again. While Caspian and Fritz's energy is uncomfortable, his is suffocating. I can't breathe when he's near, like he sucks all the oxygen out of the room.
As if he can hear the curses I'm mentally throwing his way, his sparkling green eyes meet mine, and his lips lift in a smirk. But I'm not willing to lose to his stupid games. Not with the coat, not with the endless smiles, not with the mystery gift that I have yet to open, and certainly not on New Years fucking Eve in Las fucking Vegas.
With all the grace I can manage, I take the only open seat on our couch, pretending the proximity to the beast of a man doesn't bother me at all. And it doesn't.
Until it does.
He drapes one of those ridiculously massive arms on the back of the couch behind me, drowning me in the scent of whiskey and leather and something sweet but spicy that's completely unnamable because it doesn't exist anywhere but attached to this monstrous man. I glance at his misplaced arm with disdain, hoping he'll move it before I get caught leaning into it.
Sweet whiskey and mint drift into my face as he speaks, "I've already ordered a bottle of that tequila you like and they're bringing some bourbon, too."
I focus all of my attention on my nails, examining each chip and sheer spot so I don't look at all at the man beside me and the thick, muscular thigh that gently drifts and grazes mine, sending sparks of desire through my lower belly, heating my body.
I don't want to sleep with him.
I don't.
My body is just frustrated.
It's been too long.
It's not because of Eamon.
"Cool," is the single syllable I let escape my body because I fear if I don't, someone will ask for more of a response from me, and I don't think I'm capable of that right now.
When the spread appears before us, the tequila looks like poison. It is my favorite, and I'm not sure how he knows it, but just for that reason, I refuse to touch it. Instead, I swiftly grip the vodka and pour myself and Bel a shot, needing the liquid courage to explore this cesspool of wandering hands. Any of their grimy, sweaty limbs would be better than giving into the one draped behind me.
The drink warms me all the way down, and I stand, silently gesturing for my best friend to join me on the dance floor. I get less than 12 more hours with her, and I'm not willing to waste them on any man, hers or mine. No offense to hers; I'm sure they're wonderful. I mean, they'd have to be to be worthy of her attention.
The part of me with no self-preservation wants to flip the party crasher the bird as we slip into the crowd, but he's not worth the extra effort it would take to lift my middle finger in his direction. So I drag my favorite person on earth into the fray, losing myself to the music and the madness surrounding me and pretending the mess of my life won't be there when the smog clears.
The stench of sweat, stale cigarettes, and alcohol surrounds me, the sourness of it all something I should find repulsive, but swimming in a sea of tequila and vodka and whatever else I could reach, it feels like the closest thing I have to home.
I know the countdown is coming soon and I just can't bring myself to give a fuck to make it memorable like I've tried in the past. I'll make out with whoever's close enough when the time comes and hope I'm drunk enough the memory disappears completely.
Awareness scratches on the edge of my mind, the first signal that my last drink is starting to wear off. As long as I keep the liquor flowing, my stupid hunter senses can forget that he's here, watching me like a sentry no one asked for. I can go in search of another shot to drown out the prickling sensation on my skin, or I can stay here sandwiched between the bodies of men who don't dare touch me with the giant stormcloud threatening them with bodily harm if they do.
Voices around me raise to a roar 30. 29. 28…
When the numbers suddenly jump to 9, I close my eyes and make the executive decision not to kiss anyone. Every New Year's kiss I've ever had has ended disastrously; none of them have been worth my first moments of a new beginning.
So, my new beginning for this year is to be okay with being alone. Really alone, withno temporary or almost lovers to fill the aching void.
5
My heart hurts at the prospect, but what kind of future could I give someone anyway? Every piece of me is broken, and no one needs a puzzle of a person to spend the rest of their life putting together.
4
Eyes closed, arms in the air, I let the music sweep me away, the only caress or touch I need tonight.
3
A small smile pulls at my lips as I join the chorus of voices around me, shouting the numbers as they count down.
2
Goosebumps break across my skin, leaving me no time to react.
1
A hot paw of a hand grips the back of my neck, and I know who I'll see even before my eyes shoot open in surprise.
As confetti falls and a siren blares around us, I gasp, leaving the perfect opening for Eamon to forcefully plant his mouth on mine. His soft lips part minefurther, sobriety suddenly hitting me like a train as the taste of whiskey and something so unique, so undeniably him, glides against my tongue.
Gripping his shirt with every intention of pushing him away, I can't stop the desperate whimper that escapes my throat as his tongue wrestles mine, forcing a submission I have no power to fight against. I feel more than hear the rumbling, growling groan in his chest, and his other hand grips my waist, pulling me flush against him and nearly bending me backward with the force of the kiss.
Everything about this moment makes my head spin, dizzy with need. I can't remember a time that I wanted to fuck someone so badly.
I feel his lips lift in a smile, unable to stop even while he continues kissing and biting me into a puddle. But that arrogant fucking smirk stops that thought in its tracks, reminding me exactly who is the person behind the best kiss I've ever had.
Fury fills my veins, burning hot and cold along my arms. With all my might, I shove him away from me, keeping one hand fisted in his shirt while the other moves of its own accord. Every ounce of strength goes into the slap, not holding back at all to wipe that stupid fucking self-satisfied grin off his face.
If anything, it has the opposite effect. My hand feels like all the skin has been ripped off of it, andhiseyes sparkle with challenge and a fire that I feel echoed in my bones. Whether I give in or not, this stupid man wins. Hatred or lust, both are a reaction that he's craving. This face-off can only end if I choose not to engage, and I've never been good at backing down from a fight.
The taunting look in his eyes stays, his hands still caging the back of my neck and my waist as he waits for me to decide what I'll do next. Furious tears threaten to fill my eyes, a burning in the back of my throat. Shame at leaning into exactly what I told myself I wouldn't do washes away any fight I had left, and I release my grip on his shirt, twisting out of his hold and stomping towards where Bel and her boys are watching with a mixture of fear, surprise, and anticipation written across their drunken faces.
I clear my throat, pushing away the way it wants to shake as I speak, "We're fucking leaving."
During the drive to their home, the whole night after, and on my flight home, rage and shame and sorrow fight for dominance inside me.
Eamon ruined my last night with my friend for who knows how long.
But I'm just as responsible, aren't I? I could have pushed him away immediately instead of giving in to him. What does it say about me that I'll let such an arrogant ass kiss me, especially like that ?
And what even was that ? I've never been kissed like that. Like the other person was wholly out of their mind with the need to taste me, feel me, own me. A hell of a kiss I had told Bel, but there were no words for it, not really.
It doesn't matter. If there's a merciful god anywhere up there, I won't have to see that condescending fuck's face ever again.