34. Win
34
Win
“ I t’s so obvious,” Remy grumbles, arms crossed over his chest while shifting his weight from one leg to the other. Must be the cum leaking out of his ass. With a smirk, I fasten the button of my fly. At least I got out of that horrible shirt. The plain black tee he dug out of his old closet is too tight but I don’t give a fuck.
I’m on cloud nine.
I shrug. “Not really.”
“We literally disappeared for forty minutes and now we’re skipping out of my room in different shirts. You’re telling me that’s not suspicious?”
“The shorts are the same,” I smirk. If he glares any harder, lasers might come out of his eyes. Sighing, I lace our fingers and kiss his knuckles. “Relax, it’s not a crime to be alone together.”
“I don’t know…”
I bite his finger. He hisses.
“Don't you dare backtrack on me. You agreed.”
“I know but maybe we can just keep it lowkey for a little— ”
“Not a chance.”
“These people are old school. What if they talk shit?”
“Fuck ‘em.”
“Easy for you to say. You never have to see them again.”
“Wrong. I’m dating you, meaning I will.”
He huffs, muttering, “ What am I fucking doing? ” as I lead the way into the hall, grinning at the throw blanket covering the wet stain on his bed. We managed to clean up his puddle of cum before it dried, though, he might’ve caught me tasting it. It was worth the appalled look on his face.
“Ma is gonna be so—”
“There you two are!” Lucy exclaims, breaking from a woman in a similar tennis skirt and pink polo ensemble. “We’ve been—” She cuts herself off, wide brown eyes locked on our joined hands.
Remy tries to pull free.
I tighten my grip.
An ear-shattering shriek rattles my brain.
“I knew it!” She smacks the overly tan arm of the brunette beside her. “What did I tell you? I just knew they were together! Muffin is finally off the market!”
Remy’s face scrunches in a mixture of humiliation and frustration.
I’m grinning like an idiot.
“Sure is,” I agree.
He elbows me in the ribs. My nails bite into the back of his hand.
Lucy gushes, “Oh, aren’t they just the cutest?”
“Jesus, Ma, you act like I’ve never dated before,” Remy scoffs.
She doesn't seem to hear him as she turns to the clone wrinkling her pert nose in our direction. I level a threatening glare. If she makes another foul face at my boyfriend , she’s getting drop-kicked.
“Yes and so… progressive,” the woman sneers. “Is this a new thing, Remy?”
He tenses. I angle in front of him, but to my surprise, his free hand lands on my bicep.
Remy’s mom bursts out laughing. “Lord no, Bev, these two have been head over heels for each other since high school.”
I fucking love that nutty woman.
Bev, on the other hand, can escort herself into a meat grinder.
Lips puckered like she just sucked off a lemon, her high-and-mighty glare scans me from top to bottom.
“You’re Marceline’s son.”
I squint. “Yes.”
A gloating simper replaces her disgusted scowl. “Isn’t it a bit difficult for you? You know, with so much alcohol around? It can’t be easy to attend these kinds of things.”
Remy’s fingertips dig into the muscle of my arm in subtle warning but all bets are fucking off. I’ll rip the skin off this plastic cunt—
“I know I couldn’t do it,” Remy interjects, pulling his hand free to snake around my waist. His touch stuns me enough not to tear out the bitch’s throat. “Been back about, what? A little over two months now?”
Bev is forgotten. I’m caught in his bright hazel gaze.
“Something like that.”
His smile is full of adoration. “You’re doing fucking incredible.”
The genuine pride in his eyes is enough to obliterate me. Whatever dimension I’ve entered to be on the receiving end of his praise, I never want to leave it. But the high I'm basking in vanishes at who I see materialize.
Chills sweep through me as a glossy brunette apparition saunters toward us in a tailored floral print dress. I blink and blink but she’s still there, getting closer, the echo of her kitten heel sandals on the wood like a death knell.
Remy’s fingers flex on my waist. “Win?”
I want to speak, but my tongue is lead. Every muscle prepares to run. I’m not a twenty-two year old man anymore; I’m a sixteen year old terrified kid, desperate to escape an impeccably dressed monster.
“Sorry I’m late, Mom. I got tied up with the coordinator for the Belize trip,” says the snake in Lilly Pulitzer.
My hands shake. My skin itches. My mouth dries.
Run before she recognizes you. Before she—
“Jessica, darling, you must manage your time better,” Bev scolds with a fake smile. But Jessica’s not listening to her mother. Her cold blue eyes are falling out of her head, full lips parted in shock.
I can’t do this.
I can’t.
I—
“Oh Jess! So glad you made it!” Lucy exclaims, grasping one of her limp, manicured hands. “I know you were a few years ahead of the boys so I’m not sure if you remember Winnie—”
“I do,” Jessica says, watching me closely. Her initial shock fades, apprehension creeping into her hawk-like focus.
Fuck sobriety. I need a drink. A blunt. A line. A whole fucking bottle of pills.
Bev’s head swivels between us. “Is that so?”
I’m gonna faint.
Jessica glances at Remy skeptically. Self-preservation instincts screech. But it’s too late— I’m already paralyzed. Useless. Shattering in front of these people and they're none the wiser.
Well. Not everyone is oblivious .
Remy’s chest presses into my side. “You said you needed something from the truck, right?”
Don’t hyperventilate. Not here.
My lungs scream.
I nod.
Remy flashes a sympathetic smile worthy of an Oscar at the three women. “Forgive us, we’ll be right back,” he murmurs, steering me toward the door despite his mother’s protests. The frames on the walls streak, the floor transforming to water beneath my numb legs. A chant of, “ out, out, out, ” syncs to the drumbeat of my pulse.
The soft murmurs coming from Remy are vapors wafting away before they reach my ears. My brain has locked me in a cage, attempting to protect me from horrors I can’t relive.
I’m.
Breaking.
Blinding sunlight slices through my tunnel vision at the same moment my legs completely forget how to work.
“ Fuck .” Remy grunts, a strong arm banding around my chest. Momentum reels me down the front steps, dragging him along. Somehow, he catches us before we face-plant the gravel.
“You’re scaring the shit out of me,” he pants, grasping my shoulders to steady me. My eyelids are stapled open as I battle the barrage of horrifying images in my mind.
All coping tools rehab taught me are lost. Phantom pain spirals through my nerves. Surplus adrenaline flips my stomach.
Oh fuck .
I twist out of Remy’s grip, wobbling toward his truck to hide behind—
I don’t make it.
Vomit explodes from my mouth. I bend in half, hands on knees as another round hits.
“ Win! ”
Heaving, I try to choke out reassurances, but only manage to spew more bile.
A palm smooths up and down my spine. “Ok, ok, easy,” Remy murmurs.
Great . He’s been my boyfriend again for an hour and I’m already fucking everything up.
“S-sorry.”
He hushes me, swirling patterns between my shoulder blades. “You alright?”
My jaw chatters. I promised myself that I’d answer his questions honestly, even if it feels like flaying myself alive.
“No.”
His soothing strokes stop.
I should’ve lied.
Shoes crunch on the broken shells, circling me. My heart flies out of my chest when fingertips brush back the hair hiding my face. He squats to my eye level.
“What do you need?”
No one has asked me that before. It’s always, “ what do you want? ” Or in moments like this, “ what’s wrong?” I’m so thrown off that the words simply fall out.
“To get out of here.”
He guides me upright without questioning further. I swipe the back of my hand across my lips and shuffle beside him to the passenger side of his truck. My nose whistles with every inhale, throat cracking on every exhale. Once I’m buckled in, he hands me a stick of gum and speeds in the direction of his apartment.
I slump in the bucket seat, body limp and heart pounding.
In the corner of my eye, Remy’s hands tighten on the wheel.
Either he can sense my stare or he’s psychic because he glances over. “Checking in. ”
“Huh?”
“On you. What can I do to help?”
I roll my head to gape at him. Twice now, he’s kicked my brain out of my skull by asking the right thing. He sighs, shaking his head. “You’ve dealt with this on your own this whole time, haven’t you?”
“This?”
He taps the dash over the steering wheel. “I think I’ve had enough panic attacks to recognize one.”
Valid point.
“I can usually… get through it without anyone noticing.”
The truck jerks as he whips his head around. “You what? ”
“It’s not a big de—”
“How many times, Win?” he demands, not giving me a second to speak before yelling, “How many fucking times did you suffer right in front of my fucking face and I didn’t see it?”
Oh shit.
He’s mad.
Like really mad.
“I… don’t know.”
He yanks the wheel right, jostling us as he guides the truck onto the shoulder and shoves the gear in park. He’s vibrating, staring out the windshield at nothing.
“Baby, it’s not your fault. I’m sorry—”
“Don’t you dare apologize right now,” he snaps, wiping a palm down his face, trying to reign in his temper.
This is it. He's done. He’s going to break up with me already. I’m a joke. I can’t even get through an afternoon at his parents' house. He has enough to deal with and I’m making everything worse as usual.
His strangled sigh cuts off my spiraling panic. “You've done nothing wrong. I’m disgusted with myself for not paying attention. For being so stubborn and stupid. How did I fucking miss it? Even back then— that look in your eyes. All this time, you’ve been going through some shit and I’ve been blaming you.” With a rattling breath, he reaches over the center console to take my hand. Wet hazel eyes meet mine. “I’m done with that. I’m so fucking sorry it’s taken me this long to see you.”
It’s too much.
Dropping his remorseful gaze, I trace the veins on the back of his hand. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”
“Don’t do that,” he murmurs. “Don’t downplay what you're going through to protect my feelings. I see it, Win. The blinders are off. Back then, I let you deflect because I was terrified of pushing you away. But now? I’ve come to the conclusion you’ve got a Remy-Homing-Device shoved up your ass and even if I flee the goddamn planet, you’ll find me in space.”
I snort, blinking back tears. He twists in his seat, his palm cupping my cheek as his thumb skims gently under my eye.
“You said we’re not hiding, right? Well, that applies between us too.”
Tremors continue to wrack my body, my teeth clacking as I nod. He leans over, brushing his lips across my forehead. I suck in a surprised breath.
“You know what you need?” he whispers, kissing the corner of my mouth. I try to chase his lips.
“Kisses?”
He smirks. “Well, yes, you can have those after you brush your teeth, puko, but I was thinking some Italian ice.”
Sniffling, I mumble, “I know what you're doing.”
“Mmm, and what's that?”
“Bribing me to open up. ”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
I choke on a laugh. He runs his fingers through my hair, grinning. “If anyone is breaking into the Vault of Win, it's me.”
Catching his hand, I kiss the center of his palm. “How about we start with the Italian ice, yeah?”
He sighs, “You're gonna tell me what happened back there.”
Half of me wants to triple the locks, but the other half is more than ready to hand over the keys.
I hold his beautiful, sunlit eyes. “I will.”
And I mean it. Just not all of it.
Yet.