Page 195 of Drown Like Heaven
But now I was sitting here on the gray carpet, in a puddle of my own vomit.He found me anyway.
Before I could stop myself, the horrible words came out, flat and wrong in the stale air, “My older brother fucked me for four years.”
Micah went stiff.
“That’s why…” I motioned to the vomit on the floor, to myself. “That’s why I was drinking so much. He texted me today about his wedding. I hate when he texts me.”
“Dakota,” Micah whispered.
“I don’t want you to ask me any questions, okay?”
He paused. “Sure.” It sounded like he was forcing himself to say it. “That’s fine.”
“I was fourteen and he was eighteen. I never really did anything to stop him. He doesn’t live in Washington anymore. That’s all I’m going to say.” I tried to take a deep breath, but my throat felt thick and choked-up. “And if it’s too much for you, then whatever. You can go if you want. I won’t kill myself.”
“I’m not leaving. Not for this. Not for anything,” Micah said. I turned my teary eyes up at him. I knew my cheeks were red and blotchy, my nose running, my chin dripping, but he didn’t look at any of that. “If this is the messiness you think makes you untouchable, then watch me touch you anyway.”
Micah helped me wipe my face again and put on fresh pajamas, cleaned my carpet as best as he could, made me drink water and eat crackers, packed some of my things in a bag. He carried me out to his truck wrapped in a blanket because I didn’t want to put my boots on. He drove me to his house and tucked me into his bed.
And then he held me tightly as I finally fell asleep.
Chapter 52
Dakota
I stared at the window, watching rain trickle down the glass and warp my view of the trees beyond. The voice of my Process Design professor was droning on in the background of my thoughts, going through some HAZOP example. I wasn’t paying much attention. My mind was occupied with other things.
My group had given our presentation for Unit Ops today, and with that stressor in the past, I was free to worry about whatever I wanted. The actual presentation went as well as I could’ve expected it to, though doing it in front of a man I was currently having so much sex with made me strangely nervous. He didn’t act differently in public, but…I knew how the focus on his face looked when he bound my wrists with rope.
He also knew what it looked like when I sobbed to the point of vomiting in the middle of my own hallway, drunk and tormented by memories, overwhelmed by everything in my life.
I flipped my phone face-up on my desk, staring at my empty lock screen, devoid of any notifications. I’d somewhat convinced myself that seeing Mason at the club was another hallucination—because I didn’t actuallyseehim. Only smelled, heard, felt. He still hadn’t texted me, which was so unusual for him, that I was almost concerned.
Especially considering what I now knew about him. He was a fallen angel. AThrausian. I felt owed a conversation about it, or at the very least, some acknowledgment.
Stupidly, I typed out a message to him, then sent it.
Me :Are you ever going to talk to me about this?
I switched my phone off and shoved it in the pocket of my hoodie immediately afterward, resuming my staring out the window while trying to ignore the quickness of my heartbeat. A vibration had me rapidly pulling the device back out, eyes glued to the cracked screen.
Mason :Come over to my place tonight and I will
Me :I don’t know about that
Mason :Don’t care. I’m picking you up later
Biting down on my lower lip, I put my phone away, the heat of a bad decision burning in my cheeks. Going to Mason’s apartment meant being in physical danger. There would be no one else around to protect me, or stop him.
My pulse jumped.
All I was doing was falling right into his trap, and I knew that. Every interaction with him was designed to confuse my mind into needing his violence. It’d been like that from the start, from the day I foolishly swam after him into the untamed ocean. I couldn’t stop coming back to Mason, even knowing he was the decision that would end me. Even knowing that by doing this I was fucking up any chance of a future with Micah.
What I felt for Mason was hardly desire. More like some vital, wickedhunger.
And hunger didn’t care much about consequences.
Maybe I chased the hurt on purpose. Maybe I needed it.
