Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(72)

No matter what, I had to leave this place, even if Porter was no longer one of my reasons for leaving. I couldn’t give up on him, though, no matter how timid I was due to our current circumstances, no matter what the consequences might be. I loved him, truly loved him, and wanted him in my life. And I knew I had to see him. I had to overcome my fears and sneak away.

And so I did.

With my heart racing, I threw open my bedroom window and perched on top of the sill. There were several feet between the window and the nearest branch. Could I do it without breaking a leg?

I didn’t care. I had to try.

With a single deep breath, I threw myself at the tree, grabbing the thick branch with desperate hands. The bark dug into my palms and I grimaced at the pain. My legs dangled and a breeze blew through my skirt, pushing it from my body. With renewed strength and purpose, I used my hands to walk me to the trunk, then wrapped my arms around it and slid carefully down to the ground.

With my purse over my shoulder, I set off to see him. I had to get answers. No matter the consequences.

? ? ?

Charlie answered the door. Dark circles sat beneath his eyes. He was high, or coming down from one. I could only hope that Porter hadn’t joined him.

Did you know I’ve been clean for two months? I remembered those words and prayed that Porter was still clean.

“What do you want?” Charlie demanded, the muscles of his bare arms bulging as he spoke.

“I need to see him. Is he here?”

“Maybe.”

I had no clue why Charlie was treating me with such disdain, but he wasn’t my concern. Porter was.

For the first time in twenty-two years, I rolled my eyes. I pushed past Charlie, calling Porter’s name as I walked through the kitchen and into the living area.

There he was, slumped on the couch wearing just a T-shirt and boxer shorts. He glanced my way, but didn’t move.

“Go away, Brin,” he muttered, focusing his attention on the army game one of his roommates was playing. Machine guns blasted from the television, and bodies flailed with blood splattering across the screen. Disgusting.

“I need to talk to you.”

“No.” He wiped his hand straight across his entire face, and right then I knew.

He was coming down from a high.

No. No. No. No.

“I’m not taking no for an answer.” I planted my feet and hooked my hands on my hips.

“Is that so?” Unsteadily, Porter rose to a seated position on the couch. His eyes widened and then shut as he pressed his head to the back of the cushion. Part of me wondered just how coherent he was.

“Yes. Let’s go to your room.”

“Oooh,” he said, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Someone’s feeling feisty, huh?”

“Stop it,” I said through gritted teeth. I was in no mood for his inappropriate humor. This was not the time or the place.

His roommate, Darren, snickered from the chair.

Without hesitation, I turned to him with daggers in my eyes. “Quiet. This isn’t about you.”

“Control your woman, Porter,” the overweight boy said with another snicker.

“Shut the f*ck up, douche.” Porter stood and walked to his roommate, his hand making contact with the top of Darren’s head. Darren tossed his remote control across the room and stood opposite Porter, pushing him square in the chest.

“You wanna step to this, you f*ckin’ *?” Darren screamed.

“Yeah, motherf*cker, I do!” Porter yelled, inches from Darren’s face, not backing down. “You don’t f*cking talk to her like that, you hear me?”

Darren glowered at Porter, but was visibly intimidated. Porter wasn’t backing down and Darren knew it.

“Whatever,” Darren said, his voice lowered. “Keep her the hell away from me, all right?” He retrieved the remote control from the other side of the room and returned to his chair.

“Fuck off,” Porter snapped, then took me by the hand and led me to his bedroom.

He locked the door behind us and pressed one hand against the wood, glaring at me. The other sat on his hip. His skin was covered in scrapes and bruises, presumably from climbing up and down the tree outside my window.

My own dress had two large grass stains from the trip I’d just made down the tree, when my knees made impact with the earth. The palms of my hands were scraped and burned from the bark.

“Why are you here?” he demanded.

“Why are you so angry at me?” I asked, and reached to take his hand.

He pulled it away immediately, then let out an intimidating laugh. “Who says I’m angry?”

“Are you high?”

I refused to go around in circles as he avoided what was really going on. I needed to know which Porter I was dealing with—Clean Porter who loved and adored me, a man with ambition and goals. Or Meth Porter—the Porter who hated the world and withdrew into one gigantic ball of anger.

“Maybe,” he said, looking past me.

Clearly, that really meant yes. Disappointment filled me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, along with disappointment and despair. Where was the man I’d fallen in love with?

He was gone, leaving someone else in his wake. Porter was nowhere to be found.

“You’re possessed,” I told him. “And I can’t go any further with you when you’re like this.”