Page 8 of Ecstasy
I don’t know if anyone else is in here, but I hear nothing. No one protesting, coming to my aid.
For one stupid second, I wonder where Eli is.
“Fuck you,” I spit at Alex as he leans over me, digging the bottle in deeper against my mouth. But when I say that, he forces it between my teeth and starts to pour it down my throat.
It burns and I cough, turning my head before I choke to death on tequila at this stupid house party that I should’ve never gone to.
But Alex doesn’t fucking let up.
He turns the bottle as I turn my head, and it’s still lodged between my teeth. He moves his hand from my chest to my face, forcing me still.
“Taste as good at Jamal’s cum, huh, princess?” he snarls at me, his eyes two dark pits. I jerk my head from his grip andfinallyI can breathe. But tequila is burning its way down my throat, into my empty stomach—I don’t remember the last time I ate—and I know, with that, and the Addie, and the molly, I’m about to bevery fucked up.
Usually, with Alex, I wouldn’t care. He’d take care of me. He might be a dick and he might make fun of me, but he’d take care of me all the same.
Not tonight though.
Tonight, he’s gone way past his usual one-beer limit and tonight he’s fucking on one.
I think about calling Kylie. I think about calling my mom. My dealer, Jax. Or fuck, at this point, I’d even call Jamal. Anyone to come pick me up and take me away from this shit, but I don’t even know where my phone is. I don’t know where my phone is, and my head is already spinning and…
Goddamn, I want a Xanax.
It’s an irrational thought, but with my heart pounding so loud I can hear it in my ears and with that look of rage still on Alex’s face as he slams the tequila bottle down on the table so hard, all of the bottles rattle against each other, it’s the only hope I’ve got.
At least then I could fucking roofie myself and not have to live through whatever fresh hell my ex has in store for me.
But I don’t have a Xannie on me, and my ex is already moving on to the next thing so there’s no way I can fucking find one right now.
He yanks my arm, sliding me down the counter, and tosses me over his shoulder.
My head is spinning, the room a swirling vortex of colors and sounds around me as he ducks down so I don’t hit my head on the doorway when he goes outside, the smell of chlorine and the warm, September air assaulting my senses.
And that’s what it feels like.
An assault.
Because whatever Alex plans to do with me out here cannot be good.
I’m hanging over his shoulder like a ragdoll, and he’s got one hand on my back, the other on my ass. His grip isn’t overly forceful but I’m working on trying not to puke, trying not to black out so I don’t drown in this pool, so it’s not like I’m going anywhere.
And when he sets me down on my feet, the rough concrete cold beneath me, I think I’m going to fall over.
But he grips my arms, keeping me upright.
Distantly, I’m aware there are people out here talking and laughing and I hear a few splashes from the pool and music that I can’t quite make out.
All I can focus on is Alex’s eyes on mine.
He’s smiling at me, which can’t be good. But his smile is so damn cute, a single dimple flashing in his tan face, his white, straight teeth fucking perfect. I see other things, too. The small dent in his bottom lip, right down the center. The flecks of amber in his dark eyes, and his long lashes.
Why do boys always have such nice lashes?
I want to ask him. I reach a hand out to touch them, but my hand goes to his face instead and his skin is so smooth, so warm beneath my hand.
“Alex,” I say his name, and it’s heavy in my mouth, like my tongue is swollen or something. “Alex,” I try again, and I can hear it, the sound, but I can’t quite tell if I’m saying it right.
God, I’m fucked up.
