Page 49 of Race to Me

Skyler is completely wasted, and I feel a sudden urge to rip Brett’s vocal cords out for having her turned upside down on a keg stand when she was already beyond fucked up.

At this point, I don’t even think she’s coherent enough to realize she’s thrown up all over herself.

She heaves over the toilet, trying to apologize for throwing up all over the bathroom and my shoes. I hold her sunshine hair in a makeshift ponytail and reassure her, but she won’t stop apologizing.

Skyler’s jumping between laughter to sadness in a frantic manner, and as tears trickle down her cheeks I start to worry. “Can I ask you something?” she slurs, lifting her finger up and pointing past my shoulder.

She’s undeniably the most adorable fucking thing I’ve ever seen, even when she’s drunk as shit. I would be more concerned, but she’ll be fine after she gets it out and gets something solid in her system.

“Yes,” I respond, intrigued to hear what she has to say.

She drunkenly lifts her finger for a second attempt, and this time, she points to the ceiling instead of me. “Yooou!” Skyler exclaims. “Why did you yell at me on my birthday?” Her voice is so sad, and although I didn’t know, guilt pangs inside of me.

I place my hand dramatically against my chest, making her laugh. “Well, no one told me it was your birthday, Sky. I’m not psychic.” I remind her.

She nods, but it seems like her head feels heavy. I would get her changed now, but it doesn’t look like she’s over her newfound relationship of hugging the toilet.

“Why do you care how I talk to my parents?” she asks, the words barely stringing together. Only Skyler would want to have a serious talk at a moment like this.

I consider changing the topic like I normally do, but she won’t remember this conversation in the morning. “Because mine are dead.” I respond. Normally, I don’t tell my secrets, and I’m not sure why the truth muttered from my lips.

Her only response is sticking her head back into the toilet. Once she’s steady, I prop her against the wall and quickly rush to retrieve one of my t-shirts and a pair of basketball shorts, but I have a feeling they’re going to fall off of her.

After a quick dash to the kitchen, I’m hauling ass back up the steps to her. When I return, she’s mumbling something to herself, incoherent and upset.

I grab a washcloth from under the sink and turn the knob, running it under cool water until it’s drenched. I place it on her forehead to cool her off and once she holds it on her own, I grip the bottom of her dress. “No, don’t dooo that. You can’t.” she quietly pleads, trying to move my hands away.

I raise my hands to show her that I’m not going to do anything. I would never without her consent, but she flinches from the movement.

When I tilt her chin, she attempts to shuffle away but her back’s already against the wall. She pulls her hands in front of her face to shield herself from ... me?

“Skyler, babe?” I move away slightly, letting her get more comfortable. “It’s okay. I’m not going to do anything to you. I would never.” I promise.

She’s too drunk to understand, but I can’t leave her in that dress. It’s covered in regurgitated beer.

I try and make my tone as calm as possible, and my movements are slow and calculated as I inch towards her. “I’m just changing your clothes, nothing else. Okay?” I suddenly wish that Envy wasn’t such a raging bitch so she could help. Maybe a girl around would make Sky more comfortable. Fuck, I wish Kate was here.

My fingers curl underneath the soft fabric, and I lift it over her head. I look away, shutting my eyes so she knows I’m not going to check her out while she’s like this.

But when I place my shirt over her head and pull it down, I grip her waist to lift her and she cries out in agony. Concerned, I ask if she’s okay, but she doesn’t respond. I examine where my hands were on her, lifting up the shirt to reveal her delicate skin that’s peppered with healing, large purple bruises along both sides of her ribcage.

A harsh reality hits me when I fall to the ground beside her, my back against the wall as I try to imagine what happened to her.

Could it be cheer? No, it was on both sides and much too sporadic to be from a simple injury. Fuck.

I don’t want to upset her, but my hands are trembling angrily at my sides. “Who hurt you?” I dare to ask, even though I already have an idea.

She shakes her head, coming to a little bit. She bobs her head in my direction, her eyes like heavyweights as they open and close with obvious determination. “No one. Everyone ...” Skyler replies with a slur. I hope she doesn’t notice the rage that’s radiating from me as I gently clean her off with the washcloth.

I decide there’s no point in trying to solve a mystery when my girl just needs to feel better and get some sleep. The rest can be dealt with later.

I hand her the bottle of Gatorade I grabbed earlier and half of Callum’s sandwich that I swiped from him as I dashed through the house.

She takes a few bites and drinks about half the Gatorade.

I carefully help her to my bed and pull the covers over her. When I grab my pillow to lay on the floor beside her, I feel her fingers trap my wrist. “Ghost,” she mutters.

“Don’t call me that.” I tell her, only wanting to admit to her when she’s drunk that I love when she calls me by my real name.

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