Crashed(book three)(100)

Confusion f*cking swamps me. Drags me under.

I need to clear my f*cking head.

I need to figure my shit out.

Only then can I call Ry. And God I want to call her. My finger hovering over the f*cking Call button. Hovering there for well over an hour.

Call.

Call End.

Call.

Call End.

Fuck me!

I squeeze my eyes shut, head fuzzy from however much I’ve drank. And I start to laugh at what I’ve been reduced to. Me and the floor are becoming best f*cking friends. Fuckin’ A.

It’s not hard to go up when you’re already at f*cking rock bottom. Time to ride the f*cking elevator. I start laughing. I know there’s only way to clear my head—my only other f*cking high besides Rylee—that will help keep the demons at bay for a bit. And as much as I need Rylee right now, I need to do this first to get my shit figured out. My right hand f*cking trembles as I go to push Call, and when I do, I’m scared out of my f*cking mind, but it’s time.

Head straight.

Then Rylee.

Motherf*cking baby steps.

“Hey, douche bag. I didn’t realize you knew my phone number it’s been so f*cking long since you’ve called me.”

Such a f*cking old lady. God, I love this guy.

“Get me in the f*cking car, Becks.”

His laughter stops in an instant, the silence assuring me he’s heard me, heard the words I know he’s been waiting to hear since I got the all clear.

“What’s going on, Wood? You sure?”

What’s with everyone f*cking questioning me tonight? “I said get me in the goddamn car!”

“Okay,” he drawls out in his slow cadence. “Where’s your head at?”

“Fucking seriously? First you push me to get in the f*cker and now you’re questioning the fact that I want to? What are you, my goddamn wet nurse?”

He chuckles. “Well, I do like my nipples played with, but shit, Wood, I kinda think you touching them would give me a reverse boner.”

I can’t stop the laugh that comes. Fucking Beckett. Always a bucket of f*cking laughs. “Quit f*cking with me, can you get me on the track or not?”

“Can you get the slur out of your voice and put down Jack, because that’s a dead giveaway your head is still f*cked up … so I’ll repeat my question again. Where’s your head at?”

“All over the f*cking place!” I shout at him, failing miserably to not sound drunk “Goddamn it, Becks! That’s why I need the track. I need to clear the shit from it to help fix me.”

There’s silence on the line, and I bite my tongue because I know if I push he’ll hang the f*ck up on me. “The track’s not going to fix that f*cked up head of yours, but I think a certain wavy haired hottie could do that for you.”

“Drop it, Becks.” I bite the words out, not in the mood for another shrink session.

“Not on your life, f*cker. Baby. No baby. You really gonna push the best thing you got going for you out the f*cking door?”

And session number two begins.

“Fuck you.”

“No thanks. You’re not my type.”

His condescending tone pisses me off. “Stay the f*ck out of it!”

“Oh! So you are going to let her go? Isn’t that a song or some shit? Well hell, since you’re gonna let her go, I guess I’ll give her a run then.”

Motherf*cker. Are my buttons that easy to push tonight? “If you’re smart, you’ll shut the f*ck up. I know you’re pushing me … trying to get me to call her.”