Page 148 of Ecstasy
As I turn into my driveway, Zara still snoring softly in the passenger seat, I know I’ve already dealt with the most important thing. I’ve already made sure she knows she’s mine. That the time for games is over because I’m tired of watching everyone else fuck around with her. I got what I wanted, making Alex watch me fuck her, and now I’m done with that shit.
She’s mine now.
47
Alex
It’sSaturday morning before I get to her apartment.
Saturday morning, and the sun is almost up, but I drove as fast as I could. I tossed and turned in my bed at my parents’ house after dealing with Mom’s lawyers and Dad blowing up and walking out.
I tried to let it go. I told myself she might’ve just fallen asleep. I told myself that she’s okay. That she’s been exhausted. That I trust her, and she’s fine.
But I couldn’t sleep, and I don’t exactly trust her, so I drove.
I run up the stairs to her apartment, wishing she had a fucking car so I could know if she was here. She won’t answer her phone, hasn’t answered my texts since she told me she missed me too.
And that was it.
I knock on her door, softly at first.
No one answers.
Kylie isn’t here. I know, because I called her, too.
Nothing. No one comes to the door. I don’t hear movement inside.
I knock again, louder this time. I wonder if her neighbors will come outside, but I hear music thumping from one of these apartments, so I’m not too worried about it. Fuck, even if they were all dead asleep, I don’t give a shit.
I slam my hand so hard against the door the third time, it just fucking pops open.
What the fuck?
She would have locked it. If she was okay, if she was here, that door would be locked and even I couldn’t have broken the lock by knocking on the door.
I step inside.
It’s dark as shit, and I’m worried she’s asleep and I’m going to scare the hell out of her, but she would have locked that door.
And I smell it then, when I step further inside, closing the door softly at my back.
I smell the sharp tang of alcohol, and my stomach sinks.
I feel sick, and I put my hands on my knees, closing my eyes as my stomach heaves. I swallow it all back down.
Opening my eyes, I try to get myself the fuck together.
It’s just alcohol, I tell myself. It’s just alcohol and that’s okay. It could be worse. I should’ve taken those bottles, I should’ve dumped that shit out, but it could be worse. It could be worse and maybe she’s just asleep in bed. Maybe she just drank too much and we can deal with that. We can fix that.
I flip on the light in the kitchen and blink, my eyes adjusting.
And then my head starts spinning.
There are bottles of alcohol lined up on the counter—thankfully, some still full—and there’re no cups or shot glasses or anything that would indicate she had a party but there’s something red on the floor.
My mouth goes dry as I step closer, squatting down to look.
There’s an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.
