9. Theo Fairview
Alexa Play: What Was I Made For? by Billie Eilish
“You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay…” I chanted to myself as I pushed my shitty Honda to its limits in an attempt to get to my safe space as quickly as possible.
I’d only had one drink at the bar, but that was about to swiftly change.
I’d stopped long enough to pick up that bottle of vodka I’d successfully denied myself the night before, and now it was a comforting weight in my lap as I tore into Fairview.
I was already cracking the top open and downing a few fiery mouthfuls as I stumbled out of my car and rushed into my guest house.
That wasn’t real.
I hadn’t seen him.
There was no way he was actually there. Cass had said it had been a buyout for her firm. He couldn’t have actually been there.
It was my mind playing tricks on me.
This wasn’t the first time I’d imagined him in weird places. It happened a lot more when I was younger. Sometimes I would see him turning corners in college, or I’d wake up and think he was looming over my bed.
Nausea and panic tore through my stomach, and I swallowed more vodka as I rushed into my bathroom. Setting the bottle on the counter, I ripped open the top drawer and fumbled inside with shaking fingers until I found what I was looking for.
I let out a raspy gasp of relief as my fingers closed around the familiar feeling of a Q-Tip, and I sank to my knees on the bathroom floor, clutching it desperately to my chest and crushing my eyes shut.
Three good things. Three good things…
My mind was scrambled, and the booze seemed to be taking forever to kick in.
I couldn’t think of anything good.
It wasn’t fucking working!
I choked on a sob and rocked back onto my heels, wrapping my arms around my knees as a flashback ripped through me.
His fingers where no one’s fingers should have ever been.
His disgusting grunts and moans as he forced me to watch while he touched himself.
The ache in my feet from those damn heels he made me stand in for hours.
“It’s not real. It’s over. That happened forever ago. Get a grip, Theo,” I rasped, but nothing was helping.
I knew the only way to make it stop was to get so fucking drunk my mind wouldn’t be able to torture me anymore.
So, I peeled myself off the floor and reached for the vodka, wondering if this time, it would finally be enough to kill me.