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“What’s so special about having one’s dick sucked?” Creigh asks.
“Uh, what’s so special about the sun? The moon? The ecosystem? I can go on forever. Jesus, spawn, you’re making me look like a bad mentor.”
“You are, though.” Cecily makes a face at him and they all keep talking, bickering, and laughing.
Having fun.
I zone out.
I laugh when they do, but I have no clue what’s happening around me.
A fog surrounds me and seeps beneath my skin until I can’t breathe.
I drink two more shots, but I’m not entirely numb.
It’s not enough.
Nothingis enough.
I can’t breathe.
Pleasestop.
I shake my head, trying and failing to shake away the black ink swelling inside.
When Killian decides to take Glyn home, I wait a few minutes, then make up an excuse about feeling a bit under the weather.
More like I’m crushed by my own head.
I stumble out of the pub unsteadily, my head swimming and my vision blurring. I bump into a group of people and apologize—or I think I do—as I walk in a zigzag.
The lights shimmer and turn into tiny bokeh points, moving farther and farther away.
Like my fucking sanity.
I used to pride myself on being completely in control. About everything.
Anyone.
Until this motherfucker came into my life.
And now, I’m not sure how to get that control back.
Ineedthat control or everything will be over.
Every fucking thing.
I stumble into someone and step back on swaying feet. “Sorry…”
“Watch where you’re going, you fucking cunt!” The guy grabs me by the collar of my shirt and shakes me a few times, and I see stars.
He sounds American. Fuck those guys. Why can’t they just stay in America and leave me alone?
“You better apologize or I’ll kill you,” he and his twin threaten.
Oh, wait. It’s triplets.
It’s the alcohol, isn’t it?
