11. Blake
BLAKE
Shit, I feel weird.
My brain’s a fuzzy mess, and yeah, I’ve been knocking back the shots, but this is different.
Something in the back of my muddy mind is warning me to get out.
But I can’t find the door. All I could find was a dark corner in between a wall and this cabinet-bookshelf thing. I don’t know what it is, but it’s towering above me right now, like an ominous demon… or maybe it’s keeping me safe and hidden.
I don’t know.
I don’t know anything.
My brain is scrambling to put two thoughts together.
I vaguely remembering stumbling into this spot, sinking down onto the floor. The shadows enveloped me, and I fumbled out my phone, not even knowing who I was dialing.
I just needed to get help.
Then some man with a deep voice answered .
He talked to me and told me to stay put. So I’m gonna do that.
Leaning my head back, I groan, my stomach roiling as I rest a shaky hand against my spinning head. The room is turning upside down, and I shut my eyes, trying to get off this ship.
The floor is tipping beneath me. Oh shit, I feel like I’m gonna puke or something.
I have to get out of here.
I’m gonna hurl chunks, and I don’t want to get my dress dirty.
Wait, am I even wearing a dress?
I look down at myself, struggling to make sense of the jeans and shirt I’m in. I thought I was dressed up for a party. I came to a party, didn’t I?
Where’s my jacket?
Cleo wouldn’t let me go in just jeans and a shirt. And my jacket. Did I have a jacket?
“Dress to impress, sweetheart.” Mom’s voice rings in my head.
“Make ’em hungry for it.” Cleo smirks.
Wait. Who’s Cleo?
I mumble her name, picturing a girl with purple-and-black hair.
She has a neck tattoo—a bird, the wings stretching around her throat.
Her smile is bright, her laughter kind of maniacal.
She spins around my brain like a horror movie.
A carousel of images attack me from all sides—moans of pleasure, puking, tucking lipstick into my pocket, laughing, drinking straight from the bottle, a loud clash of drums, stumbling, landing on a bed, hands on me, tongues, moans, ecstasy, headache, crying …
The chaotic kaleidoscope swirls inside me until my brain feels like it’s going to explode.
I groan, clutching my head and struggling up to my feet.
I tip sideways, my shoulder slapping against the wall.
“Hey, you okay?” someone asks me. His voice is deep and soothing, his touch soft as he cups my face.
“Did you come to find me?” The words all blend together, and I can’t understand what I’m saying.
The guy brushes his hand down my face, curling his fingers lightly around my neck. “I’ll help you, sweet thing. You just come with me.”
My head lolls to the side. It’s too heavy for my skinny neck. I can’t hold it up anymore.
An arm comes around my waist. It’s strong and… and like a pincer.
It’s too tight. Too strong. Too unrelenting.
I don’t want it.
I try to pull away, but he holds me closer, his fingers digging into my side as he starts walking me away from the wall.
No! A sharp ping of terror jolts through me.
This is wrong. Something is wrong.
I push at him with floppy limbs that aren’t working properly. “I don’t want to go with you.” I try to make my voice strong, but it’s so soft, and he probably can’t hear me above this music.
Ugh. It’s thumping right through me. Pounding and painful.
My head is about to split open. I whimper, “No.”
“It’s okay, sugar. I’ve got you.” His voice is sweet and coaxing, vaguely familiar, but something feels off .
This is wrong.
I push at him with rubbery arms, but he bats my hand away with a soft laugh. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
His fingers tighten around my waist again until I feel like he’s gonna cut me in half. My floppy head lands on his shoulder, and I don’t want it there.
“Stop,” I whisper. “Lemme go.”
He ignores me, leading us down a corridor.
I don’t want this. I don’t want this!
“It’s okay,” he croons. “You’re safe with me.”
“No, please,” I whimper, wrestling in vain but achieving nothing.
“Blake!” someone shouts. “Get your fucking hands off her!”
There’s a growl, and then the guy’s hold on me loosens. I start to fall, gravity pulling me to the ground.
“Shit!” A hand catches my wrist, slowing my descent and softening the thump when I land on the floor.
I hear a grunt above me and open my eyes.
But all I can make out is a blur of bodies.
A woman screams.
“Stop!”
“Get off me!”
Knuckles crunching.
More grunts.
A tumble.
A crash.
Another scream.
I’m gonna be sick.
I rest my head on the floor, pushing my cheek into the cold wood, closing my eyes and willing the darkness to take me .
“Blake.” Soft hands cup my cheek. “Open your eyes. Come on.” Someone’s lightly shaking me, then tapping my cheek.
I groan, forcing my eyes open.
“That’s it.” A Black man smiles down at me. He’s handsome. There’s something so familiar about him. “It’s me. It’s Grady. I’m getting you out of here, okay?”
His lip is bleeding.
Why is his lip bleeding?
I try to reach for it, but my arm is too heavy. It flops onto the floor, and I can’t keep my eyes open anymore.
“No, come on. Stay with me, all right? Blake!”
Forcing my eyes back open, I watch him blur into a fuzzy blob as he pulls me into a sitting position, then wriggles his hands beneath my legs.
“Get the fuck back,” he growls. “I’m not playin’! I will end any fucker who comes near her!”
“All right, chill man. Shit.”
“Get out!” some woman snaps. “Just fucking get out. And you—take her out of here. I don’t need this shit. You broke my favorite lamp!”
“Bill me,” Grady mutters. With a soft grunt, he stands up, taking me with him. I rest my head on his shoulder.
This one feels right.
There’s no fear in these arms.
And my eyes slide shut as I’m carried out of this wild, thumping place.