Page 73 of Regret

“What happened to you?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

She noticed a little blood on his nose and rushed toward him. “Hunter, your nose is bleeding.”

He wiped at it with his arm. “Oh, that was you.” He grinned.

“Me?”

“Yeah. You pack a mean punch, just like you said.”

Oh no.“I hit you?”

“You hit someone. But I’m pretty sure it wasn’t my face you saw when you threw that punch.”

He looked at her pointedly, like he was expecting an explanation—a discussion about what happened, about what or who she saw in her dreams. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t go there. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Placing her hand on her forehead, she sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Scar—”

“I need a drink.” Her head was pounding, her body was aching, and she needed to take the edge off. She brushed past him and darted out of the room, her heart still racing inside her chest. Somehow she knew that if she had to stay in that room with him any longer, she would spill every last detail of her hell. And she really didn’t want to.

“Scarlet, wait up.”

“Drop it, Ace.”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but you freaked the fuck out there. You were scared shitless of whatever the fuck you dreamt about.”

“No shit.” She spun around and he almost walked right into her. “I was there, remember?”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“How the fuck can you expect me to keep you safe when I don’t even know what I’m protecting you from?”

Scarlet opened the fridge and grabbed the first alcoholic beverage she could get her hands on. The tequila.

After gulping down a fair amount of alcohol, she slammed the bottle on the counter and glared at him standing only a few feet from her. “Then don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t protect me. Go. Leave. I can take care of myself.”

Not in the mood for any more of his “you need me” bullshit, she turned around, grabbed the tequila, and headed up the stairs back to the room. She needed space. She needed air. She needed a new fucking life. No matter how hard she tried, where she ran to, it always followed her—the pain, the torment, the reality of her past being so fucked up that she would never be able to escape it.

For hours she locked herself in the room, sitting on the deck, drinking the tequila, and just staring into space. She hardly noticed the ocean, the sun, the soft breeze on her skin. All she could think about, all she felt, was the entire fucked-up-ness that was her life.

And now there was Hunter, who had somehow managed to make her feel something again. She didn’t know what that something was, but it felt foreign to her, something she didn’t recognize. And she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to feel like that when it came to him. It felt way too reckless, even for her. Putting her trust in someone else, depending on someone else, only opened up doors for disappointment and more heartache. And that she didn’t want. There wasn’t anything left inside her to break. Nothing about her was whole anymore, which was why she couldn’t risk it. If she did, and it backfired, the only thing left to destroy was her fight to survive, and then there would be nothing left.

There was a soft knock on the door.

“Go away.” She got up from the deck and walked in to the bedroom.

“Scarlet, you can’t stay in that room forever, you know.”

“Watch me.”

---