Chapter 7 #3
It only got worse from there, as she’d clearly forgotten just how on-point her drinking game choices for the franchise were.
But as silly as it was, it was fun. Because watching films was one of the few times Kaden’s face was actually expressive.
And because as drunk as she was getting, it was hard to think of anything for very long, and that was honestly a relief.
She relaxed into the couch. With Kaden there, passing the time the way they so often had in Dead Earth, she was able to pretend, in that moment, that she was that woman again—the woman who didn’t have a past, because she couldn’t remember it.
The woman who didn’t have to think of the future because she wasn’t likely to have one.
The woman who only had the present. Back then, it had been stifling. For tonight, it felt liberating.
By the time The Fellowship of the Ring ended and The Two Towers started, Nyx was so drunk she couldn’t see straight. At some point, she fell asleep, which she only knew because Kaden nudged her awake just as the battle of Helm’s Deep was really getting underway.
He knelt on the floor next to the couch, his expression determinedly focused.
She groaned. “What?”
“You should go to bed.”
She wasn’t exactly comfortable on the couch, but moving felt like too much to ask. Her eyelids clearly had weights on them, because they were already closing again. “Ss-okay. Good here.”
He nudged her again and she groaned again. “Why?”
“Evra will kill me if she finds you on the couch.” Kaden’s words weren’t slurred like hers, but that was only because he spoke them with the slow determination of someone intent on not slurring them.
“She’ll get over it.”
“Rather not find out. Come on.” He shook her shoulder again.
“Ugh.” She turned her head and buried it in the couch. “Walking bad.”
“I can fix that.” His arms slid underneath her. He pulled her to his chest and seemed to be bracing for something. Belatedly, she realized what he was focusing for.
“You’re too drunk to carry me,” she objected. And she was too drunk to have him touching her, because there was an unguarded part of her belatedly realizing she missed being touched.
“No,” he said with that intently deliberate care over his pronunciation again.
“I am too drunk to carry you gently.” Which he proved when he rose unsteadily to his feet.
It wasn’t comfortable, but he didn’t even come close to dropping her.
His first step toward her room was just as jerky, causing her head to smack into his shoulder.
She wasn’t sure if she left it there because it was too much effort to lift it, or because if she closed her eyes she could pretend he was someone else.
And the fucking cascade of emotions that brought on made it obvious why she shouldn’t have gotten drunk around him.
Because it felt so damn good to be held when she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it.
He smelled nothing like Seth, but he smelled familiar. He felt familiar. An aching hole opened in her heart and tried to swallow her. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, anything to try and fill that void, no matter how terrible an idea it was.
She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the tears suddenly pushing at them.
She didn’t want to cry into her ex-boyfriend’s t-shirt.
But like most things lately, she didn’t get what she wanted.
Alcohol had destroyed the integrity of her paper-thin emotional walls, and her tears leaked silently down her cheeks.
She hoped he wouldn’t notice. She hoped he would ignore it if he did.
He squeezed her to him a little more tightly as he carried her into her room. “It’s okay,” he said softly.
“No, it’s not.” Her throat was so thick it was hard to talk, and yet she couldn’t stop talking. “I miss him.”
“I know,” he said softly.
“And I hate being alone.” She’d always hated being alone.
“I know.” He stopped at the edge of the bed and managed to lay her on the mattress more gently than he’d picked her up. “It won’t hurt so much in the morning.”
She gave a short, ugly laugh. “Liar. But then, you always were a good one.”
“Yeah,” he said tightly. “I guess I was.” He turned away, and that aching pit inside her yawned wider.
“Wait.” She caught his arm. “Please don’t go.”
He exhaled, his eyes searching hers. “It isn’t me you want here.”
“Does that matter?” It didn’t feel like it mattered right now.
Something—some emotion she couldn’t identify—passed through his eyes, then disappeared. Without answering, he gently twisted his arm out of her grip and walked to the door.
She should let him go. But something self-destructive had awakened in her, something that was in pain and was seeking out more of it because she didn’t know what else to do. She wanted to hurt. In that moment, she wanted him to hurt her. “Did you ever love me?”
He stopped, looking back at her. “Neither of us is sober enough for that conversation. And you don’t really want to have it.
” He waited, as if for her to say something, but she didn’t have anything to say.
Some part of her knew he was right and she wouldn’t want any part of this in the morning, and it was a damn good thing he wasn’t staying.
He smiled wryly, as if he knew it. “Goodnight, Nyx.” He walked out, closing the door softly behind him.