Page 28 of Knot Your Rebel

“Don’t care. She needs to talk to me whether she wants to or not. I can feel her emotions from here.” It sounds like there’s a scuffle on the phone, and then I hear his voice. “Tell me what’s going on, Rebel.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me. You sssshhhoulldn’t have to worry. E’rythings good heere,” I slur.

“I’m coming over,” he demands.

“You’re a bastard. Don’t need y-you…”

“I can’t understand you, Rebel. We’re almost there. Are you okay? You made sure he was gone, right?” The phone gets muffled as he probably turns to say something to her. I scoff. There’s nothing wrong with me. I can understand myself just fine, so that’s on him. Why the hell does he have to be so pretty?

“Now, that I understand. Glad you like the way I look, my little mouse.”

My eyes widen, recognizing that I’d just spoke those words out loud. “Bbye.” I don’t wait for him to respond before hitting the end button and picking up my bottle for another swig. The bottle seems to get heavier the longer I hold it. The best way to fix that is to drink it. So, I take another chug and let my head lean against the back of the couch.

“Why did he have to mark me? He could’ve just fucked me and moved on. But no… Mr. Big Bad Alpha had to take what he wanted without my consent. So now, I’m sitting here nursing this damn bottle of alcohol. No offense to you, obviously, Mr. Whiskey. You, sir, are currently my best friend. I could feel sorry for myself, and maybe I am. Either way, I don’t care.”

I dip the bottle up and take another mouthful of whiskey and wince, why does it burn so much when it goes down? Shit, is it hot in here? Phew… I try to fan myself, but it doesn’t help. So, I’m trying unsuccessfully to rip this shirt off me. So hot.

Mr. Whiskey is silent, though. Guess he doesn’t have an answer for me. That or he’s just refusing to give up such secrets. Isn’t that why you drink? So you can drown your sorrows in the bottom of the bottle? Kinda like when you’re at the bar and you talk the bartender's ear off because you don't know any better. Guess I’m missin’ the bartender in this scenario.

I blink before shrugging, as if anyone can see me, and take another shot instead. There’s a train of thought running through my mind, but I’m getting too foggy to figure out what it is. My eyes find the bottle in my hand. Well, that’s suspiciously lighter than what it should be. I haven’t had that much, just a few sips.

“Shit. Fuck. Fuck it - hic - oh. Fucking lovely. - hic - damn - hic - just what I didn’t need.” Hiccups start their barrage on my body. Just fucking great. The anger gives way to laughter, and before I know it, I’m giggling at absolutely nothing and everything.

I move to take another drink, but the bottle is dry. Well, fuck. I stare at it like it’s offending me. And, hell, it is. How is it empty already?

“Of course… I make - hic - one bad decis - hic - ion, and now I’m mated. Damn - hic - it - hic - all to hell.” I throw the bottle onto the floor, mad that it let me down. I need another drink, damnit. But the kitchen is so fucking far away from me. It’s a daunting task even thinking about getting up right now. The bottle rattles loudly as it meets the end of its movement against a side table. I fling my arm out, waving it off as if it's another person in the room.

“I’m sorry.” I find myself apologizing to the bottle for throwing it away haphazardly. Raising an eyebrow suspiciously, I point at it. “You, sir, are not a person, so don’t give me those sad eyes. It won’t work on me.” I wag my finger at it. This is the moment when I become cognizant of the fact that I’m talking to an inanimate object.

I have no idea how long it's been since I talked to Nova, but my eyes are starting to droop. So, I just let them fall closed, pitching me into darkness.

The next thing I know, I’m moving as the room dips in and out of focus around me. It feels like I’m floating on a cloud or on one of those rafts in a lazy river. It’s peaceful until the nausea sets in, and my stomach knots. “Fink I’m gonsta be sick…” I whisper.

“Come on, let's get you to bed.” A familiar scent hits my nose, and I inhale deeply.

“You smell so yummy…” I sound fucking dreamy over it. “But he does smell so good.”

“Wait, is she talking to herself?” The voice of my best friend lingers in the space around us. When did she get here?

“Yep.” Mystery guy, no, Tate, responds. He’s holding me in his arms.

I curl my fingers into his shirt, craving the comfort of his closeness. I may be mad at him right now, but my omega is content to be taken care of.

Opening my eyes, I take in my surroundings. We’re heading down the hallway. “We passed my room.”

“I know. What I’m about to do, you aren’t going to like very much, but it needs to happen. You don’t need alcohol poisoning, and you’re way too small for the ungodly amount you drank.”

I frown, a furrow planting itself between my brows. “Whaa…” I start to say, but then I’m being set down in front of the toilet. The sudden shift has nausea crawling up my throat again.

His thumb caresses my bottom lip briefly, gently, before he’s prying my mouth open and shoving his fingers down my throat.

I gag, trying to fight against him. Everything is foggy. Why is he doing this to me? I question his motives. “I’m trying to help you,” he says. Two of his fingers shove down on my tongue, and my stomach contracts automatically, bending to his will. I fall forward with my arms hugging onto the outside of the toilet as I lose the contents of my stomach.

I hate puking. It’s my least favorite thing in the world. It just keeps coming. One of his hands is now stroking my back while the other holds back my hair from my face. The vomiting turns into dry heaving, and then I’m slumping over the toilet in exhaustion as one arm wraps around my waist in support.

The room is spinning, so I close my eyes to try and get some sort of peace. A few minutes later, plastic touches my lips. “I need you to take a sip, Rebel. Even if you don’t want to. I can’t promise you won’t have a hell of a hangover in the morning, but this has to be better than nothing.”

For a few more minutes, I sit there unmoving, wiling my stomach to chill the fuck out. It’s rolling, giving me the urge to puke again, but I just don’t want to.

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