Page 37 of Final Temptation
“My mind is a little scattered, okay? The second I clock out, I’m headed for a meeting. I’ll feel better once I get some things off my chest.” I sighed.
My mind wasn’t just scattered; it was fucking chaotic up there. In the moment with Sophie last night, everything felt amazing—it felt right. But the second my head hit the pillow and my eyes began to shut, the night terrors were back, wreaking havoc on my life.
Little by little, I was losing every bit of patience I learned to have over the last few months.
After I watched Sophie completely unravel, I begged my body to listen to how good it felt. To focus only on the good. I pleaded with my mind to dream of her round, perky tits, or the way her lips parted open as she orgasmed. Instead, my body betrayed me. I dreamt of blood and scattered glass. I visualized an old version of myself, the old me who used to make terrible fucking decisions.
Sophie and I went our separate ways last night. After we caught our breath, I left her to rinse off in the shower. The instant I closed the door behind me, I regretted not asking her to join me in bed. Selfishly, I desired her next to me, in hopes the nightmares would fade away. Unfortunately, the words never came out of my mouth.
I didn’t want to act greedy, asking more of her after I’d just blown my load all over her perfect tits.
What would have happened if she had stayed, and I hadn’t had a nightmare? Would I have slept like a rock, just like the last time? If that were the case, I’d attach myself to her. I’d become dependent on her company. I needed to get through this by myself. But as each day passed, the urge to drink away the pain grew.
I watched the old me in my nightmares every night. I hated who he was. But fuck, if I wasn’t reminded how easy it was to drink and forget.
Declan and I sat in my Jeep, eating in silence. After I mentioned going to a meeting after work, he nodded his head, silently agreeing not to push the conversation any further.
I couldn’t remember a time when work dragged on as long as it had today. It didn’t help that it was a warm day, and the sun was shining bright, radiating heat through my whole body.
Nothing I could do today would make me feel the slightest bit productive. It was the type of day that just needed to be over.
My steering wheel had been completely exposed to the hot summer day, the feeling of it stinging my palms when I gripped the leather, ready to drive off the construction site and straight to a meeting. The only problem was that it should have been natural for me to leave work and take a right toward the old church where my meetings were held.
So, why am I taking a left toward the outskirts of town?
I needed to go to a meeting, but the voices inside my head were screaming louder, overpowering me from doing what I knew was right. I should be driving to the church right now, but the devil on my shoulder took me to a liquor store instead.
I parked in front of the old, run-down store.LIQUORin bright neon red, flashed back at me.The fluorescent lights had me in a daze, bringing me back to the last dream I had. I may not have woken up Sophie with my screams, but the images that flashed through my mind were the worst ones I’d seen so far.
With every day that my mind got straighter—the more sober I became—the brighter the images were. They were so clear, it almost felt like I was living through it again in real life.
I stood outside the car; my drunken gaze focused on the vehicle smashed against the trees. The glass. The blood. It was scattered everywhere. I dug inside my pockets, each one of them feeling six feet deep.
Finally.
My phone.
I can call for help.
The briefest feeling of relief washed over me, only for it to disappear when I tapped relentlessly on the screen, waiting for the bright light to shine back at me—nothing.
FUCK. Dead battery.
“Logan! Help! We need to call for help!” I continued screaming. “Logan! My phone is dead. I need you to use yours and call the cops! They need help,” I pleaded.
“I can’t find my phone! Fuck, Myles, we need to get the hell out of here!” What did he mean he couldn’t find his phone?
“Look again!” My throat burned from each scream. I ran back to his car, helping search for his phone anywhere it could have landed.
The floors. The cupholders. The backseat.
It wasn’t here.
“I must have left it at the party! Shit! We are going to getin so much goddamn trouble if we don’t get the fuck out of here.” Why was he so hellbent on leaving when someone in that car could be fighting for their life?
“If we don’t have a phone to call for help, then maybe there’s one in that truck we can use.” I pointed toward the crash, noticing each crinkle in the metal that wouldn’t have been there if we just stayed at the fucking party.
I ran back toward the truck, inching closer to the blood, shards of glass crunching under each step I took. There had to be a phone somewhere; the longer we took to call the cops, the more time that would pass without help.
