Page 33 of Relapse

“You fucked her.”

“Fuck you.”

“Did you?”

A hesitated sigh.

Interesting.

“Yeah,” he snaps immediately this time, defensive irritation cutting sharp through the line. “I fucking fucked her. Happy?”

Something ugly twists low in my chest instantly.

Possessive and mean.

The kind of jealousy I usually keep buried because me and Dagger have been doing this dance too long to start pretending we don’t both want the same fucking girl.

“But it’s not like I fucking planned it. That’s not what it was about,” he adds roughly before I can answer. “She was high out of her mind, Noir. I was trying to get her off the fucking street before somebody saw her and everything he did was for nothing.”

“And what? Your dick just accidentally fell inside her during your solo rescue mission?”

“Fuck you.”

I push off the couch and start pacing slowly through the apartment now, irritation building heavier with every second.

“You should’ve fucking called me.”

“I handled it.”

“You didn’t handle shit,” I snap. “You brought her back to your apartment, fucked her, fell asleep, and woke up without her. If anything, Blair handled your dumb ass.”

That lands hard enough to silence him for a second.

Because we both know I’m right.

“How the fuck was I supposed to know she’d dip?” he snaps, frustration grinding rough through his voice now. “She came back here looking for us, Noir. Thought maybe for five fucking minutes she’d stay put instead of disappearing the second I closed my eyes.”

I rub a hand down my face slowly, exhaustion and frustration grinding together behind my eyes.

Of course she disappeared.

Blair runs toward chaos every single fucking time somebody tries keeping her still long enough to breathe.

It’s practically instinct at this point.

“Where the fuck would she even go?” I mutter aloud more to myself than him.

The city glows through the apartment windows while distant bass rattles faintly through the night air outside. My eyes drag absently across the mess on the coffee table—

Empty cans.

Ashtray.

Flyers.

Then stop.

A bright neon flyer sits half-crumpled beneath my lighter advertising some massive beach rave happening tonight.