AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Crave has mandatory mental health care. We have to meet with their shrink once a month. But we have access to the doc as much as we need.
I’ve been seeing her once a week for two months, and it’s helping. God is it helping. And I don’t know what I did in a previous life to deserve being scooped up by Aug and given these opportunities, but thank God for him. Thank God for Crave.
I swipe through my text messages, glancing at them. My read receipt is off, so he’ll never know.
Pete
You need me. I just hope you realize that before it’s too late.
If you stay gone a week longer, you’ll be on Jizz’s blacklist.
A whore is fun at first, but once the novelty wears off, whoever it is you’ve run to won’t want you anymore. Trust me.
The phone slips from my hand into my open purse as a dull, nagging ache eats at my head. A knife prods the nerves behind my eyes, and I bring my hands to my temples in an effort to massage away what I know is a stress migraine.
“Fuck,” I mutter, immediately lying down on the small couch, curling up as to not knock my purse off. I cover my face with my hands completely, and go completely still, willing the headache to leave me so I can go to my new apartment, take a hot bath and crawl into bed and cry myself to sleep.
Yet the migraine doesn’t obey, and my head vibrates with extreme pain. And I guess being here in pain is no worse than being at my apartment in pain.
I stay still, breathing slowly, waiting it out. I can’t drive home with my head like this, so, I’ll wait.
Blinking, I find the dressing room dark and cold. My head pulses with residual pain, but the stinging nerve pinching is gone, leaving me with a headache hangover. Slowly, I sit up and find my phone in my bag.
Shit, it’s nearly eight. I hope they didn’t lock the gate. How do I even get out of the building if they set the alarm? Panic that I’m going to have to disrupt Aug or Lance already and bethat personhas me on my feet, reaching for the doorknob.
But I’m sitting as quickly as I stood.
“Fuck,” I moan, my fingers coming to my temples to massage the unrelenting pain that reappeared simply from standing.
Just as the panic returns, and I’m wondering how the hell I’m going to get out of this building and the parking lot with no one here, there’s a gentle tap at my door.
Immediately my chest hollows as I sigh out in relief.
Okay,Aug is still here. I’m not trapped nor do I have to make a tail-between-my-legs phone call and ask him to come rescue me. Thank goodness.
Another soft rapping at the door.
“C-come on in,” I say, finding my voice a little rocky from the turbulent waves of agony rolling through my brain. Fucking Pete, and fucking migraines from anxiety attacks. I hate this life.
The door slowly opens, but the face that pops in isn’t Aug or Lance.
It’s Cohen.
He blinks at me a few times before dropping his gaze to my feet. I look down to find myself in a hoodie and sweats—my head had me forgetting what I threw on after the last scene. Yet Cohen diverts his gaze after a moment, as if I’m naked and he’s uncomfortable.
“It’s eight and I was going to head out but I saw your car was still here and I don’t want to lock you in.”
“Th-thank you. I was worried about that. I got a migraine and dozed off…” My sentence wilts. I find myself wanting him to look at me. So I stay silent until he does. It only takes a few moments of quiet before his gaze slowly returns to mine.
He’s incredibly handsome, but his eyes are absolutely intoxicating. Deep, rich, with shades of blue I’ve only ever seen in a cloudless sky.
“I... I was about to leave but when I stood, my head…” Again, my sentence dies as my throat grows tight. He’s so beautiful, and this is the first time he’s spoken directly to me. The rocky timbre of his voice has bumps erupting from my flesh, making the back of my neck warm. “I don’t think I can drive. Let me just call an Uber and I’ll be out of here. I’m... I’m so sorry,” I stumble, my hands delving into my open purse to find my phone. I don’t want to keep him here.
“No,” he says, the word rooting me to the couch with its certainty and power.
I blink up at him, surprised to see he’s still looking at me.
“I can drive you,” he says, stepping a little further inside the dark dressing room, keeping the door wide open. “I’ll drive you, as long as you’re comfortable with that.” He reaches behind him, bringing his wallet out. He flips it open and shows me his driver’s license.
