Ecstasy

Alex: I miss you.

Alex: A lot.

Alex: You okay, princess?

I’ve stared at Alex’s texts for half an hour, thinking about Mom’s words. I should’ve confided in her long before this shit show. I don’t know what’s going on with Eli and Alex because I didn’t have the nerve to ask him, but I guess that’s another thing we’ll have to clear up when he gets back.

Me: I’m good. Miss you too.

I exhale deeply, about to toss my phone back in the drawer of my nightstand when another text comes in.

My stomach drops, and I sit up in bed, flinging my covers off.

It’s from Eli.

Him: Be there in ten.

That was eight minutes ago.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

For a second, I think about him fucking me so hard at the beach house, how he wouldn’t stop. How he liked really hurting me.

I think about it, and cold fear washes over me. But I’m not that girl anymore. I’m not afraid. I’m going to deal with his ass once and for fucking all, and then I’ll be done with him. I’ll be done.

I sigh, looking down at what I’m wearing. I’m in short black shorts, a loose pink tank that barely covers my damn tits and considering I don’t have a lot of those to begin with, that’s saying something.

I open my closet door to grab a hoodie when I hear knocking at the door.

My phone starts vibrating in my hand. Eli is calling.

Shit, shit, shit.

I run a trembling hand through my wavy hair, taking a deep breath as my heart pounds a nervous rhythm in my chest.

It’ll be okay.

I need to end this anyway.

It’s not like he’s going to fucking kill me or something. Eli might be crazy but he’s not actually a psychopath, I tell myself like I might believe it.

My phone starts buzzing again, I toss it on the bed, and slam my closet door closed. Fuck the hoodie.

“I’m coming!” I call out as he starts beating on the door again. I glance out the open blinds in the living room. It’s pitch-black outside. The clock on the stove says it’s eleven. And beside it, on the counter, are all of the liquor bottles I lined up earlier. Half a dozen.

I didn’t take a single fucking sip. I was pla

Instead of alcohol, I finished another carton of orange juice.

I’m different.

I’m stronger.

I can do this.

I get to the door just as Eli starts hammering away at it again. I bet he thinks I’m high.

Surprise, surprise. This might be one of our first sober conversations.

I unlock the door, throw it open, the cool October air rushing in.

He cocks his head at me, phone in his hand. Arching a dark brow, he glances behind me and asks, “You’re alone?”

A shiver of something like fear runs through me at those words, and at the way he looks me up and down. The way my nipples harden with the cold and I want to cover myself and close the door and tell him I’m not doing this right now.

“I’ve missed you so much.” He slips his hands into the pockets of his black hoodie. “I’ve been meaning to tell you… I’m so sorry.”

I laugh, not moving from the doorway. “Thanks for the apology. But things are done between us. We’re done. You’re insane, and you lied to me, and you betrayed me.” I jerk my chin, indicating the stairwell at his back. “We through now?”

He smiles at me and I feel my knees going weak, my heart pounding so hard in my chest.

Then he says, “I’ve got some more things to say,” and he shoves past me, hard, checking me with his shoulder.

I don’t move from the doorway, the door still open. “Eli.” I hate the way my voice shakes. “Get out right now.”

He doesn’t even turn around to look at me. He just says, “Close the fucking door, Zara, or this is going to get really messy.” His words scare me.

My hands are trembling. I think about ru

Just a second.

I can do a second, and then he’ll be gone from my life for good.

Slowly, I shut the door. Lock it back.

When I turn around, he’s right there. His eyes are on mine like he’s looking for something, trying to read me. Maybe trying to see if I’m fucked up.

I offer him a small smile that I don’t feel. My mind is racing, but I feel bold, too. Stronger. Now I’m facing the consequences of my own actions, which might be a first for me. This time though, there’s no way out. There’s no pill or shot or high to chase. This time, I’ve got to deal with this shit all by myself.

And I will. I’ll deal with him.

“I’ve missed you,” he says again. He reaches a hand out to my face and his touch feels electric, like it did that very first time he came alone to my apartment.

The memory makes my face heat and he must see it because he grabs my chin and tilts my head up when I try to avert my eyes.

I can smell him. That delicious coconut and citrus scent. It reminds me of the sea.

“What are you thinking?” he asks me.

I arch a brow, try to turn my head from his hand but he holds tighter. “About the last time I saw you,” I admit. About how you hurt me. How you fucked me over.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asks, incredulous, like he doesn’t believe it. Like he doesn’t deserve my anger.

I grab his wrist, try to pry his hand off my face. He just tightens his grip, painfully, and I dig my nails into his skin, trailing up over the tattoos on his hand.

“Let go of me.”

He does. Shocking the shit out of me, he drops his hand and looks down and I exhale a silent sigh of relief. Maybe this won’t go how I think it will. Maybe this will be much better. Maybe he came here to tell me he missed me, but he realizes we are not good together. That we need to cut each other off for good.

But instead of doing any of that, he grabs my arm, and yanks me into the kitchen, shoving me against the counter where my back hits a bottle of alcohol that slides into another, thankfully not falling to the floor.

He takes hold of both of my arms, leans down close, and I must be fucking paralyzed with nerves because aside from a small gasp that escaped my mouth when he shoved me in here, I say nothing. Do nothing.

“What’s going on, Zara?” he asks me, the mint of his breath caressing my mouth. “You don’t seem very happy to see me.”

“I—”

He clamps his hand over my mouth, his eyes narrowing. “You’ve let this go a little far, huh, Za?”

“Eli.” The word is muffled beneath his hand, and I hate that his name is shaky on my lips, but I hate that I let him in even more. I shouldn’t have done this. He has the power to ruin me and we both know it.

He drops his hand from my mouth.

“Get off of me,” I snarl at him.

He laughs, grips my arm tighter, but then, throwing me off again, he steps away, toward the door.

I back up, still against the counter but moving down, toward the fridge. Toward my room.

He doesn’t move.

He’s standing between me and the door and unless I want to jump out the window, he knows he has me trapped.

“What are you talking about? Going a little far?” If I run, if I try to attack him, he’s just going to feed on my fear. Maybe I can talk my way out of this.

He smiles at me, that charming smile I’ve watched him flash dozens of times, never knowing he was actually a fucking monster.