Page 101 of Overcast

She passed the fuck out,almost hitting the ground before I caught her.

I wanted to wake her up, ask her what the fuck that was all about, but I pulled the white comforter up to her chin and left the room to pace downstairs.

I’m four beers in, wanting to break the neck of my Coors and chuck the rest of it against my wall.

But I somehow refrain.

By some means, I’m able to tamper down the insane and sudden possessiveness that crept up my chest and asked her as calmly as I possibly could.

My cell is seductively sitting on the coffee table, begging me to make the call. To end Hollis’s pathetic fucking life because I have a powerful feeling that their story isn't the one I outlined and built in my head.

Her eyes were closed, but the more I think back, the further I play out the graphic scene in my head.

My memory combs her face, the tenseness in her facial expression, her hands played out at her sides.

She didn’t look into it.

I squeeze my bottle tighter in my hand, fucking irritated at myself for seeing past details that could've changed things. But I let my rage overtake my rationality that needed to be well examined and noted.

That's exactly what I did.

And what I don't do is fail at my missions.

However, ever since I found Reagan being submerged in that lake out front, that fled. Everything I was trained to do became irrelevant, and I did what any newbie would do—I assumed. I saw what I wanted to see to make things assemble in a perfect chain to manufacture an outcome for revenge.

Stormi was innocent.

I was guilty of crucifying her to a cross and refusing to see reason.

I can’t fix that.

And I feel culpable as hell for it. It licks and nips at me constantly ever since Reagan told me clearly that it wasn’t Stormi who held her under the water.

That I, after everything, was the reason that Stormi would now have to live with all the shit I did to her. Typically, everyone else gets off by getting killed after they are no longer useful to me. They don't have to deal with the aftermath, just whatever happens when you die.

Footsteps softly pad along the hardwood floors upstairs, prompting my eyes to snap up to see Stormi striding slowly towards the bathroom.

I fucking did this.

I broke this girl.

Languidly, I make my way up, and wait, standing by the banister for her to come out. And when she does, I don’t miss the recoil then the unsteady steps in my direction.

I move in hers, shoving my hands in my back pockets to leave my body completely open and bare to her. To keep my fingers from touching and wanting to soothe her because I’m the last fucking person she’d want that from.

I’m shit to her—rightly so. And pieces of shit don’t get to touch fallen celestial beings.

I act as a barricade for her to get back to her room because I’m not done with my questions. I’m not drained from needing to know what the hell happened between her and Hollis.

In fact, I’m just ramping the fuck up.

I've already obliterated my chances of being anything good in Stormi's life, so the least I can do is take out the man who violated her.

“I’m going to ask you a few things,” I finally say when she stops, wrapping her arms around her middle. “And all I need you to do is nod or shake your head. Can you do that for me?”

An unsteady exhale leaves her chest, and she gives me a nod.

“Hollis,” I say slowly. “Nod for me if he is a bad man.”

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