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Carson laughs and helps me to my feet, but the moment he pulls me up and my body comes within inches of his, the heavy weight of my loneliness takes hold and for a moment I lose all sense of reality.
Carson lowers his face and before I have time to regain any sense of my surroundings, his lips are on mine. His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me tightly against his toned body as his tongue pushes inside my mouth.
For a moment, I allow it to happen. I forget who I am. I forget who I'm with. All I know is that in this moment, I don't feel sad or lonely. I feel cherished. I feel wanted. And then I hear him. Whether it's my imagination or some sort of dream, in the middle of my drunken haze, I hear Westin's voice.
I push out of Carson's embrace, but before I have a chance to completely back away, I see a fist connect with Carson's face. He stumbles backward, managing to catch himself against the street lamp pole before falling.
I whip around, confusion settling over me like a dark blanket as my drunken mind tries to process the events unfolding before me.
“Westin?” I question, the name slurring off my lips as he advances on Carson. “Westin, stop!” I yell right as he rears back to lay another blow against Carson's jaw, this one knocking him clean off his feet. “Westin. What the hell are you doing?” I scream, ducking between him and Carson's frame, now hunched over on the sidewalk.
“I should ask you the same question,” he spits, anger evident in every line of his beautiful face.
“What the fuck is your problem, man?” Carson spits out a mouthful of blood as he rises to his feet.
“Stay the fuck away frommygirl.” Westin shouts over my head.
“Your girl?” Carson spits another mouthful of blood. Looking from me, to Westin and then back to me again.
“Carson, just go. Please. I'm so sorry,” I say, gesturing for him to leave. He looks at me for a long moment, his eyes full of an emotion I can't pinpoint. Hurt? Anger? Regret?
I can't do or say anything else as he throws Westin a vicious glare before turning and walking away, disappearing around the corner within seconds.
“What the fuck?” I turn, the sudden magnitude of the situation finally catching up to me. Shoving Westin hard against his chest, my voice carries through the silent night air. “Why the fuck did you do that?”
“Because he had his tongue in your mouth, Scarlett. Or did you miss that part?”
I want to scream, to punch him, to curse at him for hurting Carson when he had no right to. “It was just a kiss,” I say, my words thick. “He doesn't know about us.”
“Butyouknow about us.” His nostrils flare as he looks down at me. “You know and yet you still let him kiss you. Tell me, Scarlett, what does that say about you?”
I open my mouth to explain. I need to make him understand. I need to make him see. But the moment I try to force the words out, I feel my stomach roll and I turn my head just in time to empty the contents of my stomach on the side of the road.
“Scarlett.” Westin steps toward me, but I hold my hand up, indicating for him not to come any closer. Dropping to my knees, I bend over the curb and continue to throw up.
I’m too drunk and in too much discomfort to care enough to be embarrassed, but I know that part will follow soon enough.
As soon as I feel like maybe I'm done, another round hits me, even harder than the last. I don't even know how it's possible for my stomach to hold so much liquid, yet it seems to be never-ending.
After what feels like an eternity, I finally push myself to my feet. My face is hot and wet with tears, and I’m fairly certain I managed to get vomit in my hair, which only makes this situation that much worse.
Westin tries to help me as I stumble toward my front door but I put my hand up, keeping distance between us. He wordlessly follows me through the front door and then up the stairs, keeping close enough that I know he's making sure I don't fall, but far enough that I won't protest.
As soon as I’m inside my apartment, I drop my keys and phone on the counter and immediately begin stripping off my clothes as I head toward the bathroom. I’m completely naked by the time I turn the water on, and while I expect Westin to follow me in, he doesn't. At least not until I’m settled in the tub, wondering how the hell I let myself drink so much and wishing to God I hadn't.
“I'm sorry,” I say, the moment he crosses through the doorway. Fresh tears are rolling down my cheeks and not only am I completely mortified, but I also feel horrible about what happened with Carson. For both Westin and Carson's sake. “I would have stopped him. I was going to stop him. I didn't even have a chance to react before you were punching him in the face.” A sob breaks from my throat and I stop to take a deep breath, trying to reign in my drunk emotions.
“I'm sorry too.” He blows out a breath, taking a seat on the toilet next to the tub. “I saw him kiss you and everything went black. I reacted before I even had a chance to think.” His hand slides on top of where mine is resting on the edge of the tub. “Do you want me to help you?” he asks, gesturing toward the shampoo. I shake my head and pull my hand away from his, but not before I see his red and already bruising knuckles, making me wince.
“Actually, if you don't mind, can I have just a couple of minutes?” I ask, apologetic.
“Of course.” He gives me a weak smile before standing.
Once alone, I quickly wash my hair and body before exiting the tub and brushing my teeth twice. Ten minutes later, I exit the bathroom, wrapped in my black robe, a bottle of Tylenol in my hand.
Westin is sitting on the couch. He looks at me the moment I enter the room, immediately jumping up to his feet.
“Are you okay?” he asks, seeming genuinely concerned, which in turn makes me feel even worse.
