Chapter 17 Muzzles and Straitjackets
Muzzles and Straitjackets
I like to wake up before the sun. I like to start my day before everyone else.
The atmosphere is thick and dark as I jog outside.
Glancing at the daybed, I see a white sheet and pillow.
It seems that either Flick or Stacey slept there.
I hate that they are fighting. Shaking my head, I clear my mind and begin my morning run.
I jog. I shower. I pack my bag. Then I join Stacey and Flick in walking up the stone steps in silence.
They have sad eyes and tight smiles as we reach the resort's breakfast buffet.
We eat in near silence. It's torture. I stare at my sister wide-eyed before darting my gaze to Stacey.
Flick shakes her head as she peers down at the omelette she's shuffling around her plate.
After giving up on the pretence of eating, we head back to see the boys.
Despite the mood that has settled around us, I can't help but be excited about seeing Max. I picture his face, brooding and conflicted, as is his default expression.
As we push open the door to the villa, empty bottles roll across the tiles.
I glance at the girls, who look as concerned as me.
My stomach knots as we walk in without hearing a word.
It's nine a.m., so the boys are probably still passed out in bed.
The villa smells like smoke and sex and vomit.
After stepping over the smashed glass, crumbled up packets of crisps, and condom wrappers without so much as a wrinkle of my nose, I finally cringe at the blood splatter!
Stacey grabs my arm. "We should come back later."
I yank my elbow from her. "No way."
"Cassidy." Flick touches my hip. "Let's go outside. Go for a swim and wait for them to wake up. We aren’t cleaning up this mess."
I ignore her. I have no right to do what I want to do, but I do it anyway. Making my way to Max's door, I push it open a few inches and peer inside.
My heart doesn't sink.
It plummets.
Max isn't alone. He's flopped over the mattress with one arm draped across his forehead and his legs spread, still in his jeans. His inked chest rises and falls with each deep, sleepy, relaxed breath.
She, a Scarlett Johansson lookalike, has her naked, shapely body wrapped around his leg.
Her full breasts press into his side. I hate her.
I hate Scarlett Johansson by association.
As I stare at them, I experience a sharp stab in my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping that this scene doesn't haunt the rest of our relationship. .. our friendship.
When I open my eyes again, it's to the same scene, but this time I'm locked on the open top button of his jeans. So that sweet, pleasured look on his face right now is because of her—for her. I'd thought it was all mine. It isn’t. And it never was. Every girl who gives him pleasure is graced with this version of him. But they probably aren’t dumb enough to believe they are special.
That they share something special with him.
Our thing. There is no thing. I was wrong.
I should have known. It's not like he didn't warn me enough. Shame feels a lot like hunger—it's twisting my insides, begging for the antidote, but unlike hunger, food can't cure this feeling. Forcing a whimper down, I softly close the door and walk outside into the forest.
There is a little bench towards the bottom of the valley. I can hear water trickling, but I can't see it. Tears rush from my eyes as I stare at my bronze sandals. They shuffle grey dirt around. I lick tears from my lips, consciously trying to channel nothingness.
"Cassidy?" I hear Flick’s voice calling through the foliage.
I wipe my mouth with my wrist. "I'm over here."
Stopping in front of the pathetic display that is me, she sighs. "That was a dick move."
I shrug and hug my knees. "I don’t want to be upset. So I won’t be."
"Sometimes it's good to cry, to get it out of your system."
I laugh and tears fall into my mouth. "When have you ever cried?”
She sits down beside me. "I cry. Just... in my own company."
My eyes are trained straight ahead into the forest. "Nope. I'm not crying. I knew. I just didn’t think I would have to see it. Now the girl has a face and the relaxed Max who was all mine, isn't mine anymore."
"Yeah, like I said, dick move."
"Maybe he was making a point." I swallow. "Maybe he did it on purpose."
She spins to face my profile. "I don’t think so. He's a dick, but I don't think he'd hurt you on purpose."
I pick up a stone and throw it down the valley. It clicks for a while and then nothing. "Whatever."
"What do you want to do now? We could leave. Do you wanna go back to the District?"
"No. I have a job to do here. I made a commitment to Aurora. I just needed a reality check, that's all."
"Okay," she sighs. "If you say so."
"Do you think there is any chance, however small, that she passed out there without him knowing?" The question is as pathetic as I feel. It's desperate and raw and hopeful where there shouldn’t be any hope, but I can't stop myself from reaching for it.
"No, Cassidy. He knew she was there."
"Yeah... yeah, of course, he did."
"So, are you going to keep your distance now? Or what is your plan? Are you going to continue sleeping with him?”
"I don’t know. I kind of can’t say no. I'm just so weak around him, Flick. I want to pretend I'm in control, but I’m not. He has the reins one hundred percent of the time and when we connect, I convince myself that he really does care. Likes me even."
She strokes my shoulder. "He likes you as much as he’s capable of."
"I suppose you were right."
"I didn't want to be right."
I squeeze my knees tighter. "There's something about him, Flick."
"Yep. The boys are kinda addictive. But you need to take your heart off your sleeve and put it back in your chest where it's safe."
"Okay, Dr Phil." I finally turn my head to look at her. "You and Stacey are fighting?"
She stares at me, her lips thin. "Yeah. It started about you and then... Well, she has a lot of secrets. That's all. It's getting on my nerves a little."
I laugh once. "You're dating a Butcher boy."
"I guess so."
"And she won't share details with you?"
"She's really closed off. Short-tempered. But..." She smiles. "Fucking beautiful!"
"Ugh, you’re dating female Max!"
We share a defeated, sad little chuckle. After a few minutes, we make our way back to the villa.
Despite the fact that I have zero right to be mad at him, I still am.
Not more than a few nights ago at that dingy strip club, I'd given him something—something I'll never get back.
It wasn't just sex. Not just physical. We'd shared a very real, raw encounter.
He'd wanted me for more than just my body. He'd wanted me for comfort.
But I'm not going to offer him that gentleness anymore. He can have my body, but only because I want his. I'm not going to offer him my heart to help heal his ever again.
When we get back to the villa, I decide to channel my feelings into dance. I change into black short shorts and a crop top before walking outside. The air in Bali is in an eternal state of thickness. After laying my mat down on the grass by the poolside, I begin to stretch.
My chest tightens when the door slides open and the smell of cloves seeps toward me. A new smell.
"Hi," a soft voice I don’t know says.
Pressing my chest to my thigh, I shift my eyes up to Scarlett Johansson.
"Hi," I say, biting down on my lower lip as I move my gaze back to the grass below me.
That green-eyed monster in my belly digs its claws into me, but I force myself to ignore it.
It's not Scarlett's fault that Max can't keep his dick in his pants.
If I were her, I'd jump at the opportunity to touch him too. She doesn’t owe me a thing.
I refuse to be rude to her. I won't be that girl.
She's smoking a cigarette and it smells sweet. "I've lived here for four years and still can't get used to the heat," she mutters from behind me.
"I think I like it," I say, but maybe only because I want to like what she doesn't.
Good job at being mature, Cassidy.
"The fuck are you still doing here?"
My heart stutters at the sound of Max's growl. So this is how he wants it? Is it because he'd shown me a moment of vulnerability? He can't stand my presence again? I'd thought we were past his ever-fluctuating personality crisis. Apparently, I was wrong.
Hiding the bruising of my heart, I angrily stand to face him.
Only, he's not scowling at me. He's drilling holes through Scarlett. He looks rough—groggy, scruffy hair, bare chest, jeans hanging low around his hips, his eyes red and glazed. He's squinting at the natural, ambient world as if it's physically disorientating.
Scarlett blows out another clove-scented puff. "I was waiting for a lift. Heidi's still with Xander."
My belly churns. Desperate to hide the emotion on my face, I sit back down and continue to stretch.
"Wait out front for her!" Max snaps.
She scoffs. "Why are you talking to me like this?"
As a sick kind of curiosity invades my mind, I turn back to watch them.
"Because despite the look on my face, you're still fucking here," he growls, and it's the first time I've ever seen him use his hands to talk—like a real Sicilian.
Pathetic and wanting to be noticed, I say, "She can wait here with me. I don't mind."
"No, she fucking can't!"
Scarlett's voice falters. "Is... is it something I did—"
"I swear to God, if you say another fucking word, you’ll regret it. Now wait. The fuck. Out front!"
When Scarlett disappears inside, I push off the ground with my hands and step to face him. "The way you just spoke to her disgusts me."
He lifts his chin and peers down at me through his lashes. "Don't do this." The words are laced with warning. As he takes a step towards me, he reaches for my hip, but I shuffle backwards in disbelief. He thinks he can still touch me? He feels he still has the right?
"Don’t touch me, Max," I warn.