Chapter 10
10
GAVIN
I t’s funny how alcohol can make you teleport. One second you’re in a bar, downing shots and laughing with someone, and the next—poof! You’re in someone’s house.
Handcuffed to their bed.
My eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand pounds, and the sunlight streaming through the blinds was like a million daggers in my brain. When I tried to rub them, my hands got caught on something. I tugged and tugged, but they stayed caught, the sound of metal clanking on metal grating on my ears and exacerbating my headache.
I rolled my head back and saw pink handcuffs.
The fuck? Did I get picked up by some kinky lady? Where was she?
No, that wasn’t right. I didn’t remember any lady. There was a…a mustache. I remembered that. Disco balls?
I turned my head, wincing at the pain that throbbed near my left eye. The other side of the bed was empty and didn’t look like anyone had slept on it. I scanned the room, not taking in much of anything?—
My heart stopped beating, then began pumping so hard against my ribcage I thought it might rupture.
There, in a shadowed corner of the room, was the behemoth that was Beck Bowman.
Once my best friend in the entire world.
He hated me now.
I hated me, too.
Confusion settled over me like a cloud of smog, choking and blinding me. Most days I woke up feeling absolutely nothing; I was just an endless empty wasteland. A waste, for sure. But right now, agitation and panic were humming through me.
Why the fuck was he here? And where was here ?
I tugged at the handcuffs again, needing to get the fuck away from him, but they were too tight.
Fuck.
My chest was heaving now, trying to keep up with my pounding heart.
Beck was asleep. His long, thick legs were spread as wide as they could go in the chair, arms crossed over his massive chest. He was in gray sweats, a white t-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders, and his feet were bare. His head was turned to the side, his face relaxed in sleep. Peaceful.
He’d gotten even bigger, if that was possible.
For a moment—just the briefest blip in time—I was shuttled back ten years. Twelve years. Fourteen. Eighteen. To every single memory I had of him. To the feelings that were entwined in those memories.
Love.
Joy.
Comfort.
Safety.
Belonging.
And then, just as quickly, I was snapped back into the present. To the feelings that clung to me now, like stains that would never wash out.
Apathy.
Disgust.
Self-hatred.
Anger.
Emptiness.
Regret.
So much regret.
I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat that was starting to spread over every inch of my skin just being this close to him again. Just looking at him. Two years wasn’t enough to dull the intensity of what he made me feel. Not nearly enough.
With another glance at him, just to make sure he was really sleeping, I started scooting up until I was sitting by the headboard. I needed to get the fuck out of here. Now .
I would dismantle the entire bed if that’s what it took.
I slid the chain down the metal bar until my hands were near the post. There was a nightstand in the way, so as quietly as I could, I pushed it over a foot. I slid off the bed and examined the post. It had to come unscrewed somewhere. There must be some way to get the bar out. What kind of a fucking headboard was this, anyway? Just a column of metal bars, how fucking stupid.
“What are you doing?”
Beck’s deep voice, rough with sleep, made me jump. It slid along my spine and settled in my lower back, sinking deep.
I turned to face him with a glower. “Take these fucking things off me, you freak,” I snarled.
Beck started to laugh, low and a little scratchy, and then he wiped his hands down his face. “Ah, fuck, man. Good to see you haven’t changed a bit. Haven’t learned a single goddamn thing.”
He stood up, the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth smoothing out as his expression shifted to something almost…dark.
There it was. The hate I held onto for so long. The hate that kept me going.
My stomach turned over as he approached me, my breathing too fast now. “Stay the fuck away from me. I swear to god, Beck, if you take one more step?—”
“What? What’ll you do? What can you do that you haven’t done already? Truly, I’d like to know, because every time I think you’ve hit your bottom, you somehow crawl a little deeper—like the world’s most fucked up magic trick,” he said, anger in his voice now. In his eyes. It crackled in the air between us, a lightning storm of raw, volatile emotions.
I matched his anger with my own, not about to be cowed. I didn’t care if he was bigger than me. I grabbed the metal post with my hands and turned as much as I could to face him, ready to kick him away. “Fuck you. Give me the key and let me get the fuck out of here.”
“You know, I was going to, because there’s nothing I’d like more than to watch you walk away. But after everything you put me through last night—and, let’s be honest, the past ten years—I think I deserve an apology first. Now that you’ve sobered up enough that you can actually string two words together. And lucky for you, I only need two words.” He wrapped his thick fingers around the top bar of the footboard and looked me up and down. When his gaze met mine again, there was nothing but disapproval and disdain in those dark blue eyes.
Shame crawled through me with that look.
What had I put him through? What the fuck had happened last night? I’d say I wasn’t ever drinking again, but that would be a lie. As soon as I got out of here, I was finding a bottle to forget I’d ever seen him.
To forget how disgusting a person I was. How worthless and pathetic and horrible I’d become.
To forget I even existed.
I was too much of a coward to outright kill myself, so instead I floated through my meaningless life doing as much damage to myself as I could. I deserved nothing less than the nothing I’d become.
Fuck, I needed a drink. I’d sobered up too much, and now the miserable thoughts were creeping back in, sliding smoky tendrils as thick and viscous as tar around my limbs. Whispering hard truths that made me want to scream.
“Fuck you,” I whispered, not breaking eye contact.
“Okay,” he said.
Then he left the room, closing the door behind him.
“Hey!” I yelled, grabbing the post and shaking the frame. “Get back here, you fucking prick!”
He did not get back here.
I screamed until my voice turned hoarse, then started kicking the iron headboard over and over again, trying to dislodge the bar. I kept slamming my foot into the metal as desperation and despair clawed at my skin. I wasn’t sure how long I went at it, wasn’t sure if it was a minute or an hour, but when I ran out of steam, when I saw that I hadn’t done a damn thing to dislodge the bar, I let out a frustrated growl.
All I accomplished with that whole stunt was bruising my foot so badly that I couldn’t put any weight on it without wanting to cry.
I thought maybe I’d broken something.
I didn’t really care.
I sat down on the bed, misery sinking into me. It was heavy, bulky and uncomfortable, but familiar, and I couldn’t get rid of it. I curled up into a ball on my side and closed my eyes, letting the pain tunneling up my leg take hold and drown out my awful thoughts.
“Gavin.”
My eyes popped open, Beck’s face so close I could see the stubble on his cheeks and chin. Could see the tiny birthmark next to his right eye.
I’d fallen asleep. My mind was still offline, and the only real thing that existed right now was Beck. How his mouth was pulled down in a frown. How his blue eyes darted around my face until they settled back on mine. How my heart began to pound at his nearness.
He looked so different. So different from when we were young. And yet, he didn’t look different at all. Didn’t feel different.
He was the same Beck he’d always been. And I…
I was an entirely different version of myself. A version he hated. That I’d made him hate.
“Sit up.”
I blinked at the command, wanting to do what he said. And then I kicked my leg out and shoved my foot into his stomach. He stumbled back with a grunt, but quickly righted himself, his expression darkening. My other foot pulsed with pain, and I gritted my teeth.
“Yeah? That’s how you want this to go?” His voice was soft. Too soft. It raised all the fine hairs on my arms and the back of my neck.
“Fuck off,” I rasped.
He turned without another word, heading for the door.
“Wait!” I cried in a panic. My bladder was throbbing and I needed to use the bathroom. Bad.
Beck paused. Turned his head so I could see his perfect profile. His clenched jaw.
“I have to pee,” I gritted out.
He sighed, then turned back around. “Fine.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a key, then stopped when he was almost by my side. “If you fucking kick me again, or try to attack me, I will knock you the fuck out and throw you onto the street. Got it?”
That sounded pretty good, actually. Maybe a car could run me over.
I wanted to say fuck you again, but I was on the verge of going right here, and the humiliation of that wasn’t something I wanted to live through. I didn’t think I’d care if it was anyone but Beck.
But it was Beck. And I cared very, very much. More than I fucking wanted to.
“Got it,” I bit out. He shook his head at me, then unlocked the cuffs.
Fuck, yes. My shoulders were so sore that I groaned in pain as I brought my arms down. Shaking out my hands to get the feeling back into them didn’t help. And as if those cuffs had been preventing all my tension from dissipating, a weariness started seeping into my limbs.
I just wanted to curl up in a bed and sleep for days. Weeks. Months. Maybe when I woke up, things would be different. People would have forgotten everything I’d done. They wouldn’t look at me with so much contempt. Contempt I deserved.
Except I didn’t have a bed. I didn’t have a room. I didn’t have a place of my own.
I had nothing.
Nothing and no one.
I’d earned every bit of my life with my behavior.
I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my right foot throbbing with an almost unbearable amount of pain. I tried to stand up, but the fire that flared through my foot when I barely touched my heel to the carpet was searing, so I sucked in a breath and tried to settle my weight on the ball of my foot—but I’d fucked that up, too.
Fine. I’d just walk through the pain.
Gritting my teeth, I ignored Beck, who was hovering next to me. I took a step, and the agony that zapped up my leg had black spots dancing in my eyes. I crumpled to the ground, screaming.
“What the—” Hands were grabbing at my arms, propping me against the side of the bed. “The fuck is wrong with you?”
I said nothing, too dizzy and trying to breathe through the pain radiating from my foot.
I just wanted a fucking drink. I wanted to be anywhere but here . With him .
Was it irony that I was now at the mercy of the boy—the man —I’d tormented for so many years? Or was that just karma?
When Beck grabbed me by the calf, presumably to take a look at my foot, it intensified all the pain that had just begun to fade, and I reflexively kicked my other leg out as I shouted. He deflected my kick with his forearm, and I wasn’t trying to hurt him that time, but he didn’t know that and grabbed both my calves with a frustrated growl, dragging me away from the bed until I was lying on my back.
I couldn’t even breathe, the pain was so overwhelming. Couldn’t think. Was just yelling and writhing on the ground like the pathetic person I was.
“Beck, what’s going?—”
“Anya, out!” He shouted.
“But—”
“Anya!”
“Fine!”
A door slammed, and then Beck was crouching beside me, brows drawn together. “What the fuck did you do to your foot? It was fine an hour ago.”
“Fuck you,” I wheezed out.
“God you’re annoying,” he muttered, pushing himself up to stand.
And, as if my humiliation was far from over, I felt a tear slip out of the corner of my eye and slide down the side of my face. I turned over until I was pressing my face into the carpet, not wanting him to see.
“Christ, Gavin,” he said. The anger in his voice was gone now. He just sounded tired.
I was tired, too. Just wanted to sink deeper into the carpet, through the floorboards, until the cool earth swallowed me up. Smothered me. Until there was nothing left but darkness and the beat of my heart. Until even that eventually faded.
Would Beck hold me until then?
An arm slid beneath my shoulders, another under my knees, and then Beck grunted as he picked me up. He felt like all the strength I’d lost along the way, and I wanted to sink into him.
That thought snapped me right out of my misery.
“Let me down,” I growled, shoving against his chest.
“You really don’t want me to do that,” he said, and I heard the threat in his words.
One thing I’d tried to avoid doing over the years was getting physical with Beck. I might’ve spewed hateful words at him, but before today, I’d never tried to fight him.
Because I would never win.
He was bigger, stronger, and faster than I’d ever been.
He’d always been better than me. In every way.
The pain in my bladder was growing worse by the second, so I stopped shoving at him, stopped moving, and said pitifully, “Just take me to the fucking bathroom! Please !”
Fuck, I hated myself. Just a whiny little bitch.
Beck said nothing and started walking toward the door. His arms were like bands of steel, and all I wanted to do was turn my face into his chest and hide forever. I didn’t, though.
When he got the door open, we started moving down a long hallway with framed pictures hanging on the walls. He kicked open a door on the right and slowly set me down. Gently. Letting me get my balance on the foot I hadn’t fucked up.
I hated the way his body brushed against mine, a slow slide of heat that made me want to punch something.
“I’ll be right here,” he said. I wasn’t sure what he meant by that. Right here, making sure I didn’t do anything he didn’t approve of? Or right here in case I needed his help?
I didn’t answer, just grabbed the counter with my hands and stood on my good foot. When I looked up at him, there was a flash of something in his eyes, something?—
I slammed the door in his face, breathing hard.
I hopped over to the toilet, keeping hold of the counter, and finally looked down at the shorts I was wearing.
It was the only piece of clothing on my body. What the fuck happened to my clothes? I scoured my mind for any kind of memory of last night, but all I got were flashes of Rico and Shelby’s and maybe another guy.
The shorts definitely weren’t mine, though. Were they Beck’s?
I undid the drawstring with shaky fingers, also noticing the thin red lines covering my hands. My arms. My stomach. When I pulled the shorts down, I saw they were on my thighs, too. Even my dick.
“The fuck,” I whispered.
They were everywhere, but nothing really hurt, which is why I hadn’t noticed, I guessed.
After doing what I needed to, I washed my hands, then cupped them to catch some water and started drinking. When I was done, I turned off the tap and glanced at my reflection. Did a double take.
My right eye was covered in purple and gray bruises, and on my left ribcage, just below my pec, was a long, thick bruise that was a deep purple.
No wonder I had a fucking headache. Did Beck do this to me? It didn’t seem like something he would do, though.
When I opened the door, Beck was leaning against the opposite wall right in front of me, arms crossed, one knee bent, foot propped against the wall. In the brighter lighting, I noticed the dark bags under his eyes.
Because of me?
Probably. Everything bad was because of me these days.
“All good, princess?” He raised his eyebrows. They were a few shades darker than the blond on his head. Almost brown. I remember asking him if he dyed his hair when I first met him, and he’d laughed at that.
“Fuck you.”
He huffed, then pushed off the wall and grabbed my arm.
I shoved him off me and braced my hand on the wall. “I can fucking walk on my own, don’t touch me. Fucking pervert. What did you do with my clothes? What are all these fucking scrapes and bruises? Huh? What did you do to me, Beck?”
Beck scoffed at me, disgust in his eyes. “I didn’t do a goddamn thing to you except save you from another trip to jail. You looked like that when I found you, naked , in some holly bushes—that’s where you got all that shit. I didn’t do anything with your clothes because you weren’t wearing any, dumbass. I don’t know where the bruises came from, but maybe you pissed someone off last night. Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”
“You’re a fucking liar. Fuck this,” I said, turning away from his room and starting to hop down the hall, having no idea where I was going. Each step forward came with a jarring shock of pain, a burning fire shooting along every nerve-ending and making it hard to breathe. To think.
A holly bush? Brief flashes of memory flitted in and out of my mind. Blond hair. Stars. A rotten smell. Pain.
I needed to get the fuck out of here.
“So you’re just gonna hop all the way home?”
I laughed bitterly at that and kept moving, trying to ignore the burning needles stabbing through my bad foot with every jolting hop. “Home? What home?”
There was a sigh from behind me, and then heavy footsteps. Beck brushed past me and disappeared around the corner. It looked so far away.
“Asshole,” I muttered. Not really meaning it. Not one bit.
Beck was as perfect as perfect could get. As good as they came. A blond-haired, blue-eyed angel on Earth.
And I was the fucking devil.
I kept moving, trying to breathe, trying to ignore how the pain was intensifying with every passing second. It felt like someone was stabbing me and electrocuting me all at once. I paused halfway down the hall, braced both hands against the wall, and rested my forehead on the cool plaster.
Inhaled.
Exhaled.
And then I thought, what’s the point of even trying to do anything anymore? What’s the point of getting to the end of this hallway? Of going anywhere? Wouldn’t it be nice to just…stop?
Wouldn’t it be nice to rest?
Just take a break from it all.
I braced myself on the wall, squatting until my butt hit the hardwood. Then I rolled onto my side, curled into a ball, and closed my eyes.
There.
That was better.