Following Me(49)

“Let go. Let go. Let go,” she muttered, trying to ease the pain off her shoulder. “Please. Let go.”

“Isn’t this what you want?” the voice asked.

With a chill running through her, she softly said, “Please let go.” She didn’t even know if he could hear her.

A hand came up and fisted in her ponytail, yanking her head back roughly. As he pulled her off the bed by her hair, she squeaked as he tugged some of the strands out. He released some of the tension on her shoulder, but he tightened his grip on her wrist. She was already starting to lose blood circulation in her fingers.

He brought her head back toward him but kept her facing the wall. He whispered in her ear, “You don’t really want me to let go. Do you?” His voice was gruff but seductive.

She felt some her shoulders loosen, but her heart was still racing.

“I don’t want to let go, so I don’t see how you would want me to.”

Devon trembled in his twisted embrace. She tried to clear her mind. She needed to go blank. She needed to forget since she couldn’t stop it or fix it.

This is my fault. Why did I think I could run away? I brought this on myself, she thought.

He lifted her skirt and pushed her back over the bed.

DEVON AWOKE WITH a start as someone shook her shoulder.

“Dev, wake up,” Garrett said, shaking her again.

“I’m awake,” she said hoarsely.

She was having a hard time thinking or even breathing right now. Garrett was hovering over her bed, and he reeked of alcohol. She was glad he had awoken her, but after that dream, the smell of alcohol was the last thing she wanted to wake up to. The nightmares had never gotten that far before. As the reality of what had happened sank into her, she realized she had always woken up terrified before, but now, she wasn’t sweaty or crying or shaky. She felt numb. This whole time, she had been letting her walls crumble all around her, but with the memories of that dream, she had tightly locked it all up again.

“Have you been drinking?” she asked just so he would stop staring at her in the darkness. She needed to compose herself.

“Yeah. It’s the Fourth of July…well, it’s the fifth now,” he said, sitting heavily on the bed.

The covers fell down past her br**sts, which were only covered by her thin nightshirt. His eyes followed the movement, and for once, Devon was glad for the cover of darkness.

She pulled up the sheet. “Why are you back already?” She yawned as she read the clock. Midnight. “Aren’t you supposed to be out with your parents or something?”

“Change of plans.”

She could tell something was wrong by the set of his shoulders. Her brain hadn’t caught up with her body. She had crashed as soon as she had gotten home. Waking up in the middle of the night made her groggy. She couldn’t figure out why he would be home or what could be wrong.

“And you woke me—”

“Come drink with me.” He grabbed her hand and tugged lightly, prodding her out of bed.

Devon yawned. “I’m really not up for a drink.”

“You’re never tired this early.”

“I worked my ass off all day.”

“You can sleep in tomorrow. Come have a drink with me. I brought a bottle back,” he said with a boyish grin, his hand running back through his hair.

Devon sighed and nodded. He wouldn’t be asking if something wasn’t wrong. “Alright. It better not be tequila.”

“Would I do that to you?” He chuckled.

“Only if you hated me.”

“Which I don’t. So, let’s go.” He stood and padded out of the room.

When he left, Devon kicked out her feet from the bed and stood shakily. She couldn’t believe that she was actually going to get out of bed to have a drink right now, and she didn’t want to face why she was doing it. All of it hurt too much.

How long could a person go without sleeping? She would do that if she never had to dream again. Alcohol sounded like a better option than closing her eyes and living that dream all over again.

Still in her nightshirt and sleeping shorts, she slung a cardigan on and walked out into the living room. Crashing down on the couch, she cuddled up with the throw pillow and tried to hold back her yawn.

Garrett walked out of the kitchen with two full shot glasses. He set them on the table next to Devon. She stared at them warily as he walked back into the kitchen. He returned a second time with two whiskey glasses full of a dark brown liquid.

“You weren’t joking,” Devon said.

“Did I sound like I was?” he asked, staring at her.

“Guess not. I’m going to get f**ked up.”

“That’s the point.” He handed her a shot of bourbon.

Garrett held out his glass, and Devon raised hers to meet his.

“To living the life,” he said.

Devon cracked up, thinking how far from that she felt, but when she looked up to his face, she could see the feeling was mutual.

“To living the life,” she repeated, taking the shot back. It burned like a bitch, but she was from Tennessee. She would have gotten nowhere if she didn’t know how to take down a good shot of bourbon.

Garrett slammed the shot glass down on the table. “Fuck that.” He returned to the kitchen and reappeared a second later with an expensive-looking bottle of liquor.