Chapter Twenty-Three
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
BONNIE
GEMMA
I’m trying my best to get back, but something came up.
I’ll let you know if I can make it.
Kade is keeping an eye on you in the meantime.
It’s okay.
Next time.
“You look like someone punched you in the gut,” Darcy says from the other end of the bench.
We’ve moved from the coffee shop to the skate park—a favorite pastime for both of us. Even if neither of us skates now, we still love watching and reminiscing.
“Ah… it’s nothing.” I place my phone on the bench and bring my foot into the seat. “Gemma can’t make it. Something came up.”
Darcy’s head tilts, a smirk toying on their lips. I see it out of the corner of my eye, and I squint their way.
“What?”
Darcy chuckles softly and pushes their blonde hair off their face. “Nothing. It’s just nice to see you feeling something.”
Leave it to Darcy to see straight through me—just like they always have.
Ever since that first meeting when I stood quietly in a corner, arms crossed over my chest like I thought I didn’t need meetings to get sober, Darcy saw me.
“Ha. Isn’t that the point?” I ask. “Feeling all the good, bad, and ugly? Including the shit I wish I could block out?”
“I would argue that the point is to have memories that don’t include struggling for that next fix,” Darcy says. “This is a new struggle for you. Something’s different about this one.”
I nod and stare at my hands.
“Do you actually like her?”
I lean up, eyes focused on a young woman riding one of the rails. I wince when she wipes out, but she gets back up and goes at it again as if she meant to fall.
“I don’t know. I think I want to. I think… I think she could be something good for me, maybe exciting… something new and positive,” I admit.
Both of us verbally grimace at another skater.
“I felt that one in my knees,” I say about the fall.
“I shattered my elbow on almost that exact fall,” Darcy says. “I didn’t even feel it when it happened. It was only after the pills had worn down that I was like shit, I should go to the hospital.”
“That’s the worst,” I almost laugh.
A quiet beat passes between us. I peer at my phone on the bench again when it silently lights up. It’s just Mads texting me with a voice memo.
“Does that scare you?” Darcy asks.
“Breaking my arm?” I frown sideways at Darcy, confused at the question.
“No.” Darcy chuckles softly. “Gemma. Something new and exciting. Does that scare you?”
I was afraid this was what they meant.
“Yeah,” I say, meeting their pale green eyes. “Yeah, how could it not? I haven’t let anyone in romantically since Kelsey. And losing her…” I slump back, still toying with an elastic hair tie when I sigh. “Losing her was one of my triggers.”
“So… you’re going to live the rest of your life scared that you’re not strong enough to handle agony without something to numb it?” Darcy asks.
I eye Darcy. “Really not nice to see through someone’s pain like that,” I joke.
Darcy shrugs. “It’s what I do.”
Another quiet chuckle leaves me. “I mean, yeah. Every day, I wonder if I’ll be strong enough to handle whatever bullshit life throws my way. I think about what it might take to push me to the point that the only answer I have faith in is at the bottom of a bottle.”
“What do you think it would take?” Darcy asks.
I consider the question.
Years earlier, it would have only taken one inconvenience to get me there. One inconvenience gave me the right to need a fix. That’s what it was there for, right? To help you forget that life fucking sucks sometimes.
“Feeling truly alone again. Feeling like life is too painful to go through without a sedative. Like it isn’t worth waking up another day because the future might end in disaster, so why prolong the inevitable? Why put myself through it?”
“One more sunset,” Darcy says.
“One more fucking sunset,” I say, repeating the phrase both of us seem to live by.
I push my hair off my shoulder and lean over my knees again, feeling Darcy’s intent eyes on me as I collect my thoughts.
“Grief, guilt, even injustices… It never seemed to bother people the way it bothered me,” I go on. “I always felt it too deeply, for too long. Everyone else could just go on… I fixated. Obsessed . I felt guilty for living while they were suffering or when they died. Everyone else was out here living so why couldn’t I? Why did I feel like I had to suppress my emotions just to take my next breath?”
Darcy’s lips press together in a thin line, and they lean over their knees, mirroring my stance. “It’s okay to feel that. But remember, some of those people who you think have it together probably have their own ways of dealing with that pain—dissociation, sabotage, rage—maybe they even go through the stages of grief like it’s something out of a textbook… But you can’t compare yourself to them. They don’t make textbooks for people like us. What works for them is just that, for them. And for us, it’s never going to be fair that we have to work harder to keep it together. It’s never going to be fair that the seemingly harmless coping mechanisms they use without thinking are what might help us hit rock bottom again. One drink, one smoke, one hit—”
“Just to take the edge off,” I mutter.
“Exactly,” Darcy agrees. “One isn’t enough for us. The edge will forever be out of reach. And that part right there will never be your fault.”
I glance sideways at them, almost smirking. “How many times do you think you’ll have to tell me that before it sinks in?” I ask.
Darcy smiles. “At least one more time. You can’t dwell on the things you can’t change, remember?”
I scoff, heel relentlessly tapping the sidewalk. “God, grant me the fucking serenity,” I mutter, recalling the prayer so many of our meetings have begun with.
Darcy laughs. “I know you hate that.”
“You know, I really do, but it makes ninety percent of those fuckers happy, so I’m not yucking it up for anyone else. Good for them for having something like that that they can cling to. It’s just not for me.”
“No, that’s what the music is there for, right?” Darcy asks.
“Hell yes,” I sigh. “People always say they feel their god all around them. So do I. Music is everywhere. There’s a beat in everything. It’s in the wind, our own bodies, throughout nature… I hear it, and it reminds me why I’m still alive.” I turn in the seat toward Darcy. “There’s a song I’ve been working on today. And it’s just like nasty chords and beats, but… do you know what I hear at its heart?”
Darcy’s head moves a fraction. “What?”
“I hear my mother’s heart monitor. I hear the steady increase in rate as I was yelling at her. I hear it slowing as she began to lose consciousness, and finally the flat line. I’m building and building on that every time I get out my drumsticks. And I know, as fucked up as that is, that that’s the progress I’ve made. I thought I was going to die after losing her—I wanted to die—and now the noise of her death note is fueling a creative streak instead of the pit I used to spiral into.”
“Pain and art always seem to mimic each other,” Darcy says. “Look at all the artists who produced masterpieces during their worst times. You’re putting your pain into what you love and using it as an outlet, Bonnie. There’s nothing wrong with that. I might even argue it’s a healthy coping mechanism.”
I gag. “Well, that’s disgusting.”
Darcy chuckles at me. “You’ve done the work, Bon. You have an amazing support system around you. I want you to remember that. You’re never alone. It’s okay to let someone else in. Even if things don’t work out… You can handle it.”
My phone goes off again, and I glance at it.
UNKNOWN
You’re a liar, Bonnie.
Every positive word Darcy’s just said goes awry, and the same feeling I’d felt earlier while texting my stalker invades my tense muscles. My gaze lifts and darts around the park. There are more than a few people skating with hoods and hats on, and I know it’d be impossible to pick anyone out of this crowd.
I suddenly wish Gemma was here for a different reason—just so I could kiss her and make sure my stalker saw it.
I wonder if that might make her want to punish me or Gemma for it.
UNKNOWN
You told me your bodyguard was going to take care of you.
And now, she’s nowhere to be found.
“Is that her?” Darcy asks.
I shake my head. “Nah. Just something I need to take care of really fast,” I reply.
She’s coming back.
Tell her to come to your apartment later.
I’d love to see the look on her face when she hears how much you enjoy riding my face.
My face immediately heats. Anxiety sweeps through me, and I have the sudden urge to get out of here and back to my apartment. I can’t figure out why simply the possibility of her showing up tonight makes me feel as if I’ll need hours of mentally prepping for her when I normally have no warning.
Damn her.
“All good?” Darcy asks.
“Ah, yeah. Yeah, all good. You want to get out of here? Grab some food?” I ask them. “Doesn’t look like Gemma is making it.”
Darcy smirks at me. “You’re sad.”
“I’m not sad,” I argue, standing and brushing my pants off. “I did want you to meet her, though.”
“Good thing you’re going to keep her around then, isn’t it?” Darcy says slyly.
I eye them, almost snickering at the look on their face. “Yeah, right. In one way or another.”
My heartbeat hasn’t stopped thudding against my eardrums since arriving home.
I can’t close my eyes, can’t bear to sit in silence. Every tiny sound perks my ears and makes my stomach drop. After that last message from my stalker, it’s all I can do to keep my cool as I wait for her to appear. I feel like she could jump out from the shadows at any moment, a ghost who I’m welcoming into my home with open arms.
I have no fucking clue what my body is going to do when she eventually appears—if it’ll betray me or if I’ll have the strength to say no.
I don’t even know if I want to say no.
The hold she has on me ignites my entire body. I’m bound to her in a way I’ll never be bound to anyone else, and that realization makes me feel utterly powerless.
It’s after midnight when I realize I’ve been frozen atop the covers of my bed for over an hour, just staring at my ceiling fan like one move might spring her into existence. I stand and go into the bathroom, desperate to throw water on my face in the hopes that it’ll slow my brain down. Every flicker of light coming in from the windows and shadow cast around it makes me look twice.
Get it together.
She isn’t here.
Not yet.
I don’t bother turning on the bathroom light, too fearful that she’ll be standing in the shower and scare the shit out of me. I splash water onto my face and let it drip into the basin for a few moments as I brace my hands behind my neck. The cold sting does nothing more than derail my train of thought for as long as it takes me to find the strength to get a towel. I turn on the warm water this time and soak the cotton before then pressing it to my face.
Cheeks. Eyes. Forehead. Neck…
Maybe I should just shower. Maybe that will be enough to help me relax and get a little sleep, even if she wakes me up by crawling into the bed with me.
Honestly, that sounds kind of nice right now.
The moonlight coming in through the fogged glass walls of my bathroom makes showering without lights one of my favorite pastimes. As I step into the shower, I feel like I’m melting beneath the water when it hits my tired skin. I wash in a trance, taking my time to soak in the steamy comfort and inhale the shower bomb dissolving by my feet.
My skincare routine is barely a routine. I seldom remember to do it. Still, the cool cream is silky as it soaks into my arms, my neck, and my legs. I apply it liberally, languidly, taking my time like she’s watching and this is her preview.
I’m still waiting for her to jump out at me when I leave the bathroom to go to my dresser in search of underwear.
Maybe she’s the one who took the missing pair.
I’ve barely straightened from sliding on a pair of cheeky underwear when I see something move behind me in the mirror. I stiffen, but the fraction of time between noticing her shadow and the moment her arms slide around me is so minute that I don’t even have time to take another breath.
A smooth, gloved hand glides over my stomach, another around my neck. Even though I glimpsed her, I still flinch, still squeak at the ascension of her shadow practically swallowing the air around me.
Pyramid studs and sequins delicately scratch my bare shoulder.
“Did you miss me, rockstar?”
Her disguised voice is the haunting melody that’s kept me awake since first hearing it.
I don’t think I can answer—I don’t know how. Part of me wants to refuse her, tell her that she’ll never deserve to touch me.
Yet I’m numb in her grasp.
I blow out a heavy breath, a little groan escaping behind it as I nearly collapse in her arms. My shoulders and knees give way. I can see the gleam of her outline in the mirror, and my gaze snags on the slackened way I’ve relaxed in her arms. I want to speak, to say something snappy about the anxiety I’ve felt waiting for her all night…
However, her touch does something to me that makes me forget how to speak.
She latches her hand down on my throat, the other teasing the hem of my cheeky panties, and my eyes close as if just the feeling of her arms around me is the salvation I’ve been searching for. The fingers around my neck dig into the soft, delicate spots on either side of my trachea, and the motion makes me squeeze my thighs together. I groan, my knees weakening.
“You did, didn’t you?” she coos. “Did you dream about the way we left things?”
A breathy gasp leaves me as I try to form words. “Yes,” I manage.
“Tell me what you dreamt about,” she says, her fingers drifting beneath the lace. “Tell me… fuck, Bonnie .”
God, I know I’m soaking right now.
Her temple hits my ear, the studs raking over my skin. “God, you’re such an eager little slut, aren’t you? Did you dream of my tongue or my fingers?”
I rock my hips back, meeting hers like a sad slut eager for attention—who, fuck … I think she’s turned me into one.
“Both,” I say, grinding against the glove.
“Oh, I bet you did…” She pinches my clit between her thumb and forefinger, and I whimper with the ache.
I should be running. I should be telling her no, not practically drooling over her.
Except all I can think about right now is how much I want her to fuck away my last fraction of sanity.
Sabotage and self-loathing are the self-harming mechanisms they don’t talk about, and ones that I’m far too familiar with.
It’s an ongoing cycle: throwing away what could be a healthy relationship with someone right in front of me for a stranger in the dark, telling myself that I’ll never deserve real happiness after what I did to my mother, after the accident with my ex, after all the things that I’m at fault for. It’s throwing myself into the arms of someone who’s hurt people in the past for me, who’s never let me see their face.
“Finish me,” I breathe out.
Her other hand leaves my neck. She snakes those fingers into my hair and yanks my head back, prompting me to suck a sharp breath between my teeth.
“Say it again… Say you’re mine. Say you want me to ruin you.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Louder, rockstar. Use that lovely little voice of yours.”
“ Yes .”
The word barks out like a hopeless plea. She chuckles darkly, her finger stroking my cheek as if she’s petting my face, and I worthlessly lean into the touch.
“You’re such a good girl .”
Her hand leaves my pussy, and she jams the two fingers she was just using to fuck me into my mouth, nearly gagging me with the force. Somehow that motion makes me weaker and unhinges my knees to the point that I grab for the dresser lip. My tongue swirls around her digits, tasting my own wetness on the thin leather before she relentlessly steals her hand back just to cup my pussy again and grab my bare tit with the other.
God, fucking yes .
I’m entirely hers at this moment.
I lift my foot onto the open bottom drawer and lean back, chin jutting toward the ceiling.
“Open those pretty eyes, Bonnie,” she says in my ear. “Open your eyes and watch me fuck you until I decide you deserve to feel your wet cunt on mine.”
Chills spread over my skin with the promise of her words. I open my eyes, only to see the view of me from this angle, and… fuck . She’s turned me into some worthless, mewling creature ready to come for her as soon as she tells me I can.
Watching her gloved fingers stroke my cunt has me gushing.
I’ll be done for in a matter of minutes if she continues this torture.
Her snicker radiates against my back. “Look at yourself, rockstar,” she whispers against my cheek. “Do you like surrendering to your stalker like this? Rocking on my gloved hands like the dirty, desperate little whore that you are?”
“ Yes .”
The word slips from my lips in a breathy moan before I can stop it.
Look at you.
God, fucking look at me.
I’m so pathetic—the way I’m leaning into her touch, into the shadow behind me like her will is the only thing that matters, the only thing saving me from slipping into a dark place and numbing out the world with something more powerful than me.
Her teasing is relentless. My hips buck against her hand, grinding on the ribbed texture around her knuckles as her other hand toys with my nipple. I’m at my limit watching like this. I lift my foot to a higher dresser drawer and watch as she slides that finger into my pussy. Shit . She has one finger in my pussy, the heel of her palm pressing against my clit, the pressure nearly unbearable.
My eyes roll back as I ride her hand.
“Fuck,” I mutter as she grabs my throat again.
“That’s it,” she praises me, pumping harder.
I’m about to come when she whips me around and pins my ass against the dresser top, and the only thing I can hold onto is the wrist of the hand she has braced around my throat as she slides another finger inside my pussy and absolutely rails me.
I come hard and fast, my body jerking, voice in shambles as I squeak out my surrender.
I’ve hardly caught my breath when I feel her reach behind me and take something off the top of the dresser. Twisted pantyhose stretch over my eyes. I hold onto her shoulder as she ties them off behind my head, my pussy aching with the absence of her hand. And when I’m completely blinded, another layer of vulnerability grips me.
Because for whatever reason… I trust her not to hurt me.
Her lips land softly on mine. It’s brief—too brief for my liking. I lean forward to catch her mouth again when she pulls away, but the noise of her laugh once more muffled by her voice changer makes a part of me sink.
Come back.
I need more.
Her soaked glove grazes my cheek. I move my mouth and stick my tongue out for a taste of what she’s done to me.
“You’re so cute. Is gluttony your sin, rockstar? Do you not know when to stop begging for the things that could get you killed?” she taunts me.
I let out a breathy laugh. “All this time, I thought you claimed to be my savior,” I breathe.
Her hand presses to my cheek, thumb gently swiping my lip. “I love hearing you succumb to your fate.”
She threads her fingers into my hair and yanks back, and the plastic half-mask grazes my cheek. “You’re going to lie on the bed and spread those pretty legs. I want to know how eager you are for my cunt, too.”
Oh god, I am.
I want to taste the woman who’s been driving me mad, who’s fucked me three times now to the point of tears—
The loud ringer on my phone is a splash of water to the face.
Reality sweeps over me. An uneasy panic threads through my bones. Her grip slackens in my hair as she slowly lets me go, presumably to find my phone on the dresser. The ringer grows louder as she picks it up.
It should have stopped by now. It should have gone to voicemail.
Still, it keeps going.
I can feel her body heat standing at my side. She slips her thumb beneath the blindfold and pulls it down to my neck. Moonlight fills my vision. And as I peer down at the phone, I see why she’s brought the phone to me.
UNKNOWN
The only unknown is her, and she’s in the room with me.
My stomach bottoms out.
“Shit,” I breathe. “I don’t… I don’t know who—”
“Answer it,” she tells me. “Speaker.”
I hesitantly tap the green answer button, then put it on speaker as she asked.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Hello, Bonnie.”
I almost laugh at the noise of the voice changer that sounds so much like the Ghostface one from that horror movie. It has to be Zeb. Or Reed bored at home without Wren.
“Oh yeah, really funny guys. It’s a little early for Halloween pranks, isn’t it?”
“Do you know the thing about assumptions, Miss Miller?” the stranger says. “They always get the girl killed first.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, whatever. You kind of interrupted something, so—”
“I still have your little fairy wings.”
…
…
“What?” I eventually breathe, panic lancing my arteries.
Because he can’t have said what I thought he did.
This has to be a fucking dream.
I’m asleep on the bed, still waiting for my stalker to get here—
“Do you remember the night you wore them?” he goes on.
My stalker touches my waist like she’s reminding me that she was there, too.
“Guys, this really isn’t fucking funny,” I snap.
Because the last time I wore fairy wings was the night…
This can’t be happening.
Wake up.
“You were the hottest thing in there,” the stranger adds. “Too bad that skirt ended up in shambles, huh?”
My heart is pounding in my throat as flashes of memory that I’ve tried to suppress begins trickling into the light.
“Stop it,” I manage, my voice cracking. “Who is this?”
“Oh, those words sound so familiar,” he laughs. “But you don’t even remember my face, do you? You were so drunk that you didn’t even notice the taste. You couldn’t see straight enough to watch your drink. You were such an easy prey.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Poor Bonnie Miller,” he goes on. “Too high to function, too much of a slut to care to learn who was giving you your favorite poison.”
I clench my teeth to keep from shaking, hoping to hell I can keep myself together long enough to get off this phone call.
I’m about to break.
“Too bad we didn’t get to finish,” he says. “We were having such a good time, and I think you were, too.”
My stalker’s hand finds my face, and she tilts my head back so that I’m looking at her.
I wish I could see if this phone call is eating her alive as much as it is me.
Because she was there that night, too.
“Who is this?” I force out.
“Don’t worry, Bonnie. I’ll make sure you remember it this time. I’ll make sure we finish. You won’t have to worry about the ‘what-ifs.’ And if you’re a good, quiet little pet, I might even leave you a gift.”
A tear spills over onto my cheek as numbness sweeps through my body. She swipes it away and nods, encouraging me to go on.
“ Who…is…this… ”
My voice is trembling.
“And one more thing.”
I stiffen, fucking horrified at whatever he’s about to—
“Tell your stalker we’re coming for her, too.”
The line goes dead, and I throw my phone across the room.
I’m…
I don’t remember their faces. I don’t know their names.
I remember the cold, grimy floor and the smell of blood, sweat, vodka, and cum. I remember the flickering lights—
Get out.
Stop.
I think my hands are in my hair. I think I’m moving, backing up and shaking my head.
I don’t want to remember it.
“No,” I hear my distant voice. “No, no, no—”
I don’t want to go back there.
There’s a bright white void where the memory should be, and I realize as I pull the roots of my hair that it’s the light over my head as I stare from the ground, someone on top of me, an iron tang on the air as scarlet blood sprays—
I don’t want to remember it.
Get out.
Get out.
Hands press to my cheeks again. I flinch and jerk as I remember that I’m not there. I’m still in my room. They aren’t anywhere near me. I’m safe.
My stalker stands in front of me just as she did those years ago, except then, she was patting my cheeks and hauling me off the ground. She was there. She was there. She saw them. She saw me. She saved me—
And they just threatened her, too.
“I… What—”
The sound of my text message ringer makes both of us jump. My stalker leans over to peer at the screen with me, and we both collectively sigh.
KADE
2AM check-in
Everything okay?
She braces two trembling fingers beneath my jaw and forces me to look at her before I can comprehend Kade’s texts.
I want see her face.
I want to see the rage swimming in her eyes.
“I’ll find them,” she whispers. “They don’t get to come back.”
She pulls the voice changer mask down, plants a lingering kiss on my lips through the fabric, and I’m left in shock when she vanishes through the front door seconds later.
Reality breaks over me the second the latch clicks.
What the fuck just happened?