Chapter 9
I’m on a rollercoaster.
One loop. Two. Three fucking loops. Or maybe it’s the wipe out ride, the one that spins while you’re trapped against the wall. This can’t be right. I don’t go on rides; I fucking hate rides.
What is happening? Why can’t I get off? Why won’t it stop?
I crack open an eyelid, but it’s dark. A groan rips past my parched throat as I carefully move my limbs against… soft sheets? I’m not on a ride, I’m in a bed.
The spinning slows marginally and there’s movement at the corner of my eye as I adjust to the darkness, the small slither of moonlight filtering in through the window allowing me to see enough to determine I’m in a hospital room, and someone is sitting in the armchair beside me.
Before I can panic, the figure moves forward until there’s a face swimming in my direct line of vision. A very, very handsome face.
“Gianna,” David says, and I hardly recognise the soft lilt to his deep voice. “How are you feeling?”
There’s a featherlight touch on my cheek where he gently drags the back of his knuckle down towards my chin, then he stops and tilts my head until I’m looking into his concerned eyes.
“Like shit.” My voice barely sounds like my own, which isn’t surprising considering there isn’t a single drop of moisture in my mouth. “What happened?”
I try to prop myself up with a forearm but abandon that idea quick smart when another wave of nausea washes over me. It’s then I notice there’s an IV drip stuck in my arm.
“You were drugged. At the nightclub.” David’s voice loses the soft edge and his words come out clipped. He’s pissed off.
Drugged?
Questions swim around the mess that is currently my brain, but David cuts me off before I can pluck a single one and voice it.
“You’re okay. You weren’t… physically harmed,” he says with a softness in his gaze I haven’t experienced before. The sight gives me a funny feeling in my chest. Almost like a pang of nostalgia, which makes no sense at all.
“Beyond the effects of the drugs, of course,” he finishes, the anger returning.
“Really?” I ask, my mouth getting drier by the word. “Because my head feels like it’s been assaulted by a coven of ninjas.”
He huffs out a small laugh, but I sense no humour, not that I’m feeling very humorous myself.
“You’ll feel rough for a while,” he says, finally lifting a glass of water to my lips and helping me take a sip.
The gesture is bitter sweet. The water feels blessed on my throat, but the second it hits my stomach yet another wave of nausea rolls through me.
“But you’ll be fine once the effects of the drugs wear off. ”
“What are you doing here?” I sound snarky, but my head won’t stop spinning and I don’t know how to respond to this…
gentler version of David. Where is the shark in a suit that fucked me in a hotel room then turned me inside out in his office?
I let my head loll back on the pillow and shut my eyes in an attempt to quell the spinning, then settle for a gentler tone.
“The last thing I remember is having a drink at the bar with Anna. Wait. Where is Anna? Is she okay?” I try to sit up and my heart thunders as I think of Anna being drugged, but a warm hand finds mine and gently coaxes me back down, both shocking and comforting me as it wraps firmly around my fingers.
“Anna’s fine. She’s asleep on the fold out bed.”
It’s then I hear the soft snores coming from underneath the window and I let out a sigh of relief.
“Why are you still here? What time is it?” God, my head is a mess.
“It’s three in the morning. And I’m here to make sure you’re okay.”
I swallow, heavy, as a mix of feelings fight for my attention.
Gratefulness. Humiliation. Relief. Most of all, confusion.
Not much makes sense to me right now, but having David here by my side makes me feel safe.
Maybe it’s the unwavering confidence he always projects, but a sense of calm settles over my frayed nerves.
He doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere soon, both surprising and placating me, so I settle into my pillow and tilt my head to face him.
“Distract me,” I finally whisper, my eyes finding his in the moonlit room. “Please.”
I must look like a wreck. I vow in this moment to never drink again. I know I said that last week, but this time I really mean it.
David doesn’t answer me for so long I start to think he didn’t hear me. He runs a hand across his jaw before finally speaking, his next words soft yet firm.
“I only went to the club tonight because I heard you say you were going to be there.”
His confession startles me. Well, no one can say he does anything half-assed. Mission accomplished, I’m distracted.
“Why?” I croak out, suddenly very aware of his hand that still holds mine. His thumb draws slow circles across my palm, and I can hardly focus on anything else. It’s like an anchor holding me down while my head tries to spin away.
“Wait.” A vague memory flashes through my mind and I try to grasp onto it. “You were with someone tonight.”
I try to draw my hand from his but he clamps down firmer, not letting me budge an inch.
“No, I wasn’t.”
“But I saw-”
“She wasn’t with me. I had just met her. I was at a bachelor party and we had only arrived at the club five minutes prior to me seeing you.”
“So was she….like an escort?”
I don’t know if it’s the conversation or the drugs, but my heart rate sky rockets, and the next question tumbles out before I can stop it.
“Why do you use escorts? A guy like you could find a girlfriend with the snap of your fingers. Are you afraid of commitment or something?”
I swallow past the dryness in my throat, wishing I could swallow those words back down instead. The lingering effects of drugs and alcohol, combined with the intimacy of the dark hospital room, have obviously made me way too comfortable asking invasive questions.
David hesitates again before answering me, but I only expect him to evade my questions like he did that night at the hotel.
Instead, his next words, spoken so softly I barely hear them, shock the hell out of me.
“Has it occurred to you that maybe I’ve had my heart broken, and that’s why I don’t do commitment?”
“Wait. Someone actually broke your heart?” I ask, aghast. “She must have been something really special.” I hate to even think. I bet she looked like Adriana fucking Lima.
“She was,” he says quietly, and I could swear his voice catches at the end. Out of nowhere, my chest tightens.
Useless. Dumb. Nothing.
I could never capture the heart of a handsome, accomplished man like David. But why should I even want to? Prior to tonight, the guy has been a complete asshole to me. Why should I feel jealous over him being in love?
Regardless, the ferocity of the feeling knocks me, not that I can’t control it.
I could never be enough for a man like David, maybe that’s what it is. And, as if I need to confirm it, I lean over the edge of the bed and puke straight into his lap.