Page 38 of Nightmare

“Yes, I know, but you have been drinking.”

He doesn’t answer.

“What if the cops pull you over?”

Still no answer.

Obviously, it is of no concern to him.

“Your wife seems lovely.”

My voice holds a sarcastic tone, and my eyes widen the moment the words leave my lips.

I really need to shut my mouth.

Western still doesn’t say anything, and I want to shrink into the chair.

This is going well.

So, so well.

~*~*~*~

FUMBLING WITH MY KEYS, I attempt to open the front door but fail, multiple times. I can still hear the rumbling sound of the truck idling on the street because Western won’t drive away until I get inside. His words, not mine. Well, his words were, “Go inside, I’ll wait.” Which I took to mean he is going to make sure I’m in my house alive before going home, but at this rate, I’m not getting in anytime soon.

When my keys drop to the ground, I mutter a curse and lean down to fetch them. Being as drunk as I am, I lean a little too harshly forward and slam my head against the door. Toppling backward with a cry, I fall to my bottom, and shame immediately creeps into my now spinning brain. He would have just witnessed that entire scene and my word, it would have been hilarious to watch.

Closing my eyes, I refuse to open them, even when I hear the truck stop, the door slam, and Western’s large, booted feet stomping up to me. Leaning down, and I know this because I get a whiff of his incredible scent, he scoops the keys up, and I hear him unlock the front door. I don’t move, I just sit on the ground, my head now pounding, and keep my eyes closed. I’m not even certain at this point if I can actually stand. The way my head is spinning is beginning to head toward the vomiting direction.

“I don’t think I can stand,” I say, eyes still closed, head leaning forward as I fight the constant waves of dizziness.

Without a word, as per usual, Western scoops down and just lifts me into his arms. He does this as if I weigh nothing, and I know for a fact that isn’t true. Eyes springing open, I stare at his face in shock as he carries me through the front door and right into the living room. There, he deposits me onto the sofa. My head does a horrible spin the second I’m placed down, and I grip my stomach, terrified if I move even once more it’ll be the end for me.

“Kitchen?” Western demands.

I point in the direction of the kitchen. At least, I think I’m pointing the right way. My eyes are closed again, and I’m lying down, praying I don’t vomit in front of him. A few deep breaths keep the spinning at bay, and I open one eye. I heard from a friend that if you open one eye when you’re spinning out, it settles things down. For whatever strange reason, this works.

Watching, with my one eye, I see Western come back into the living room with a glass of water. He places it down beside me. Then, he stares, his eyes raking over me from head to toe. “You good?”

Is it bad that I’m kind of flattered that he seems to care?

I need to get a grip.

“I’m not entirely certain I am,” I admit.

“Where’s your bedroom?”

Panicking, because there is no way I can lead him to my bedroom, considering there are currently newspaper articles, notes and all sorts of information regarding his case scattered everywhere. Quickly trying to come up with an excuse, I tell him, “No, I’ll stay here, much closer to the bathroom.”

Thankfully, that’s the truth. It is closer to the bathroom. Western seems to accept that answer, and then reaches down, picking up my phone. He turns it toward me as I stare in confusion, and it unlocks. That was scarily clever. He types something, and then places it down. “Put my number in, just in case.”

He put his number in my phone?

My phone?

His number?

I can’t help the little thrill that shoots through my chest.

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