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A pain shoots through me, like a small heart attack. An attack on my heart.
A single thought spins around inside my mind. I can’t do this… Can’t believe I got used again, and this time by mistake. I can’t take it.
Someone knocks on the door of the storeroom, and I grab the opportunity to run.
Running is what I do best…
Chapter Nine
Merc
“I’m not Sophie.”
What the hell does she mean? What does it mean? And why did she walk away again?
Goddammit, did I kick someone’s puppies in a previous life? Did I fuck up my karma? What am I doing wrong?
I get to have her in my arms after I had given up on ever having her, have her on my dick, her legs around me, my name on her lips as she came again and again.
Only to have her slip away again.
Did I hurt her? Why did she look so wounded? And after that, this… “I’m not Sophie” talk. I mean, does she have a twin sister or what?
Wait, if I got her name wrong… Jesus, that would sure piss off a girl you’ve just fucked against the wall, Mercury Watson.
Then what the hell is her name? I’m such an idiot.
And on top of that I can’t sleep. My head’s fucking killing me. Everything looks dark, the day ahead like deep tunnel I can’t see the end to.
You’re fine, I tell myself. Everything’s okay, even if life kinda sucks right now, between the nightmares and psycho girl’s coldness. Boo, so sad. You can’t always get what you want in life, buddy. Get over it. And make those nightmares fucking stop.
Walking into the kitchen and finding JC having coffee doesn’t improve my mood any. Not in the mood to talk.
“Hey,” I mutter.
He keeps drinking his coffee, checking his phone. “Another bad night, huh?”
Ya think? “What gave it away?” What nineteen-year-old guy still has night terrors, huh? Next thing you know I’ll be wetting my bed.
“I heard you,” he says.
Hell. I run my hand under the water and then splash my face, trying to wake up for real.
“Look…” I turn around slowly and look at JC, only to notice the dark circles under his eyes. I slide into the chair beside him. “I’m fucking sorry if I woke you up, okay?”
He studies his mug, dark brows drawn together. “You had a nightmare.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“You were talking in your sleep.” He shoves his mug away, flicks his phone one last dark look and gets up. “Gotta go.”
“What? What did I say? Wait.”
He shoots me a frigid look, anger like ice crystals in his gaze, and steps back. “Some of us have to go to work.”
I slam my fist into the table. “Fuck you, man.” Before I know it, I’m on my feet, curling my fingers in his shirt and backing him up against the counter. A red haze has fallen over my eyes. “Are you fucking with me? What did I say in my sleep? Tell me.”
“Back off, Merc. I don’t want to hurt you.”
