38. Annalise
Chapter thirty-eight
Annalise
"Hey guys, anyone else need to pee?" I shout over the music.
Em, Sash, and I have been at the Staggering Ox for a few hours, laughing, dancing, and drinking far too much—cocktails in their case, water in mine.
I haven't had a sip of alcohol since I woke up, and while I've always enjoyed drinks with friends, it's never been needed for me to dance and have fun.
“I can’t break the seal!” Emily yells back between laughs, clutching her drink like it’s a lifeline.
Beside her, Sasha shakes her head wildly to the beat, soft brown hair almost whipping people around us in the face as she points emphatically at her half-empty glass like that somehow explains everything.
"Okay, I'll be back!" I laugh, already searching for a path off the dance floor.
Weaving through the crowd, I practically choke on the suffocating scent of too much cologne and perfume before immediately wishing for it back just to spare me from the bad B.O. and too much booze.
Quickening my steps, I'm torn between wishing I was drinking so I would've been as oblivious to the toxic air as everyone else was and really glad I haven't had so many drinks that I'll be following their steps with the free bathroom body sprays.
I barely make it halfway to the hall before fingers clamp hard around my wrist.
My body locks instantly, every muscle going rigid as fear shoots up my spine.
“Emma.”
The slurred voice sends a man stumbling into my space, taller than me, broad, absolutely reeking of whiskey and desperation. Bloodshot eyes squint down at me like he’s trying to force my face into someone else’s memory.
“You came…” he mumbles, relief flooding his features. “I didn't know if you would…you’ve been ignoring me all night.”
My pulse spikes, but my voice comes out confident, “You’ve got the wrong girl.”
I try pulling my wrist free, but his grip only tightens.
“I’m not Emma.”
He blinks at me like I’m the one confused.
“C’mon…” His thumb brushes against my skin, and revulsion crawls up my arms. “Don’t do this.”
“I said let go.”
He laughs softly.
“Honey, I know I screwed up, okay?” His words slur together as he moves in closer, his hot breath rancid against my face. “I know I fucked up, but I didn’t mean it. I was drunk. She didn't mean anything”
I pull on my hand, but his grip is still iron clad.
“Let me make it right," he says, tugging me toward the bathroom. “Come on…let me make you feel good again.”
My world stops. The hallway disappears. The music vanishes. My vision tunnels. And for half a second—I'm back there.
Begging.
Screaming.
Not protecting the only life that mattered.
"Fighting," my councilors voice from previous sessions interrupts. "You were fighting for the only life you knew existed."
I stare through him, through the room of people oblivious to what's happening, through the memory of how hard I fought.
“They’re dead.”
His face twists. “Uh…” He squints. “What did you—Actually…never mind.”
"Let," I twist my wrist slightly, testing his grip. “Go!”
He ignores every word, though his expression has softened into something that makes my skin crawl.
“Gods,” he murmurs. “You look so beautiful tonight.”
He yanks my arm again.
"I SAID DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!" I yell as I pivot hard. His hand fighting to regain purchase just as all of my training floods back into me—my fingers curling into a fist on instinct before it's connecting with his face.
Crack.
He crashes to the floor in a tangle of limbs, one hand cupping his face as shock, confusion, and then pure rage ripples across his drunken features.
"What the fuck?" he spits, blood dripping from his mouth. "You bitch! You fucking knocked my toof out!" The words whistle through the bloody gap in his snarling face, only proving his point.
"You're lucky that's all she did," a deep familiar voice says.
Before the drunk can even process it, Matt is there—one massive hand fisting the front of his jacket, hauling him clean off the ground before slamming him hard enough into the brick wall to rattle the framed pictures beside us.
“Don’t.” Thud. Matt shoves him back again, the back of his skull bouncing against brick. “Ever.” Thud. Another violent shake. “Put your hands on a woman—” Thud. “Without her fucking consent.”
Matt leans in until they’re nose to bloody nose, his voice dropping into something far more terrifying than shouting.
“Do you hear me?”
"Yeth! Yeth! I didn't mean—"
Matt doesn't stick around to hear any more, already guiding me away from the drunk, his hand protectively settled on my lower back.
"I'm so fucking proud of you. You did great, Lee.
You did great." Every word is said with a softness he has only for me, though I can feel the rage still rolling off him.
"He thought I was someone else—" I rush out, adrenaline on high as I subconsciously head for the door.
"It doesn't matter. You told him to let go of you. I heard you all the way from the bar."
"Wait! Emily and Sasha are over there, I can't just leave them."
"I'll go tell them I'm taking you home. Are you fine to wait here for a second?"
"Yeah, I'll be fine."
Spinning around, Matt practically plows through the crowd to where I said I'd last seen them, bumping into couples making out—not that he seems to spare them the courtesy of apologizing.
After what could only have been a handful of clipped words—and maybe thirty seconds, tops—Matt breaks away and heads straight for the bar.
He tosses a thick stack of bills onto the counter, jerks his chin in Em and Sasha’s direction, then snatches up a brown paper bag of food the bartender slides his way before handing over a worn leather wallet.
"Sorry that took so long," he says, opening the door for us to leave. "The bartender put the tab under the wrong name."
"Mattey, you didn't need to pay the tab. I've only been drinking water and most of their drinks have been bought by guys all night."
A laugh rumbles out of him as he unlocks the doors.
“That explains why the bartender looked ready to kiss me.” He shakes his head.
“I told him the cash was for the food, their tab, and whatever was left over was his tip.” He opens the passenger door for me, one hand braced on the frame as I climb in.
“Looks like he’s making a couple hundred tonight. ”
“A couple hundred?” I gape at him. “Matt, you seriously didn’t have to—”
He winks, shutting the door once I’m inside the passenger seat of his new pickup—the apparently nonnegotiable purchase he’d made while I was in a coma, convinced he’d need something reliable for all the supply runs into town for things I might want when I woke up.
“Technically”—his grin turns downright wicked as he climbs into the drivers seat—“the asshole you punched did.”
We're barely a hundred yards from the Staggering Ox when Matt's phone begins to ring.
"Hey, sorry, I meant to message you. We're on our way back now."
"We?" I hear a man ask, not quite loud enough to make out who it is.
"Yeah, there were some…complications. I have Annalise with me, we just left the bar."
There’s a pause, and for a minute, I wonder if Matt lost service.
“Is she hurt?”
“No,” Matt answers. “Just…shaken up.”
“I’m fine,” I snap automatically, but his quick glance down at my now trembling hands says he knows I'm full of shit.
“I'm gonna take her back to the dorms,” he adds. “Let her crash in my room tonight.”
“Like fuck you are!" The words are immediate.
Matt exhales. “Korr—”
“Matt, bring her to the house.” It's not a request. Every word is said with absolute authority.
My eyes flick to Matt, but he just smiles sweetly back at me.
"Sorry, Sir. Not what's gonna happen—"
I can hear Hunter making demands, but as the adrenaline from the night leaves my body, I'm more focused on not throwing up than listening to them argue.
Closing my eyes for a second, I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth, trying to force my body to still.
"Stop fucking with him and tell him we're on our way," I say shakily. "Oh! and tell him he better not have eaten the last pickle."
Hunter's standing on the front porch waiting for us when we walk up to the house, arms crossed like he'd been the one in a fight tonight.
“You alright?”
I lift my chin, even though my stomach still feels unsettled and my pulse hasn’t completely come down.
“I’ve been better…but I’ve also been worse, so yeah.”
Something in his expression shifts as he jerks his head toward the door. “Food'll help.”
I give him a quick kiss on the cheek before I remember we're outside and anyone can see us. Shit.
"It's fine, Seiri. Let's get you inside and settled," he says, his hand dropping to my lower back as he gently guides me into the house.
The warmth and familiarity of the house wrap around me instantly, but none of it is enough to calm my anxious energy. Exhaling hard, I drag a hand over my face. I need…something. Movement. Noise. Anything.
“Anyone want a drink?” I ask, already heading for the kitchen.
Hunter gives me a sharp, questioning look, but Matt’s already moving—pulling three glasses from the cupboard and dropping ice into two of them without saying a word.
Walking to the table, I pour Hunter a glass of the bourbon he loves, then cascade the tequila over ice for Matt and me.
I slide their drinks across the table, Matt giving me that knowing grin while Hunter's eyes never stop assessing.
As my fingers curl around my glass, they each lift theirs, but it's not the cup that meets my lips, it's the bottle.
Both of them go still as I tip it back, taking a long, slow pull straight from the neck. The tequila hits my tongue hard before burning it's way down my throat and settling in the best possible way.
By the time I lower it, both men are staring.
Wiping my chin with the back of my hand, I set the bottle down with a solid thunk, and finally feel the ghost of a smile tug at my lips.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “That helped. Now, what are we eating?"
"We've got burgers, mozzarella sticks, fried pickles, fries…" Hunter begins to list out, causing my stomach to grumble as my eyes shoot up to meet Matt's already too pleased with himself smile.
"You already planned on kidnapping me, didn't you?"
"Of course not," he tries to say innocently. "We were just really hungry and couldn't pick what we wanted to eat so we got it all."
"All of my favorite things to order there? And what's with the third burger?"
"Hunter's a hungry boy!" he laughs.
"Hunter?" I ask, at the same time he says, "Don't call me that."
"And since when do you two even hang out? You hate each other!"
"Oh, I forgot to tell you, we've been dating since you were in a coma. I thought we were going to take things slow, but his need to put a label on it almost immediately really sucked me in," Matt jokes.
Hunter's eyes roll harder than I've ever seen them—an impressive feat considering how hard he is always rolling them at me.
"He came over just after you left for the bar, whining about not being invited. I've had to practically cuff him to the chair all night so he wouldn't go down and get you right then. He finally convinced me to let him go pickup dinner, but promised not to interrupt your night."
Matt's full, mischievous smile at Korr is unsettling.
Nope. It's not the smile.
Jumping up from my chair, I sprint to the closest bathroom, hand covering my mouth in hopes that'll keep the contents of my stomach from spraying around the room before I can reach the toilet.
The toilet seat is barely up before the first round of puke meets the toilet.
“Let it all out,” Hunter says, immediately behind me, gathering my hair in one hand and pulling it away from my face with surprising gentleness. “Your body’s coming down from a fight. This is a completely normal reaction.”
"I'm sure the tequila on an empty stomach didn't help either," Matt jokes, though the concern is clear in his voice.
"Out," Hunter commands.
I’m about to argue that if someone’s going to hold my hair while I violently empty my stomach, I’d much prefer it be Matt—
—but another brutal wave crashes through me, drowning out the sound of his retreating steps as my puke splashes in the bowl.
Unfortunately, it does not cover Hunter's gagging over my shoulder.
I pause mid-heave, blinking through watering eyes.
Another gag, then a muttered, “Gods, fuck…”
Despite the acid burning my throat, a weak laugh slips out of me.
“Are…” I cough, wiping my mouth. “Are you gagging?”
“No," he says firmly before I hear another dry heave just above me.
Lifting my head just enough to look back, I'm only half surprised to find that Hunter's face has gone impressively pale, his jaw clenched so hard I’m surprised his teeth aren’t cracking. But still, his hand hasn't left my hair.
“Hunter…” I rasp, somewhere between horrified and wildly amused. “Do you seriously have a thing about puke?”
His glare cuts to me, murderous and green around the edges.
“It's not a thing. No one likes puke,” he argues, swallowing hard.
I choke out a laugh that immediately turns into another heave, this one, thankfully, non-producing.
“Then…why are you still here?”
His grip on my hair tightens just slightly, grounding instead of painful.
“Because you need me.”
"Not puking on me!" I laugh. "Should I scoot over so we can take turns in here?"
"One—I'm not going to puke. Two—that's absolutely disgusting. And three—You suggested that far too casually. How often do you share toilets with people?"
That does it. I'm laughing so hard, I nearly throw up again.
Hunter mutters a "Fuck me!" as he gags once more, still pale as death, still glaring at the toilet…and still refusing to take a single step away from me.
Walking out of the bathroom after brushing my teeth, I find the boys laughing at the table, three plates dished up with the bar food that's clearly been reheated.
"Before you sit down, go put on your comfy clothes. My old football shirt must be in the wash, but I made Hunter throw in one of his old worn-in shirts and I pulled out your favorite sweats."
"Uhmm, is that weird?" I awkwardly ask Hunter, who's thankfully regained the color in his face.
"It's just a shirt," he says nonchalantly as he stares deep into his glass of water. "Just do me a favor, if you start feeling unwell again, take it off."
Matt nearly chokes on a fry. "Gods, Sir. Buy a girl dinner first."
Korr slowly closes his eyes. "That isn't what I meant."
"Really? Because it sounded like you just told her to get naked in front of me."
"Not—no. I meant—I just don't want puke on it. The smell is practically impossible to get out."
"Trauma. Got it."
Korr points a finger at him. "Exactly. So the shirt comes off the second she thinks something might happen."
"Do women typically have to guess if something will happen with you or not? How unfortunate for you, Lee."
A frustrated sound leaves Korr's throat as he drops his head into one hand.
"Alright, Lee. Go change so we can eat, and do your best not to get distracted smelling Captain-can't-handle-puke's shirt."