Page 9 of Wicked Scorn
“This can’t be good. Gosh, Oakley how did you get yourself into this mess?” I whisper to myself, my tone shaky and foreign in this strange space. My mind races, desperately trying to piece together how I ended up here, but the memories are hazy, fragmented, slipping through my fingers like sand.
I feel trapped—like a mouse caught in a maze with no way out.
Sitting up, I notice something that sends a fresh jolt of panic through me. I’m not wearing the same outfit I had on at the party last night. Instead, a hoodie that isn’t mine hangs loosely from my frame. My breath catches in my throat,clawing its way out in ragged gasps. Tears well up in my eyes, blurring my already foggy vision. I can feel panic creeping in, and now my vision blurs for an entirely different reason.
“I only had a couple sips of my drink,” I mutter, but the words do nothing to soothe the rising tide of fear. The sensation of not being in control of myself or my actions is overwhelming. I feel exposed, vulnerable, like a raw nerve. How could I have been so dang careless?
The room spins around me, the walls closing in. I struggle to find something familiar, something to anchor myself. There’s nothing. Just unfamiliar furniture and dim, suffocating silence.
I try to grasp at the fragments of memory from last night. The party, the laughter, the music—all disjointed images that refuse to form a coherent picture. My pulse hammers in my ears, drowning out any semblance of rational thought. The fear claws at me, relentless and unyielding.
My thoughts are a chaotic jumble of panic and confusion. Just as I feel the panic tightening its grip, the creak of the door sends a jolt through me. My eyes dart to the entrance, where Jeremiah Blackwood stands, his green eyes widening with concern.
“Bunny, it’s me,” he says, his words a mixture of warmth and firmness that cuts through the fog in my mind. He steps closer, extending a hand toward me. His touch is grounding, something tangible that I’ve missed since the last time we saw each other, and it’s everything I need right now.
My words tremble, barely above a whisper. “What happened last night? How did I end up here? Why are you looking at me like that?”
His expression softens, but there’s an intensity in his gazethat makes my heart race for reasons beyond fear. Memories of our past. I had such a silly crush on him back then, back before my life was flipped upside down. He left me. He protected me all along and then he left me to fend for myself because he wasn’t friends with my brother any longer. My anger, the resentment I have toward him comes crashing back, making it hard to breathe. I’m torn between wanting answers and wanting to bolt from the room, from him. I don’t want him to know what happened to me those years he was out of my life.
“Bunny, you need to calm down for me,” he murmurs, his hand steady on my shoulder. “You’re safe now.”
“Safe?” I echo, my tone tinged with sarcasm and disbelief. I’m mad at him and it has nothing to do with waking up in his room. I’m trying my hardest not to show it, and I’m failing miserably. “How can I feel safe when I don’t even remember how I got here?”
“Ibrought you here,” Jeremiah begins, choosing his words carefully, and I know him well enough to understand that he’s trying to restrain his anger, too. “You were at the party, and things got out of control.”
“Out of control?” My laugh is hollow, devoid of humor. “That’s the understatement of the year.”
“Look, bunny, you weren’t in any state to get back to your dorm, especially not by yourself.” His tone is measured, almost too calm, like he’s trying to soothe a wild animal. “So, I brought you here so I could keep an eye on you.”
“Here,” I repeat, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. “Your room.”
“Yes, my room in my house,” he confirms, his tone unwavering. “I couldn’t leave you alone like that.”
“Why not? You’ve done it before.” The question bursts outbefore I can stop it. The old wounds, the shattered friendship—they’re all there, just beneath the surface.
Jeremiah’s jaw flexes and I know I’ve hit a nerve. “Because I care about you,” he says simply, his eyes locking onto mine. There’s something raw and unguarded in his gaze, something that makes my breath hitch.
“Care about me?” I scoff, though my tone lacks conviction. “Since when?”
“Since always,” he replies, the barest hint of frustration creeping into his words. “Despite everything that’s happened between me and your brother.”
“Everything that’s happened,” I mutter, shaking my head. Cutting me out of his life is more accurate, but I’m choosing to pick my battles because something else is really bothering me. “Who took my clothes off?”
His eyes flash with anger and hurt that I would all but accuse him. “Oakley. I didn’t touch you. Not like that.”
“Not like that?” My voice cracks, a tear slipping down my cheek. “Then why am I wearing…this?” I gesture to the pretty boy sized hoodie hanging loosely from my frame.
“Your clothes were all rumpled up from the tantrum you threw when I dragged you out of the party, and I hardly think sleeping in that dress would have been comfortable,” he explains, his tone softening again.
The conflicting emotions swirl within me, and I can’t get them to agree on which one I should feel first so they all refuse to settle.
Jeremiah must notice because he says, “Trust me or not,” he says quietly, “I’m here. And you’re not leaving until I know you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.” I want the words to sound harsh, but theycome out in a whisper, and end up feeling foreign on my tongue. Can I ever be fine in his presence?
“I know when you’re lying. Something’s up,” he snaps, stepping closer. The scent of his musky cologne fills the air between us. “Why did you transfer to St. Charles? What are you hiding?”
Defiance ignites within me. My heart pounds against my ribcage, each beat echoing to me to resist him. “It’s none of your business.”
