Page 89 of Knight

Fuck, New Year’s Eve already? Attached is a picture of my sister in a gold sparkly hat. A chain leads to a matching mustache and glasses, a huge grin on her face. While it makes me smile, there’s a heaviness in my chest.

Like a basic bitch, I was looking forward to spending New Year’s Eve with Damien. Our rock and roll Christmas was a prerequisite to some Damien and Jo debauchery come December 31st. But here I am, spending New Year’s Eve alone.

I send her a heart reaction, too lazy and emotionally frozen to send her anything else before I throw my phone across the room and pull the covers back over my head. If I stay here long enough it’ll be next year and all this won’t matter anymore. At least I’m hoping.

* * *

Red.

Blood.

The knife clatters to the floor, the clean part of the blade reflecting the moon.

I can’t breathe, four walls closing in around me.

My heart booms, pain with every thud.

“Mom!” I cough through burning eyes. My skin ablaze like the ceiling. “Da—”

I’m on my knees. My throat closing in.

It’s over.

It’s all over.

SLAM!

A loud bang pulls me out of my nightmare. My hole.

My t-shirt’s sweaty, smelling like alcohol and my stomach twists.

Something hard bounces on my bed and when I bring my eyes above the sheets, a familiar scent enters my nose.

Peppermint. Whiskey. Pot.

“Happy New Year, Medusa.”

Twenty

“Damien?”

My voice comes out soft and croaky.

As I’m blinking the blur away, a tall dark shadow coming into focus.

Fuuck. While a part of me hoped Damien would come after me, I didn’t expect it to be like this. Waiting for clarity, I watch him take a look around my room, my heart finding that quick pace again when his eyes lock on me.

He looks … amazing. Not that he’s in any special getup or anything but he looks a lot more put together than how I left him. His grey joggers aren’t helping to stop my gaze, his bulge pushing against the fabric. The way his hair hangs over his eye isn’t helping either.

And that makes me mad.

I’ve been holding up in my room, hiding my tears from the universe and he’s been Damien fucking—

“King,” he says, pulling his leather jacket off to reveal a fitted grey shirt, v-neck making it way too easy to see those hard pecs. “It’s King.” He lets his jacket drop to the floor.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Sitting up, I see what hit my lap seconds ago. A box of condoms. Magnums.

“Thought you might still want your New Years’ fuck.” He walks towards me and I’m suddenly aware of how messed up I must look.

---