Page 10 of Sorrow

“Oh, I don’t think you’re going anywhere just yet. Ed, grab the Everclear. We’ll make her have a little fun if it kills her, cursed or not.”

The only thing that gives me any solace at all is knowing this entire thing is beingrecorded. If they hurt me, I’ll have proof — and some stubborn little part of me is still convinced that if I can get to Carly, maybe she’ll tell me something I can use.

So, I chug the second tea and take the bottle of Everclear when it’s offered. Again, I try to plug the opening with my tongue and only let enough through to stain my breath, but Tristan’s thugs tip it up higher and send burning, awful alcohol straight down my throat.

They’re laughing at me, I can hear them. I choke back the irritation in my throat as much as I can, but then the bottle is clinking against my teeth again and it’s all I can do to swallow.

It dribbles down my chin and slides down my neck, settling on the collar of my shirt under my jacket. The wind whips past me, chilling the wet fabric enough to make me shiver. Please, please be done.

They’re just about to make me take another swig when the stereo abruptly cuts out, causing groans and loud cusses that draw Tristan’s attention. In the moments he’s preoccupied, I slip out.

Fuck Carly, fuck those boys, and fuck all of this. I want to go home.

But with every step I take toward my truck, I feel the alcohol hitting a little harder. I can’t drive home like this. Boo made me promise above everything else that if I ever drank, I wouldn’t drive. Not on these roads, not in this town. Not ever.

So I call him.

“What the fuck are you doing there?” he demands before I even get the words out. “Sam, I— fuck. Just sit tight, okay? Someone’s coming.”

The line goes dead before I can ask who ‘someone’ is. I don’t have the time to dwell on it either, because I hear Tristan’s pissed off voice drifting through the quarry.

“Where’d that little bitch go? Find her. Bring her back to me, I wasn’t done playing with her.”

Fuck. My head is swimming and it’s suddenly very hot in this coat, but I know better than to take it off even if the dark color makes me stick out like a sore thumb against the pale ground. The moonlight is too bright to hide, anyway. All I can do is hope to stay out of sight until that ‘someone’ finally comes.

I shouldn’t have come here.

6

When I hear the rumble of the charcoal Silverado that Hayes drives for work, my stomach sinks. This isnothow I want him to see me, and I can’t imagine anyone I’d rather have coming to my rescue less. It’ll just be yet another reason for him to be an asshole.

As predicted, he climbs out of his truck with a scowl, closing the distance so quickly I barely get a glimpse of his dirty jeans and the blue flannel that I’m sure he’s tossed over an even dirtier shirt before he’s lifting me without a word. In a matter of thirty seconds, I’ve gone from stumbling drunk all alone to buckled into the last truck in the world I want to be in, and I feel completely powerless.

He slams his door hard enough to make the truck shake. I flinch, cowering down in the seat in hopes of softening the shit stormabout to come, but the expression on his face as he peels out of the lot makes me want to launch myself out the window.

“The fuck were you thinking?” he snaps, glancing in the rearview mirror like he’s hoping someone will follow him. Maybe then he’d have someone else to punish, but instead, there’s only me. Always only me.

“Fuck you,” I scoff quietly. “It’s just like you to blame the victim.”

“Victim?” he repeats incredulously. “Alright then.” He turns the truck around so quickly I fly against the door in spite of the seatbelt, then nearly vomit as he slams the gas pedal. “Which one of them dragged you out of the house and brought you here? I’ll kick their ass right now, victim.”

God, I wish he’d have left me there to freeze. “I came here on my own, but I’m not the one who forced me to chug spiked tea and shoved fucking Everclear down my throat. I would’ve been fucking fine. Just let me out, I’ll walk.”

“And who the fuck did that?” His tone is darker now, like he might actually believe me. Somehow it just pisses me off more.

“Tristan Turner and his fuckwit friends. But it’s my fault, right? I put myself in that position by going out in public. My oversizeddown coat was too revealing, and the fear in my eyes was obviously consent.”

“I didn’t say that,” he replies through gritted teeth. “Are you implying they tried to rape you, Samara?”

I don’t know what I’m implying. None of them touched me like that or said anything that suggested it, but who knows what would’ve happened if I wouldn’t have escaped? “They forced me to get drunk and when I ran away, he said he wasn’t done playing with me yet. You’re a guy. What did he mean?”

His hands tighten on the steering wheel, but that’s nothing compared to the murder in his dark eyes. “He meant exactly what you thought he meant.”

I relax slightly when he drives past the quarry and makes a turn toward my house, but something tells me this isn’t over. It just doesn’t make sense. Why would he be angry on my behalf when he hates me?

Maybe he’s mad I escaped. That sounds more like him.

“Maybe I should’ve just played along. I could’ve just given it to him and—”

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