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She smiles at me, walks in, and right away stumbles and grabs the wall, giggling.
She is drunk.
Fuck me if it’s not deja vu again.
“I wanna talk,” she says and walks slowly toward me.
I want to be angry. I want to laugh at this shitshow. But I stare at her without a word.
She sways like a dandelion in the wind. Her gaze is unfocused. She licks her lips again and again.
Oh, hell. Help me God.
She will not remember this tomorrow, because her eyes are narrowed and she slurs and walks funny. We already know that her memory is Criss fucking Angel, conjuring some unbelievable shit.
“I want…” she says and looks around, lost.
I get up and kick the chair toward her. “Sit,” I snap, because she will fall if she doesn’t. And because I could never turn her down. Not then. Not now.
I am so fucking stupid about this girl. And so mad.
“I haven’ drank since tha’ Block Party, you know,” she says, swallowing words.
“But you did tonight. Imagine that,” I murmur and lean with my ass onto the desk, watching her with sardonic amusement.
“Kai,” she says, sits down slowly, and looks at me. She hunches, her hands clasped between her knees. And fuck me if she is not the image of pure beauty and innocence. Even drunk.
Innocence, yeah.
What a fucking surprise.
“Kai,” she says again, and I can tell that she has a hard time focusing.
I love the way she says my name. I want to be mad, but I am more disappointed that she is drunk. And I still feel like my insides shake at what she accused me of. More than anything—she is here, on the island, in my workshop—how is this not a fucking miracle? My mind is a mess. My head tries to rationalize things, but my body senses Callie several feet away and says, “Fuck everything. Come to Daddy, baby girl.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, staring at the floor. “For wha’ I thought. For wha’ I assum…” Her words trail off. “For wha’ happen’ t’us.”
To us…
Yeah, petal, it’s a shame. But you have no idea.
I wonder if she knows about the fire.
I want to have this conversation, but she is way too drunk.
And the next thing I know, she covers her mouth with her hand, murmurs, “Oh, God,” and stumbles to the door.
I dart after her and catch her from behind right before she falls off the porch. I hold her when she bends over and showers the sand next to the door with her vomit.
Jesus…
My arm is around her waist. I pick up her blond hair with the other hand and hold it as she vomits again and again.
“Fuck, petal,” I murmur with anger and pity.
This is ridiculous.
We’ve been here before.
