Page 111 of Deceptive Games
“She doesn’t really like celebrating her birthday. She got fucked up and spent the rest of the night with her head in the toilet,” I chuckled lightly, sitting on the edge of his desk. “You want a drink?”
He happily took it for a swig, and we passed it back and forth as we chatted about nothing of importance. I hadn’t even realized my panic had calmed until he asked to keep drinking at my place when I was ready to leave.
We were both too drunk to drive, but we somehow made it safely to my place, where I parked in the garage and narrowly missed the wall with my side mirror, leaving Slash to park out front.
“I can’t believe people live like this,” he chuckled as we entered the house, and I flipped on lights as we headed towards the den. It had better booze options than the kitchen, which was all I gave a fuck about.
We sat in the recliners and shared another bottle, my brow creasing as I thought about Rory. She’d messaged to check in with me, which felt nice, but then I wondered if it was more out of pity than anything.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Slash offered, and I gave him the side-eye as I considered it.
“You don’t want to hear my whining,” I decided after a second, making him laugh.
“Sure I do. I want to know why someone who has everything looks so damn miserable.”
“Money doesn’t buy happiness, man.”
“Spoken like a true rich person.”
“I mean it,” I scoffed, shaking my head a little. “I grew up with detached parents who only had me as an accessory. They don’t remember my birthday, or stop by to check in, and Mom even introduced me as Tyson one year at one of her parties. I’d trade my money for a decent family in a heartbeat.”
“Why don’t you make appearances with them? They’re big movie stars, right?” he asked curiously, and I wanted to gag at the thought of walking down another red carpet, smiling and pretending I had it all.
Fame and fortune was all one big lie, no one was fucking happy. Kids were neglected, parents were on drugs, and those who looked happy were having affairs and doing drugs for breakfast.
“I hate that shit. They only wanted me to make themselves look good. When I put my foot down about not doing commercials or movies as a kid, they just stopped coming home. I’m not useful if I’m not a star too,” I said bitterly, snatching my cigarettes from my pocket to light one. “Tell me about your miserable life so we can be miserable together.”
He was quiet for a second, sipping his drink deep in thought before he answered.
“I lost my temper and assaulted a girl. I can’t take it back, she could never forgive me, and now I don’t know what kind of man that makes me. You know I hate that shit, so I have no idea how it even happened. One minute I’m wanting to strangle her, the next I’m forcing her to strip for me.”
That wasn’t at all what I was expecting, my skin crawling at the thought.
“You fucking raped someone?” I demanded, and he actually flinched as if I’d punched him.
The stress on his face was real, and he blew out a breath and nodded. “I didn’t realize what I’d done until it was over. She fought me, begged me to stop, but then she was kissing me back and I just let myself get lost in her. She obviously freaked out and cried when it was over, while I got pissed at myself and stormed off like an asshole.”
“She kissed you back? It was someone you know?”
“Yeah. Apparently I like her but couldn’t handle it, so I got angry instead and hurt her. The fuck is wrong with me?” he spat, making me wince as he smacked his hand into the side of his head.
“That won’t help, dude. Have you reached out to her? Why didn’t she call the cops?” I asked, not understanding the situation. Did she think the cops wouldn’t believe her? They’d love to lock up Slash, so they wouldn’t have even asked for major details before cuffing him.
“I tried to talk to her, but she obviously doesn’t want to speak to me. I don’t know why she hasn’t told anyone,” he said softly, reaching for the bottle for a long drink.
“Does this mean you have to kill her to silence her?”
“No,” he bit out, glaring at me. “I’m trying to get her to forgive me.”
“I don’t think it’s possible, man. What does Skeet think you should do?”
“Skeet doesn’t fucking know. You’re the first person I’ve told,” he huffed, lighting a cigarette for himself. “I think I like this girl.”
That made me snort.
“We don’t rape girls we like, you uncivilized prick.”
“I didn’t fucking mean to. I just snapped and kind of blacked out,” he hissed, angrily taking a drag of his cigarette.
