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“Where you headed off to?” He stumbles after me, clearly as intoxicated as I feel.
“Home.” I mumble, exhaustion hitting my bones and each step becoming a chore. If I could lay down on the concrete in front of me, I’d happily sleep here.
“Why you leavin’? Not havin’ a good time?” He finally catches up to me, his long legs about double the length of mine are. Pressing a hand on my shoulder, he halts my steps and makes my entire being tense up.
I step out of his hold. “I drank too much. And I’m late. My mom’s probably waiting for me.” The lie flows off my lips like butter, but for some reason it felt necessary to put that bit in.
He scoffs at that. “Isn’t your mom like, a bar whore, or something?” He chuckles.
I frown at him. “Fuck off.” I turn to leave, and he wraps his strong fingers around my wrist.
“Sorry. Sorry, my bad. It’s just, I’ve never had the chance to talk to you before. Not without getting my balls chopped off.”
“What do you mean? You can talk to me. You just never do.” The revelation of the guys threatening guys if they wanted to date me is one thing, but talking to me? Come on.
He shakes his head, his glazed-red eyes lazy and unfocused. “No, I can’t. No one can. They’d probably kill me if they knew I were trying to talk to you right now.”
My head spins and Derek turns hazy.
What the fuck? I grab onto my forehead as I attempt to come to terms with what I’m hearing. Not only are these guys each getting a slap in the face, but Derek acts like he’s wanted to talk to me.
“Why?” I slur, way too drunk to be having this conversation right now. I could nearly be home right now, almost in my bed where I can forget this stupid night.
“Why? You’re bangin’, Cara. Everyone thinks it. You’re like… the untouchable or something. The girl the guys all want but can’t have.”
I feel nauseous at his words. It’s just too much. An overload of emotions builds in me so much that I can barely speak at this point.
“I have to go.” I turn around and speed walk away from him. Under normal circumstances, I could try to have this conversation with him. When my mind is focused, and my gaze is clear. Right now, when everything is muddled, my brain feels like a swamp. Murky waters filled with weeds that I can barely wade through. I need my bed. Now.
“Wait. Wait!” He lunges forward and grabs onto my wrist again. “I just want to talk. I doubt I’ll ever get the chance again. Why’re you running away from me?” He seems sincere, but the persistence in his tone makes my shackles raise.
“I need to go home.” I repeat for the thousandth time. “Now, let me go.” I rip my arm out of his hand and start sprinting away from him.
I hear him running after me, and I kick my legs even faster.
“Oof.” I hear Derek grunt painfully. When I look over my shoulder, my foot falls right into a pothole. My ankle twists and I fall right onto the palms of my hands and my knees.
“Ow!” I cry out. It’s too dark to see, but I can tell the pavement ate right through the jeans of my pants.
Fuck, my mom’s going to kill me.
I try to stand up, but the sharp pain that shoots up my ankle tells me I twisted it pretty badly. Looking over my shoulder in fear, I figure Derek will be just steps away. Terror washes over me in an icy blanket. I won’t be able to fight him off. We’re to the halfway point between Derek’s and my house, and there aren’t many houses in between. It’s just me out here. Me and Derek, who I’m not quite sure is as good of a guy I initially thought.
What I see in the shadows isn’t what I expected, though. Derek lays on his back with his arms above him, trying to block the raging fists coming his way. A block of red calms my racing heart.
Logan?
The fists keep pummeling Derek’s face until his arms stop blocking and flop to the ground. My breathing picks up when the red figure comes to a stand and glances my way.
Suddenly, I’m not sure if it’s Logan.
Wouldn’t he have said something by now?
The hood is up, and the darkness of night has blocked out any view of the man’s face.
When he starts walking my way, I crab walk out of the pothole and away from him, but my foot slows me down.
“Logan, is that you? Are you messing with me?” The red hoodie certainly looks like Logan’s, but why hasn’t he talked to me then? He couldn’t still be mad at me.
