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Once I’d parked the car in the garage, I peered in through the front door to make sure there was nobody around before I dashed up the stairs to my room.
The last thing I needed was an inquisition.
I shed what few clothes I had on and jumped into the shower, hoping to wash away any trace of what had just happened.
But no amount of soap would remove the memories he had left, not just on my mind, but on my skin. The ghost of his touch left invisible marks that no loofah could scrub away.
Once I had dried and I clambered into my pyjamas, a thought occurred to me. Soap might not do the trick, but alcohol might.
I wrapped myself up in my dressing gown and headed back down the stairs. Voices travelled along the house’s old, rickety corridors, but when I entered the kitchen, I found it empty but for Sammie, who was sniffing at the closed bin lid.
His tongue lolled out of his mouth, and his tail wagged as I patted him in passing on my way to the fridge.
I pulled out the first bottle I found and poured myself a glass. It was half-finished before I slid down the fridge door to sit on the floor.
Sammie padded across the tiles to join me and sniffed at my wineglass.
“You can be my drinking buddy, but you’re not having any,” I said, moving the glass away from him.
Resigned to my words, Sammie flumped down next to me and laid his head on my lap.
I stroked his head, staring at the breakfast bar opposite. The sight wavered in and out of focus as I downed my drink.
“How stupid am I, Sammie?” I asked. “Now I’ve got another secret to keep. Dad might just kill me if I tell him what happened tonight.”
Why had it not crossed my mind that the agency could pair me with an Everhart? It had just seemed so improbable that I hadn’t registered the possibility that an Everhart would be my date.
I stiffened.
Those hours we had spent pressed together under Michaela’s bed. Something had felt off. Was that even the right word? Something had felt… unusual.
Being in close proximity had felt natural, good even.
I downed the rest of my wine as I remembered falling out of the window.
Why hadn’t I seen it at the time? Of course, it had been Ben. Even when we knew we had to hate each other, we felt connected. Or at least, I felt connected to him.
The wine burned its way down my throat as something else dawned on me. Ben had given me good luck with his power. He must have cared enough to want to keep me safe. Did me being an Arrowood change that for him?
I banged the back of my head against the fridge. “Ouch.”
I stopped petting Sammie to rub the already sore spot on my head, and he looked up, tilting his head as if to ask, “Why?”
Drama queen.
I sighed and dropped my hand onto his head again.
Should I have stayed? Should we have talked about this? The shock had made me flee, but in hindsight, we shouldn’t have left things the way we did.
I rolled onto my knees and felt around on the breakfast bar for the wine bottle. Sammie got up and wagged his tail, as if expecting a treat. When I was drunk enough, I’d let him gorge himself on dog biscuits.
As I poured myself another glass on the kitchen floor, I heard voices in the corridor. I scrambled to my feet, spilling a little wine on Sammie’s head.
“Sorry, boy,” I said as he shook himself dry.
I didn’t want anyone finding me drinking on the kitchen floor. Nobody else had to know I’d hit rock bottom.
“Sandra, I don’t know what to do. They said they don’t know what’s wrong with her.” That sounded like… George?
