33. Chapter Thirty-Three - Wrong Choices #2
I stood at his side, smiling politely when introduced, nodding at names I wouldn’t remember.
My body felt present but distant, like I was slightly out of sync with myself.
The music thudded against my ribs, the bass vibrating up through the floor, but it couldn’t drown out the unease crawling beneath my skin.
Every time I tried to shift, to create space, Carter pulled me back in tighter.
I focused on breathing slowly. This was my choice, I reminded myself bitterly. I’d wanted this, or at least I’d wanted what I thought this would give me, some kind of escape or validation that was starting to feel more like a trap the longer we stood here.
But all I could think about was Culver. The way his voice dropped when he was angry.
The way he spoke my name like it meant something heavy and dangerous.
The promise in his restraint, the tension he carried like a loaded weapon, made everything around me feel flat and wrong in comparison.
Why did he have to be exactly what I thought he would be?
Why couldn’t he have been different? My person, the one who just wanted me…
Even an hour into the chaos, my mind kept wandering back to Culver.
I’d lost my pride where he was concerned and surrendered it piece by piece.
I didn’t even regret it. He could unravel me with a look, making my “no” feel flimsy and negotiable, and I liked that about him.
God help me, I loved it. Why, God, why? Why did he have to be so perfect and also the worst?
Carter leaned in close, his breath warm against my ear as he raised his voice over the music. “Let’s go somewhere a bit quieter, yeah?”
I smiled again, hollow and automatic, and nodded.
Right now, all I could focus on was making it through the rest of the night without crumbling, telling myself over and over not to text Culver begging him to come get me, not to call and demand answers about the damn picture, and definitely not to let myself fall apart where anyone could see.
He guided us toward a quieter part of the house, and I let him.
The crowd thinned, shadows stretching deeper as conversation replaced the pounding music.
It had to be where his real friends were.
I braced myself, rolling my shoulders back, setting my expression, and burying the discomfort somewhere deep enough to survive.
Carter lifted a hand in greeting, and I spotted them: three guys sprawled across an absurdly plush couch like they owned the place, beers in hand, legs wide, smiles already cocked and waiting.
“’Sup, Cart,” one of them called, barely glancing up.
Out of the corner of my eye, movement caught my attention. Breeanna slipped around the corner like a ghost, vanishing the second she saw us. My brows knit together. She didn’t acknowledge him or stir anything up. Instead, she hid. The unease tightened in my stomach, sharp and unwelcome.
I didn’t get time to sit with it.
Carter dropped onto the couch and yanked me down onto his lap before I could react, like I was just an accessory he’d picked up along the way.
Heat flared behind my eyes, the familiar burn building as I shifted uncomfortably and tried to slide away, but his arms locked around my waist with careless entitlement that made my skin crawl.
I sure as hell hadn’t come here to be handled like some object.
Not by him, and not by anyone else who thought they could just take what they wanted.
“So this is the bitch you were on about?” one of his friends laughed, elbowing Carter like it was praise.
Bitch?
My stomach churned, fury uncoiling slow and lethal. I forced myself not to snap. Instead, I turned my anger sharp and silent, digging my manicured nails into Carter’s hand until he flinched.
“I want another drink,” I hissed, my teeth clenched tight around the words.
Carter blinked, clearly thrown, but nodded anyway, scrambling to recover. “Yeah, got ya the perfect drink,” he muttered, glancing at his friend. “Tan, gimme yours.”
I didn’t look away from him. I wanted him to see it… the anger in my eyes, how done I already felt. When Tan handed over the cup, I ripped it from Carter’s grasp and downed it in one go. The liquid burned its way down, tasteless and harsh, and I slammed the empty cup onto the table like a dare.
If he thought one night meant ownership, that he could parade me like a trophy in front of his friends, he was delusional. I wasn’t his girl, and I sure as hell wasn’t anyone’s thing to show off. Honestly, I was already on the verge of texting Culver just to escape the whole mess.
“Ira’s the name,” the same guy who’d handed over the drink drawled, his smirk curling like he already had me figured out.
“Yeah, what’s it to you?” I shot back, my smile nowhere to be found. My voice came out sharp and edged, though my body betrayed me by swaying slightly, the bass still pulsing low enough to rattle my bones. “Whatever Carter told you, it’s not true. I barely even know him.”
His laugh grated against my skin, loud and cocky. “So you didn’t shag him?”
The words landed like a slap, tightening everything inside me as I caught the glances passing between his friends.
Heat flooded my face, not from embarrassment but from raw anger burning through me like acid.
Honestly, I should’ve seen it coming the moment I let Carter drag me back to a party, should’ve realized exactly what kind of bullshit story he’d been spinning in his dumb little world of red solo cups and an overblown sense of himself.
My hand drifted toward my pocket, fingers searching for my phone without conscious thought.
Culver’s name pulsed in the back of my mind, steady and insistent, but I hesitated.
I hovered there, caught between fight and flight while the guy watched me like a predator sensing weakness.
Would Culver even care? I was nothing to him…
“So what?” I muttered, my tongue heavy, my words slurring. “You wanna fuck me or something?”
The sound of my own voice barely registered, warped and distant, as if it belonged to someone else.
The room tilted as I tried to stand, my balance evaporating beneath me.
My body folded forward, clumsy and uncooperative, and I hit his chest before I could catch myself.
Hands closed around me at once, too firm, too confident, holding me upright without any intention of letting go.
Panic sparked low in my gut.
“Careful,” he murmured, his tone gentle in a way that didn’t match the grip he had on me. Around us, the music seemed to swell, the house vibrating like it was complicit, like it knew what was coming and leaned into it.
Carter’s voice floated from behind me, lazy and amused, threading poison into my ears. “Remember,” he called, “I want Captain.”
Laughter followed, and something inside me went cold. I felt myself reduced in that instant, not even my name attached anymore. Just a body. A transaction.
My thoughts folded in on themselves, dissolving into fog.
The hallway lights smeared into streaks as we moved, though I couldn’t tell if I was walking or being guided, dragged, or carried.
Every step felt slow and thick, like wading through molasses.
I reached for my phone again, desperate to signal someone, anyone, but his hands redirected mine smoothly, placing them back in my lap and pinning them there with pressure.
“Keep your hands here,” the blonde murmured, his voice thick with amusement, like it was a joke he’d been savoring long before now. “Things are about to get fun… for us, at least.”
Everything started to feel far away. Even the light overhead seemed dimmer and fuzzier. I blinked hard, trying to find something solid to anchor myself, but even my own name felt slippery and unfamiliar. Somewhere deep inside, a part of me was screaming, thrashing against the haze.
The rest of me was sinking.
I landed on a mattress with a dull bounce.
It was cheap and springy, unfamiliar beneath me.
My limbs felt wrong. Heavy and slow, refusing to respond to the frantic commands firing through my brain.
Panic swelled tight in my chest as I tried to roll, to sit up, to do anything, but all I managed was a weak tilt to the side.
The door creaked open, footsteps crossing the threshold. Through the blur, a face came into focus.
Breeanna.
Her voice slid across the room like venom. “Since you want to be a slag,” she said, satisfaction dripping from every syllable, “I’m giving you an outlet.”