Page 9 of Soul Mates: Hercules Valentine and I
I step out into the lobby of the subterranean parking garage, looking into her eyes, which are now alert and perplexed.What do I do next?
Chapter Six
That Night
Paisley Grove
Am I dreaming?It’s as if the whole day has been wiped away, and all that’s left is this very moment. My heart is racing as I bring my bottom lip into my mouth and swipe my tongue across it. I can taste him. Hercules and I kissed.
“You okay?” he asks.
Better than I’ve ever been. But I don’t say that. Instead, I nod jerkily. Gosh, he smells good.
Soft music plays around us. Beyond the glass window, valets bustle about. We’re in an underground parking garage. None of the residents are entering this lobby, though. This must be a private entrance to Darby Harborne’s place. But alone with Hercules, I feel like it’s the most natural place to be.
“We should get you to the hospital,” he says.
Suddenly, I'm jolted back to reality. With each blink, I recall more details. First, he’s cradling me as if he’s the valiant knight who just saved a damsel in distress. O’Brien and I were talking. He was flirting. For a while, I thought he’d be the remedy to the crush I have on Hercules and what was sure to be a dull night. He brought me a drink. I tasted it. It wasn’t only Coke.
He laughed as the strong alcohol made me cough, showing nearly all of his not-so-white teeth. “Go ahead and drink it. It’ll loosen you up.”
I debated whether to do it or not. But the night was starting off better than I’d planned. A boy was giving me attention, and I wanted to be free of my usual rigid and cautious self.
O’Brien asked a lot of questions about Treasure. He wanted to know if she was really as dimwitted as she presented herself on some reality show. I didn’t even know she was on a reality show. He asked if she had a boyfriend and said he’d like to meet her one day. The more I sipped, the more lightheaded I became, and then I started to feel warm. O’Brien said something about taking me upstairs to get some air. I thought that was a good idea. I recall how the world seemed to move in slow motion around me. Some passing faces watched us as if they were amused. Some looked worried. Or maybe no one paid attention to us at all. I can’t remember. Then the spinning started. It felt like a force was attacking me as I struggled to stay conscious. I had no idea why that was happening to me, but I needed help. I think I called for my parents. Hands kept trying to rip off my clothes. I kept fighting to keep them on. But then that abruptly changed, and I didn’t know what was happening until I saw pieces of Hercules’s face and inhaled his scent, and that was when my nightmare turned into a dream.
“Could you stand if I put you down?” Hercules sounds strained.
Afraid I’ll say the wrong thing if I speak, I nod.
Carefully, he sets me on my feet. I hold on to him until I can feel my legs again. His biceps are strong, like he works on them in the gym or something. I love feeling his strength in my hands. Touching him feels so natural, like I’ve been doing it all my life.
“I don’t know what happened, but I can’t go to the hospital.” I take in a settling breath through my nose. It smells like perfume, air freshener, and Hercules.
“I don’t think that’s debatable,” he says, taking his cellphone out of his pocket. “You were drugged.”
“What?” I put my hand over his dialing hand. “Wait?” A bout of dizziness hits me, and Hercules stops me from tipping over.
“Come on—let’s go. I’ll have my car take us.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head adamantly. “You don’t understand. I’m not supposed to be here.”
“You’re not supposed to be where?”
“Here, at the party.” I grimace. “Sorry, but I’m going home, not to the hospital. I’m fine.”
It’s my intent to turn and walk away, but my feet won’t move yet. I’m not sure if that’s because I don’t want to take my hands off Hercules’s biceps or because, as Hercules said, I’ve been drugged.
Hercules’s strong hands grasp my waist to steady me. I stiffen because I wonder if the fat around my waist repels him.
He crimps his gorgeous eyebrows. “You were given pinkies. And that’s some pretty strong stuff. I’m surprised you’re standing on your own two feet right now and talking to me.”
Suddenly, nausea climbs up my throat. I jerk as I fill my lungs with fume-tainted air. Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop me from dry heaving. How embarrassing. I feel about as sour as whatever just leaked into my mouth.
“This way,” Hercules says, guiding me to a wastebasket against the wall separating two sets of elevators.
Once my eyes connect with the opening, I bend over, and Hercules gathers my fluffy long hair and holds my locks away from my face. I retch several times before a bitter mixture of stomach acids, lunch, after-school snack, sugary soft drink, and liquor splashes against the trash. A quivering grunt escapes me as I wait to hurl again. I’m mortified that Hercules saw me do that.
The door to the private lobby opens. The fumes are overwhelming, and I want to vomit again, but I force myself not to do it.
