Page 161 of Yearn
I hurried us away, my heart beating so loud I was certain she'd hear it.
Each step felt like it took an hour.
Mrs. Patterson remained at the tree, arms wrapped around it, rocking slightly.
Still confessing to the darkness.
Still clutching the bark like salvation.
I pulled Scott faster, my breath coming in short, silent gasps. We reached our back door and I fumbled with the handle, my hands shaking so violently I could barely grip it.
Click.
The door opened.
I shoved Scott inside and followed, closing the door as quietly as possible behind us.
Only then did I let myself breathe.
Scott stumbled. “W-what. . .is your. . .problem?”
I kept rolling my eyes. Surely, they would be aching by the morning.
If you don’t get your dumb ass in this house. Yelling for a damn bottle of Tylenol. What happened to you being Mr. Lawyer? Mr. I’ve-got-the-real-job. Mr. You-need-me, Teyonah. You were lonely, Teyonah. Now look at you. Stumbling and whimpering my name.
As if he heard me, he trembled. “T-teyonah?”
“What now, Scott?” I looked at the kitchen. Earlier, he had left a trail of sweat or maybe it was drool on the hardwood, dark spots that would need cleaning.
"Your dress. . ." He slurred and then squinted at me through glassy eyes.
“What about my dress?”
"It's. . .backwards."
My blood went cold.
Oh fuck.
I glanced down. The tag at my neckline caught the overhead light—a small white flag of surrender advertising my guilt. I'd slipped the top of the dress back up so fast I hadn’t realized that Dominic had fucked the front to the back.
Scott groaned and doubled over.
“Don’t throw up on this floor. Go to the sink.”
“N-no.” He shook his head and stumbled forward. “No. I’m fine. I just. . .”
“What?”
“Y-your. . .dress. . .”
“This is the new style.” I gripped his arm and hurried him along. “Now do you want the Tylenol or not? Or do you have more fashion critiques?”
He barely kept my pace as his gaze tracked over my face—my swollen lips, my tangled hair, the flush I could still feel burning in my cheeks. "W-why were you. . .really down there, Tey?"
The old nickname made my stomach turn. "I told you—"
"But. . ." His voice cracked again. “Please. . .be. . .honest. . .”
