Knowing Scott he was full of shit and over-dramatizing the situation.
Or. . .the cocaine, beer, and Dominic’s sedative was battling inside his body trying to decide who would win.
For a moment, I considered shoving him back downstairs. That thought brought a sick sense of satisfaction in my gut.
It might be nice to see him squirm his dumb ass back downstairs.
It was the pettiest part of me thriving on his misery and obvious discomfort.
But then the better part of me won.
"Fine.” I swallowed. “You can stay. I'll sleep downstairs."
“No.” His face crumpled. "You. . .won't stay here? With. . .me?"
"Never." I shook my head. "I would rather sleep in the middle of the street and risk getting run over by a diesel truck than lay next to you in bed again."
I turned to leave, but his voice caught me at the doorway.
"Teyonah?"
"What, Scott?" I didn't turn around.
"Can you. . .get me some water? To take the Tylenol?"
I closed my eyes.
Counted to five and felt the last threads of patience unraveling in my chest.
"Yes." I left him there, sprawled across my bed like a stain I couldn't quite scrub out, and headed downstairs.
Cocaine and beer. . .along with Dominic’s sedative. . .
It was a miracle Scott was still breathing.
I reached the bottom of the stairs.
Where am I going to sleep now?
Not the couch—Scott had spent the evening there, staining the cushions with his scummy scent and presence. McDonald’s bags and beer littered the area. In order to even be over there I would have to clean up his shit, and I was tired of doing that.
Maybe, the office. That loveseat won’t be too bad.
Of course I considered sleeping in Dominic’s bed. . .and my body trembled with lust.
I headed to the kitchen.
The light was off.
Moonlight peered in.
Huh? I thought I kept the lights on.
I continued and stepped through the doorway.
Shit!!
I almost screamed.