Page 70 of Unrest
“I love you, too.” His voice was that of a man trying to appease a child. “Now, let’s get you to bed.”
“Don’t,” I said too loudly. I pulled away from his grip and brought my hands up to his neck. This time when I looked at him I felt him soften under my touch. I rose up on my toes again, touching our noses, and he wrenched his face to the side.
“Pepper, seriously.”
“Please,” I begged.
He took my arms and brought them down again, this time holding my wrists at my sides. God, he made me so mad!
“You . . .” I searched my addled brain. “You’re a . . .”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
“You’re a clit tease!” I shouted.
His eyebrows flew up and then he chuckled deeply. His mouth went to my ear as he pressed me into the wall and said, “I assure you, I’m not.” A shiver made me press my pelvis upward toward his. His own hips jolted backward at the touch and he hissed my name in warning. “Amber . . .”
“Kiss me,” I breathed.
He pulled back, and his face was guarded. “You’re drunker than I thought.”
I flung his hands from my wrists, feeling frustrated as the weight of years’ worth of emotions pressed down on me. I was sick and tired of not being taken seriously by this man.
“Stop trea’ing me like a kid.”
He sighed and dropped his head, as if dealing with me was exhausting. But I couldn’t stop. I had so much to say. Damn the slur in my voice. Damn my jelly legs that made me unable to stand straight.
“You don’ know,” I said. “I don’t know how you don’t know. How I . . . I love you, withallmy heart.” I fought to make each word distinguishable. I had to get this out. It came rushing to the surface like a messy, muddy flood, and I couldn’t hold it back any longer.
“I loved you since I was, like, thirteen. And not like a sister, Ry. Do you hear me?” I clutched his shirt. He lifted his chin enough to eye me. “Not like a sister,” I reiterated. The words were so important. Monumental. Life changing.
“Pepper.” He spoke with care. “You’re drunk.”
I clenched my fists in his shirt and screamed through my teeth. His eyes bulged and I dove into the pool of emotions again. “I tried telling you! But every time . . .” I panted, breathing erratically. “You never believed me! Or you . . . you jus’ . . . you play it off ‘cause you’re too nice. But you ha’ to listen this time.” I shook his shirt. “I want you.” I tilted to the side and pressed myself back against the wall. “And I’s fuckin’brokenheartedwhenyoumarriedher. I feel . . .” I sucked in a breath, trying to hold back tears. “I feel . . .guilty‘cause I wanted you when you were married.” My eyes fluttered closed, and when my lids felt heavy I blinked them back open with an intake of air.
Rylen was staring at me, frozen. When I stared back, he abruptly looked down, then to the side, and grabbed his ear, rubbing the lobe. He stayed like that, so still, staring at the floor deep in thought. Oh, God. He was trying to figure out how to let me down easily. This was why I’d never had the nerve to tell him the truth.
I braced myself. “Just say it,” I said. “Just fuckin’say it.”
“Say, what?” He finally looked at me, but his face was fiercely serious. “You probably won’t even remember this—”
I opened my mouth and he pinched my lips together, shocking me.
“You hush; it’s my turn.”
I released the huff of air and felt my eyes glistening. He was going to say the words I’d been dreading for years. It would finally be over with. I had to take it like a big girl. He took my chin and I looked up at him.
“I learned a long time ago that alcohol is only a truth serum to a certain point, and then people say all kinds of shit they don’t mean. So, you drink this bottle of water—” he picked something up from the dresser and pressed it into my hands “—and if you’ve got something to say to me, you say it to me in the morning when you’re sober. Got it?”
My jaw dropped open. Fury ensnared me like fire. Dismissed again.
“Tha’s it?” I threw my arms out. “Tha’s all you’re gonna say? After everythin’ I jus’ . . . you know what, Ry? Fuck tha’!”
He sucked air through his teeth. “Keep talking, Jack.”
My words came out all linked together, dragging out. “It’s not Jack talking. You never take me seriously. I’m sick o’ you.”
I shoved him. In a blink I was over his shoulder and tossed onto the bed with a bounce. I shrieked in frustration, my hands in fists.
“I hate you!” I yelled.
“Like I said, tell me tomorrow.” His face was hard, guarded.
He opened the door to leave and I shouted, “Stay away from that bitch Linette!” The door slammed and I fell back hard into the pillow, flinging an arm over my eyes. Before a single emotion could register, the bed started to move sideways, then spun like a carnival ride. I pried my eyes open, but everything was blurry from the fast movement. The contents of my stomach were being pushed up by the gravity of the spin. I rolled until I fell out of bed, and stumbled my way to the bathroom just in time to say hello to all of the Jack and rum again.
When I was done being sick, I crawled into the room but couldn’t even climb back onto the bed. I passed out on the floor beside it, curled up in a ball.
I woke hours later with a sour pit in my stomach and a rancid taste in my dry mouth. I felt around until my hands landed on the water bottle. With much effort I twisted open the cap and chugged every drop. Then I crawled to the bathroom, pulled myself up at the sink and brushed my teeth to get rid of the horrid taste.
I made it back to the bed and fell asleep on top of the blankets, my face smashed into a pillow.
