Page 37 of The Sun
Brandon was headed out of the kitchen when some Lockhart guy intercepted him. Brandon smiled and glanced over the guy’s shoulder at me. His brow creased, he shook his head, then swiped one of his large hands over his face.
The room tilted and swayed.
“Hey, Sunny,” Brandon called. “Give me just a minute, okay?”
Closing my eyes, I nodded and slumped against the wall.
A sudden hot flash zapped through me, and my stomach lurched, my head spun like I was on a horrible merry-go-round. I needed to sit, but people were passed out on the sofas. One guy had an assortment of colorful condoms stuck to his face. Another had crude drawings of the male genital on his cheek.
The deep bass of the music thumped through me as I stumbled toward the back door. Some girl I didn’t know grabbed me, asking over and over if I was okay while sweat pricked its way across my brow and upper lip. Nodding, I broke free from her grip and slipped outside.
Water stood on the worn grooves of the porch, and a slight shower misted down from thick, storm clouds. I leaned on the side of the house and took a deep breath. While there was little relief to be found in the dense air, there was plenty in the near silence and the pitter-patter of the raind. I sunk to the cool decking, pulling my knees to my chest while wishing the world wasn’t bobbing like a buoy in the middle of the ocean, and more than thankful that Brandon had taken that last drink.
A low groan of thunder rumbled in the distance followed by a dull flash of lightning, but I couldn’t be bothered to move. The suction of the sliding glass door opening and closing sounded beside me, followed by footfalls and the once familiar scent of leather and spice.
“Shit,” he mumbled before I heard the flint of a lighter catch once, twice, three times. “What are you doing out here?”
I rolled my head to the side and focused as hard as I could on bringing the two figures into one. Elias’ gray shirt was speckled with raindrops and when he went to drag his hand through his hair, the hem of his shirt lifted. Thanks to how dangerously low his jeans sat on his hips, I could just make out the deep indention of thatVthat made girls stupid.
I recalled what it was like to fall asleep on him that night in my room. How close we used to be. Even drunk, that thought caused my chest to ache. I wanted things to be the way they were, but they couldn’t.
He snapped his fingers. “You awake down there?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be ignoring me?”
A stream of smoke blew through his lips, mixing with the drizzle and drifting into the night. “You’re drunk.”
“Maybe. But I still know you’ve been ignoring me. You know, if it’s over that letter—I didn’t write that because I wanted to. My dad made me. You should’ve known that.”
“I’m not discussing this with you, Sunny.”
“Come on. Are we fucking twelve?”
His lips kicked up in an amused smirk. “So, I see you’ve got yourself a mouth on you now, huh?”
Glaring, I flipped him a bird. “You’re a dick.”
“Maybe.”
He stood there, taking slow drags and watching me like a caged animal at the zoo.
The light mist transitioned into a slight downpour, fat droplets splatting against the deck. “You never even fought for me.”
“Oh, give me a break. I came back. I saw you at the carnival. You kissed some guy. Why the hell would I fight for you, huh?” He flicked his cigarette over the railing, the bright-red cherry streaking through the air. “We were just kids anyway.”
If words were weapons, that was a spear straight to my heart.
Just kids.Another way to say it didn’t matter.
I forced a laugh to hide the hurt. “Yeah. Right. Just kids.”
With a sigh, he moved toward me then held out his hand. “Come on.”
“Go away.”
“Get up, Sunny.”
“I’m fine.”
