Page 3 of Save Me
Thayer cuts the engine, but I don’t move. I just sit and stare.
He climbs out and comes around to the passenger side, opening the door and taking my hand. “Come,” he says, tugging gently.
I move, but it’s mechanical. Forced. I just want to sit and stare into space for a while until the numbness in my brain leaves.
He leads me inside, and I sit on the huge leather couch in the penthouse that’s just a stone’s throw away from campus. My heart feels like it’s stuck in a vice. Thayer’s quiet presence is like an anchor in the stormy sea of my thoughts.
Bigsy’s face flashes behind my lids every time I blink. His sneer is etched into my memory; the cold touch of his gun against my skin makes me shudder. And then there’s Aaron. My dad. A man more myth than flesh, his sudden appearance in my life, a life that he saved, isn’t something I can come to terms with right now.
“Vogue.” Thayer’s voice cuts through my spiralling thoughts – soft but insistent. “You’re safe here.”
I nod, though his words sound far away. My fingers curl into fists on my lap, not out of anger at him but at the whole messed-up situation. Anger burns my throat; it’s like I’m choking on the smoke from bridges I didn’t even know existed until they were already in flames.
“What are you thinking?” he presses.
“About how I nearly had my brains shot all over my dad’s office. How he saved me in the last second. How all this is so fucked up I can barely breathe. Do you need me to go on?”
“Nope. I just wanted you to get it off your chest. Rage ferments, and it’s not pretty when it explodes.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know if rage is the emotion I’m feeling or if it’s something else. I’m too numb to decide.” My voice sounds hollow, even to my own ears. I never imagined that the same blood that ran through some distant criminal’s veins was alive and well and pumping through mine, carrying with it a legacy I never asked for.
Then it hits me. The raw emotion that I’ve been trying to buy deep, deep down and hide behind whatever else is lurking.
Apathy.
Pure and complete apathy for Bigsy and his non-existent head.
I don’t care what happened to him, and that scares me more than the lingering memory of what could have been if Dad hadn’t rescued me.
Dad.
Rescuing me.
Ruining me, more like. He has ruined everything. My entire life has been a lie.
Thayer leans forward, his elbows on his knees, looking at me with those intense grey eyes that always seem to see right through me. “Whatever happens, Vogue, we’ve got your back.”
The weight of his support is both comforting and suffocating. I nod, trying to smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace. I should feel saved, shouldn’t I? Rescued. But instead, I feel trapped in a new way, caught in the web of my father’s twisted world.
I owe him.
That is a position I dislike more than anything. I don’t want to owe him. I don’t want to begratefulto him. I want to hate him, but that fucking stupid blood running in my veins won’t let me.
“Thanks,” I say, because what else can you say when your life’s been flipped upside down?
I push myself up, needing space, needing to breathe. I walk over to the window, press my forehead against the cool glass, and look out at the looming university in front of me. It blurs before my eyes, a kaleidoscope of colours that don’t make sense anymore, just like everything else.
Stepping back, I cross over to the kitchen, with Thayer hot on my heels. He’s worried I’m going to do something stupid, but all I want to do is forget. Even for a few seconds, I need to forget this day ever happened.
Opening the top cupboard where I know the booze lives, I reach for a bottle. Any bottle will do. The smooth glass feels cold, real in my hand. Unscrewing the cap, I press it to my lips and tip it back. The burn of the amber liquor hits my throat like a punch, stripping away the thoughts that swarm inside my head. I takeanother swig, which is longer this time. Thayer watches me, his face etched with worry lines I don’t want to see.
“Easy, Vogue,” he murmurs. “You’re not a big drinker.” But his voice sounds too far away. I’m not looking for easy.
“That’s why it’ll help,” I mutter and hate how weak it sounds, how desperate.
“Vogue...”
I look at him. His dark hair falls across his forehead, shadowing those eyes that always seem to be searching mine. He moves closer, and I feel a jolt of lust spike my blood. “Let’s get you to bed,” he says softly.
