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Whispers entered my ears, white noise fading into distinctive sounds.
Those same damn words in Remi’s voice, still chanting, “I can make her love me. I can make her love me.”
The chanting trailed off as he came, for what I assumed was the second time. He didn’t stop, and the chanting began again.
Fingers wiggled in front of my eyes, and it took me a while to realize they were mine. At some point, he’d let my hands go. Wiggling them again, I focused on each slow movement.
My eyes moved to Remi. His eyes closed as his hips rocked a few more times before his body spasmed, and he again, came inside me.
He moaned, and the word wrapped inside it sounded something like my name.
He collapsed on my back, and his heat warmed my naked skin. While I’d been unconscious, he’d stripped me, too.
Fluttering lashes shut it all out, my eyes closing until my head lolled in a different direction as I wondered how much time had escaped me.
The bottle was at my side, propped up with its neck to the sky. The liquid inside was gone. I didn’t need to guess where.
“She’ll say it in a minute. Just a minute. I’ll go again in just a minute.”
He took a heavy breath, and I refused to wish it was his last because my heavy heart had me feeling like I was about to take mine.
It took at least a full minute of stretching my fingers before I could grip the bottle.
“Have I made you love me yet?” He sat up, aware that I was moving. “Do you want to go home now?” he asked, his cock still fully inside me. Gentle fingers coasted from the side of my boob to my waist, swirling there. “Say yes. They’re still saying you hate—”
I cut him off, twisting my body around enough and hitting him with the bottle. The cheap glass smashed on impact with his sharp cheekbone. A shard got stuck as it ripped through the flesh of his cheek and top lip.
As I dropped the broken bottle, he reeled back, pulling out of me and giving me enough time to force my weak legs to crawl away. I put his sweatshirt on quickly as I moved, only to hide my body from him.
A sweet smell clung to me, cruel memories torturing me.
Remi pulled the shard of glass from his face. His hands weren’t trembling like mine.
I stood, getting a better view of the gash in his skin, a clean rip, gapped open, flapping as he moved his head.
In sequence, we both leaned over ourselves and delivered vomit to the grass. Mine splashed my feet, but my legs ached so much that I could hardly shake it off.
Dropping the bloody glass to the floor, Remi’s hand covered it as he fell forward. He didn’t even move as it sliced between his fingers. His other hand was on his face, trying to hold the flaps of skin together.
A rush of vomit came again, falling through his fingers. His eyes landed on me, blinking in my image as I backed away.
“Cat—” He sounded different, the gash altering his voice but still different—alert. “What the fuck did I do?”
His head fell forward, and he was sick again. He shook it from his fingers.
“I think I had a bad trip.” He heaved, but nothing came up this time.
“Have the trees stopped talking to you, Remi?” I shivered on the spot.
Fingers prodded his ear, indicating he heard a noise, but his eyes stayed low, proving he didn’t realize it was me.
A drop of blood fell to the ground, tainting the countless puddles of bile.
“Remington!” A voice rattled through the trees.
Falling back into the trunk behind me, I gripped the wood.
Remi pushed himself to his feet. “You gotta…you gotta…fuck, you gotta get—” the next word escaped him, along with all the others. He fell to the floor, his body shaking.
