SIX
Gigi
The next few days proceed at a slow pace, and by the time we start getting ready to head out for the evening, I’m already wishing the night were over. We’re heading to Chequers in Soho with Harry and Andy.
Harry’s existence in my life is becoming an issue. He consumes my every thought, and while I should hate him, he’s incredibly captivating. Hatred for the man I barely know runs deep in my veins, yet there’s a bigger fixation to discover how deep his secrets lie.
“You’re not going to catch anyone’s wandering eye – especially Harry’s – wearing that bin bag,” Mia says, spoiling my thoughts.
She throws a dress at my chest. I catch it, holding the garment between my fingers. “How can you even call this a dress?”
This dress would definitely capture the male gaze, but with that, I’d also be attracting a lot of unwanted attention. The entire garment is made of mesh, so I need to be particularly careful about what I choose to wear underneath it.
“What do you think is his problem anyway?” Mia queries.
I cock an eyebrow at her, and she pauses applying her lipstick.
“He can barely stand to look at you. I know you’ve noticed.”
I bow my head. I’d hoped I was merely reading too deeply into the situation, but it’s as plain as day to the people around me .
“Maybe he wants to fuck your brains out and can’t contain himself around you.”
“Mia!”
She giggles and then focuses back on her reflection. It only takes a fraction of a second for her expression to turn serious. Silence stretches between us before she asks, “Do you think Greg is telling us the whole truth?”
I sigh. “I really don’t know.”
Mia and Andy are a sight for sore eyes. And I’d be lying if I said the sight doesn’t upset me. He’s so welcome to let her in – to open his arms to her and cover her with affection. The burden would weigh less if Harry would even bother looking my way.
Not that I’d want that.
No matter how attractive he is.
I’ll have to question Andy about him at some point, because I’m sure as hell not going to Greg with my query. When I think too strongly about it I always circle back to the same question.
What is it about me that he despises so much?
He’s been sitting at the bar all night, failing to even glance in my direction. And as I predicted, the dress has caused a fair number of wandering eyes even under the low nightclub lighting. I thank my childhood with Jack for allowing me to protect myself in uncomfortable situations more than the average person.
This is depressing.
Now I’m thinking about my dead brother .
I need another drink.
I weave through the pile of sweaty bodies to approach the bar, dry-heaving as I feel a few wandering hands touching my hips before I’m finally able to push through to safety.
“Vodka and cranberry, please. Double,” I say once I’ve got the bartender’s attention.
As I’m digging in my purse for my debit card, an obnoxious and incredibly girly giggle grates against my ears. As if my night couldn’t be any more miserable, I lay eyes on something far worse than Mia and Andy.
A woman standing directly at my side, resembling a contemporary Barbie, skates her nails down Harry’s shirt-clad chest. I manage to catch his eye for a fraction of a second over the woman’s shoulder, but he looks away just as quickly.
“Who are you with?” she purrs, fisting a button between her acrylics.
“Just with my friend, Andy.”
What the fuck?
I scoff.
This gets Harry’s attention – and Barbie’s, apparently.
She strains her gaze over her shoulder, frowning and running her eyes down my body. “Do you have a problem?”
“None at all.” I raise my glass to my lips. “Just enjoying my drink.”
By the time she’s turned back I’ve almost finished the glass. The cranberry is sweet against my lips, and it isn’t long before the slightly fuzzy feeling coaxes my brain.
That’s much better.
She turns back to Harry and says, “God, what a freak.”
Before I can do anything I’ll regret, like rip out her hair extensions, I gulp down the remainder of the spirit, slam the glass, and make a beeline for the exit .
When I reach the entrance doors, I throw them open and suck in mouthfuls of fresh air, welcoming the bitter breeze against my skin.
Fuck that guy. He didn’t even bother defending you.
I turn round the corner of the nightclub, pacing up and down the dark alleyway.
London’s barely alive at this time of night. Red buses have decreased to a skeletal service, lights are dimmed, and all the stores are dark and quiet – except for the few bars and clubs with extended hours. There are plenty of places I could go to and plenty of men I could speak with, but I hate myself for thinking about the man who seems to hate me more than anyone. Despite everything, I want to find out more about Harry before he riddles me senseless.
My chest tightens with each shallow breath.
He’s not like this with anyone else. Hell, for a second, I convinced myself he was afraid of the female presence, but that theory was proved wrong by him eye-fucking the blonde at the bar.
I kick the dustbin, watching as it tumbles to the side.
“What did that bin ever do to you?” someone slurs.
My heartbeat triples in speed as I whip my head round to the stranger who followed me out. I squint my eyes, focusing better on the man in the dark lighting.
His hair is slicked back from his forehead, highlighting deep green eyes – not as piercing as Harry’s, but we’re not thinking about him. I recall seeing this guy working behind the bar at Chequers. He’s not my usual type, but perhaps he might offer a quick distraction from my misery.
I shrug. “It looked at me funny.”
He laughs and takes a few steps towards me. Even through the dark I can see his gaze running havoc over the length of my body. The action has an ominous feel to it, and I contain my shiver, knowing I’ll need to embrace this man if I want to sleep tonight without feeling utterly rejected. Before he takes his final step into my bubble, I look towards the end of the street, and it’s only then that I notice how far away from civilisation we are.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, bringing his hand to my hip and pulling me forwards.
The statement is cringey, but I’m drunk and I allow it because I’m an idiot.
I limit the distance between us, pulling him forwards by his shoulders. When he places his lips to mine, my arms circle his neck and I sink into him. The kiss is sloppy and drunk and similar to experiencing my first kiss all over again.
But this time the taste of straight whiskey makes my skin crawl.
It makes me think of my dad – he always drinks whiskey.
The comparison clearly deters me, because I refuse to part my lips and let him in. The bartender releases his frustration onto my hip, gripping it hard. He presses his fingertips deep into the skin, making me gasp. Using the opportunity to his advantage, he slips his tongue into my mouth.
“That’s better,” he mumbles.
Clumsy footing leads us back against a brick wall, and he places a hand to the side of my head to catch himself. Meanwhile, the other hand, which had a death grip on my hipbone, slips to my thigh.
“Oopsies,” he says, a drunken smirk on his lips.
My heart rate stops for a solid few seconds before it kicks into high gear.
“I think that’s enough now,” I say as his lips start to make their way down my neck.
His hand moves up my thigh, dangerously close to my underwear, while his kiss descends from my neck to my cleavage.
“What the hell!” I grunt, shoving him off. My attempt is weak, and I feel a reduced sense of control. “That’s enough! Couldn’t you hear me? Jesus!”
Once I push the man back, his body shifts, and he’s already storming forwards before I have a chance to react. He pushes his hand against my throat, smacking the back of my head against the brick wall and causing shapes to lick at the edges of my vision.
“What is it with sluts like you thinking you can dress like that and not suffer the consequences?” he spits. “You’re practically asking for it.”
“Get … off me,” I mumble, my words slurring.
My vision is blurry.
Why is it so blurry?
Paranoia outweighs all my senses at the realisation.
My drink … He must have spiked my drink!
My heart rate amps to catastrophic levels as I try to move, but whatever is in the liquid makes me go limp, and my body no longer feels like its own.
“It’s finally settling in.” He grins. Through my distorted vision I watch as his fingers fumble with his belt buckle. As I try to protest, he strokes my cheek, forcing my head to the side. “Shh, you’ll enjoy this.”
I screw my eyes shut. “N-no, please.”
This wasn’t the kind of danger I craved when Jack died.
This isn’t the thrill I was after.
Fear claws away at my insides as the man unzips his fly.
Maybe I’m going to die … Maybe, just maybe, this man’s junk will be the last thing I see before he kills me. And there’s nothing I can do about it.
Forcing my eyes open, the man tugs at the waistband of his boxers. At my poor attempt at shoving his chest, he catches my wrist with his spare hand, distracting me from the person approaching behind us.
The drunk bartender’s body is ripped from mine, and the sudden loss of contact forces my body to the floor.
My knees and palms catch my fall, scraping against the dirty rubble on the ground and scorching the top layer of my skin, causing my bottom lip to wobble on a silent cry.
On top of the drug’s lingering effects, the rush of cold air makes my head spin and my ears ring. But when the noise starts to dissipate, I manage to separate the sounds that aren’t remotely close to the heavy bass from the nightclub vibrating through the brick walls.
Grunts.
Curses.
Punches.
Bones crushing.
By the time I’m able to see a flicker of clear vision, a large figure is hovering over the man on the floor. He hits with precision, throwing shots in quick succession. As if he’s hurt someone like this before.
His shoulders are so large I can barely see the man below them until he’s thrown to the cobblestone with a loud whack .
I jump on impact.
The bartender clutches his stomach, limbs flapping like a wailing fish, as he wraps his arms round himself. “M-my ribs!” he screeches. “You broke my fucking ribs!”
The mysterious figure grabs a fistful of hair on the top of the man’s head and then smashes him back against the ground. The crunch of his skull smacking the cold pavement is deafening. And the man’s cries silence on impact.
The figure slowly rises from him, fists clenched at his sides and dripping with blood. He wipes them against the pads of his jeans before finally turning round to face me.
I should be petrified. This man pummelled someone into oblivion.
He saved you , a voice in my head says, breaking through the haze. He saved your life.
He stalks closer, a strange aura about him. I blame the fact I don’t flee in fear on the effects of the drugs still coursing their way through my system. As he crouches down to my height his face becomes clearer.
There’s no denying it now.
The tousled black hair.
The lone strand dangling in the middle of his forehead.
The piercing green eyes.
Harry .
For fuck’s sake.
The realisation almost knocks me out cold. Finding out he’s my saviour is ten times more terrifying than watching him almost pummel a man to death.
This is all wrong. Harry hates me. He wouldn’t save me. He wouldn’t be my knight in shining armour.
“Come on, I’ve got you,” he says, his voice sounding like pure velvet. It’s the softest thing I’ve ever heard. “Can you stand?”
He aids me to my feet slowly, and it doesn’t go unnoticed that he avoids as much of my exposed skin as possible. His grip tightens underneath my arms to help stabilise my wobbly legs, but it’s practically useless. I’m like Bambi on ice.
“I … I thought you hated me,” I whisper.
My shaking legs threaten to send us both toppling to the ground, but he catches me like a startle reflex. His gaze feels like fire as he scans my body for injuries.
I save him the discomfort of asking, my voice breaking on the words, “H-he spiked me.”
For a brief moment I think I see Harry’s jaw tighten.
“May I?” he asks, looking down at me again.
When I nod he sweeps his elbows underneath my knees and pulls me into his chest as if I weigh no more than a baby bunny. The rush of leather and mint invades my senses, causing my brain to stir further.
He walks out of the alleyway and I don’t question where we’re going. With each step, my senses start to escape me, and my head pushes deeper into his chest. It’s comforting, protecting me like a security blanket as the drugs spread through my veins like wildfire .
My eyes flutter, struggling to stay open. Before I slip into unconsciousness, I hear a quiet mumble. It’s so quiet I barely register it. It could easily be a figment of my imagination, because I think it says, “I could never hate you, Gigi.”