Ecstasy

“Don’t lie to me, Zara. I can’t do this with you if you lie to me.”

I swallow, wanting to hide under these sheets. Wanting to run out of this room to disappear from his life. I think about him seeing me with Jamal. I think about how he carried me out of that house without saying a word after he beat the shit out of Jamal.

I think about how he took me home, still not speaking.

I think about everything he’s done for me.

Everything I’ve done to him.

“I—”

“Do you remember?” he asks me, his fingers still massaging my scalp, his breath on my mouth. He smells like toothpaste. Different from Eli, from that cotton candy scent his mouth seems to have.

Don’t think about Eli.

“Do you remember?” Alex asks again. “He said you took your shirt off. He said you tried to kiss him. He said you… Fuck, Zara. If you don’t even remember…” His expression is one of anguish, his brow furrowed, jaw tight, lips pulled down. “Baby, if you don’t even remember, you could’ve…”

“I don’t,” I lie to him, my lip trembling, and not from sadness. Not from the reason he thinks. My drug problem isn’t a problem. I’m fine. It’s everything else that’s a mess. And Eli is going to fucking die. He’s essentially blackmailed me into this shit. “I don’t remember. I’m so sorry, Alex, I don’t. I must’ve been out of it. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I think you should come to the funeral,” he tells me quietly. “I think you need to know what could happen to you, Zara. I don’t want anything bad…” He trails off, takes a shaky breath in. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” His fingers are still in my hair, and he’s got one arm around my back.

My mouth is so dry, my heart racing. I don’t know what to say, I don’t know what to do. Something bad is happening to me, I want to tell him. I’m the bad thing. Happening to my fucking self.

But saving me from doing anything at all, there’s a soft knock at the door.

I flinch, and Alex drops his hand from my hair but keeps his other arm thrown around my back as he turns to face the door. “Come in,” he calls softly.

No, please don’t.

My stomach flutters as I watch the silver knob to Alex’s door turn. I hold my breath as Eli Addison steps through the doorway, his tattooed hand clenched around the knob.

His eyes go to me first, and I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

I want to kill him.

Alex’s arm tightens around me, his fingers curling around my shoulder.

Eli must notice the subtle movement, or else he’s done torturing me, because he looks up to meet Alex’s gaze. “You want a ride?” He’s in a black t-shirt, grey shorts. There are shadows under his green eyes, and I wonder if he’s always up like he was last night.

I wonder if he ever sleeps. I wonder if he’s actually insane.

I wonder if I am.

I wonder when I can talk to him. When I can rip his fucking head off and tell him we are never doing that again. It was a mistake, and he’s a fucking bastard.

I have no idea why he lied. Maybe he’s just bored? I don’t know, but I do know he doesn’t know me. Not like he seems to think he does. And if he thinks I’m going to let him get away with that shit, fuck that.

“Nah,” Alex says, leaning against me as he sinks onto the bed. “I’ve got to take Zara to her place so she can get some clothes.”

Eli’s eyes find mine again. I open my mouth to tell Alex I’m not going to the funeral. It’s not my place to be there. I don’t want to go.

But nothing comes out as Eli stares at me, the corners of his mouth lifting, like he thinks my paralysis is fu

“Oh?” he says in his quiet voice. He lets go of the doorknob, crosses his arms and leans against the frame. “You’re coming? I didn’t know you and Riha

Dick.

Alex looks to me.

My mouth is still open, but all I can think about is Eli fingering me last night against the kitchen island.

My face heats with the memory. This bastard.

“She wasn’t,” Alex finally answers for me, “but she’s coming with me.”

Eli arches a brow, focusing on Alex. “I didn’t know you two were so close either.”

“Whatever, man. My dad will be there. I’ve got to go.”

His dad will be there? Yeah. I’m not going.

Eli nods. “See you there.” Then he pulls the door closed without looking at me again and I hear him walk down the hallway, toward the stairs.

I exhale, my heart fluttering in my chest.

“You okay?” Alex asks me.

I clear my throat, shift on the bed and slide off, ducking out of his arms. He stands too, facing me, his hands in his pockets. “Alex, I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”

“I know, Zara,” he says through gritted teeth. “I know you don’t know. I know you would never really do that.” He says it like he’s not sure. Like he’s trying to convince himself.

“I’m not actually…” I clear my throat again. “I’m not actually feeling well. I’m going to um, I’m going to stay home.”

Alex’s brows flick up. “I don’t think you should.”

My temper rises alongside my hunger, my thirst, and my general irritation with being in this house, so far from my drugs, and with two boys that I’ve fucked with, one I’ve fucked over. “I want to stay home. I don’t want to go.”

Alex shakes his head, scrubs a hand over his face. “What is with you?” he asks, exasperated. “Why are you fucking like this?” He gestures toward me, as if this is just…me.

I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t even have a bad childhood to blame this shit on. I don’t have a horror story. I’m all fucked up, and I don’t know why, and I want to go home. I want to go to my room and crawl under my sheets and not think about Alex or Eli or why I’m like this.

“I just don’t feel good.”

He takes a step toward me. “Zara. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

I cross my arms over my chest, wanting to bury under his clothes that I’m wearing. Disappear and hide. “Alex.”

He takes another step. “Yeah?”

“Jax said something about you last night.”

Now it’s his turn to squirm. His turn to look uncomfortable. Guilty.

“What did he say?”

I didn’t really mean to bring this up. I didn’t mean to talk about this right now. Before a funeral. While I’m coming down from whatever I snorted last night. I didn’t mean to but, “He said that you…” I wrap my arms tighter around myself, looking down at the floor. “He said you hurt someone.”

I can’t bring myself to say it. That horrible word that sounded so musical last night coming out of my mouth. Rape.

Alex doesn’t say anything for a long moment. He’s silent, and I keep staring at the floor, waiting. The more time passes without him saying anything, the worse this will get. The more guilty he seems.

“Hurt someone?” he finally asks, a beat too late. “Hurt someone how?” There’s an underlying edge of anger in his tone.

I rub my hand over my throat, one arm still wrapped around myself. “I don’t know.” My voice is a faint whisper, and I’m lying, but I can’t say it. I just can’t say it.

He takes another step toward me and reaches out his hand.

I take it with shaky fingers. He pulls me into his chest, wraps his arms around me, and I lay my head against his shoulder.

“Did you?” I ask him. “Did you hurt someone, Alex?”

He takes a deep breath. I feel his lungs expand and then deflate against me. He holds me tighter, his dark and woodsy scent enveloping me in familiarity. I think he’s just going to deny it, but instead he asks, “If I did, would you still want me?”