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Chapter Thirty-Seven
ALISTAIR
Ihate waking up like this, with my head pounding and my stomach churning. There’s a moment of fear where you don’t know where you are or how you got there that has your blood freezing. My eyes don’t want to open, but I can feel the silk bedding beneath me. Thenhersmell wafts over me, and I hear the jingle of Mischief’s collar. Only then do I relax, realizing I’m in Rory’s bed.
I feel smug, but only for half a second, because I feel the restriction of my jeans still clinging to my legs, which means I didn’t get laid, and that’s probably a good thing. My head feels foggy, and I’m unable to grasp my memories of last night. I recall the poker table, and a deep-seated jealousy toward Rogan for sleeping with Rory. I wanted that to be me so badly. I know I intended on taking her myself, but I was too fucked up to even get an erection. And Rory… She took care of me, like no one else ever has.
Forcing myself to sit up, I pry my eyes open, and ignoring the effects of coming down, I turn and gaze down at Rory, who’s still asleep next to me. She’s curled up in the blankets with just her head poking out. She’s so fucking perfect. She’s smart and sassy, and she doesn’t let us walk all over her, standing her ground when she needs to. She’s gorgeous too, but not from the kind of allure brought on by hours in front of the mirror with makeup plastered all over her face.
No, she’s naturally beautiful.
My heart pangs from just looking at her, and I startle at the unknown feeling. What the fuck was that? Ignoring it, I lean down and plant a soft kiss on her forehead. “Thank you,” I murmur quietly before slipping from the bed. A glass of water dripping with condensation sits on the nightstand, and there’s a handful of ibuprofen resting on a napkin next to it. A large Tupperware bowl sits there as well, which I can only imagine was intended for me should I need to puke.
Fuck. How bad was I last night?
Seeing the water has me realizing how thick my tongue feels and how dry my mouth is, so I reach for it and swallow the pills in one gulp. Thank fuck today is Sunday, because if not, I would have to cancel my schedule.
Mischief lifts his head lazily and gives me one pathetic wag of his tail before he rips ass and flops his head back down. Stinky ass dog. But even so, I already love the little dude.
“Come on, boy,” I whisper, patting my leg as I snatch my dirty shirt off the floor. Mischief has a moment of indecision where he looks back to Rory before swiveling to face me again. “I’ll give you a treat,” I cajole, and that does the trick. He stretches out his front legs, lifts his ass, and yawns before jumping down.
We step out of the bedroom, and I close the door behind me, enjoying the pitter-patter of the dog’s nails on the floor as he trots beside me. True to my word, I give him a treat and make myself a cup of coffee. Once brewed, I pour it into a to-go cup and put Mischief’s harness on him, needing some fresh air.
I don’t even remember walking out of her apartment, heading down in the elevator, or stepping onto the sidewalk. It’s not until I feel the chill of the November air when I realize I’m already outside. Funny how your mind can completely ignore the journey somewhere, getting lost inside of itself.
My stained shirt doesn’t do much against the cold, but the chill helps remind me that I’m alive, and I need to get my shit together. It’s early morning, and the city is just coming alive. Dawn has begun turning the sky from the black of night to a gray, cloudy morning.
The newsstands are opening with today’s paper, and the fitness freaks are out jogging with winter coats, running shoes, and flushed faces. Smells from the nearby coffee shop assault me, making me desperately want to go in and grab a sprinkle donut, but I don’t. I can’t feel normal right now, not after last night. I still can’t quite process my feelings.
She took care of me…
Memories of my childhood plague me, and I press my eyes shut, trying to force them to go away, but instead, my mind opens up that dark, desperate part of me and swallows me whole.
“Mommy?” I call out, my face pressed against the floor as I try to see under the bottom of the playroom door. Beyond it, I can hear them back again—all those people I don’t know who wear fancy outfits and stinky perfume. The pounding music thumps in my chest, and the smell of the cigarettes burns my lungs. Even my ears can’t escape the chaos, hearing men swearing and women laughing.
“Mommy,” I shout a little louder as I curl up on the floor, holding my rumbling belly. I’m so hungry and tired. It feels like my brothers and I have been stuck in here all day.
An annoyed groan sounds, and I recognize it as my mommy’s voice. My heart skips a beat with excitement. She actually heard me! The sound of her heels clicking on the floor has me moving away from the door so it doesn’t slam into me.
The lock turns, and I reach up, desperate for her to hug me, but all I feel is scared when she glares down at me.
Mommy looks mad.
Her brown hair is fixed tightly to her head with lots of those pin things. A shimmery, black dress hangs down her body, all the way to her pointy red shoes. Dark makeup covers her eyes, making her look scary, and her bright red lips are turned down in a frown. “What do you want, you little shit? How many times have I told you not to make a fucking sound when you’re in here?”
Tears well in my eyes, even though I try to sniff them back. Mommy gets mad when I cry. “But, Mommy, I’m hungry and I want my bed.”
“You’re hungry?” she repeats, placing her hands on her hips. “Fine.” She storms out and slams the door behind her, and I look back at my brothers, unsure what to do. Both of them are lying on the couches in the playroom, pretending to be asleep. I can tell they’re not, though, because the sounds of their breathing changed after Mama came in.
Are they hungry too?
The door opens again, startling me, and I fall down on my knee, but I try not to cry out. Mommy hates it when I complain about being hurt. “Here.” She tosses a box of donuts from this morning onto the floor. I peer inside and see most have been picked at. There’s even a cigarette butt in there and some used napkins.
I gaze back up at her, my eyes pleading. Can’t she see that this isn’t what I want? Can’t she see how much I need her? “Mommy? Can you put me to bed and read me a story?”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Stupid fucking kid. No, I can’t read you a fucking story. I have guests here, dammit! Why can’t you be like your brothers and take care of yourself?”
The smell of alcohol on her breath has me taking a step back. Mommy gets mean when she smells like this, even meaner than usual. “I-I will, Mommy,” I stutter, trying not to cry, but I know she hears my voice wobble.
