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How did he find me, anyway? Sure, he knew I was at a frat party, and it probably wasn't hard for him at which school, but... there are over a dozen parties on Columbia's Greek Row tonight. Did he really go barging into all of them, one by one? His intense demeanor alone says yes.
Mimicking his attitude, I cross my arms at him, hoping he can see how pissed off I—
"Whoooopsie!" Without my support pillar, I stumble backwards and grapple for the railing, just barely catching it. I steady myself upright, only to watch Hayden stomp through the yard, my vision splitting him in two.
Adrenaline spikes through my center, lurching me toward the front door. As well as they can manage, my steps quicken in a hurry, meaning to sprint all the way down that spiraling staircase so I can disappear on the dance floor.
Closer, closer, come on. Almost there—
An arm juts out in front of me, smacking a hand against the doorframe. I bump into an immovable force, grasping something firm and warm beneath silky fabric.
"You either walk, or I'm carrying you."
Flaring with drunken rage, I jerk away at the sound of Hayden's voice, whipping my head up to meet his shadowy gaze. Oh, he's dead serious—but so am I. "Are sh'you outta your mind? I tol'ya what I said on the phone. You can't jus'—"
"I'm not asking permission, Jules. You're coming home with me, or I'll end up killing the man who lures you to his."
My jaw drops to the ground, right as I hear Mei squeal behind me. Why isn't she doing anything?! I gape, words beyond my capabilities. He's all talk. Rolls up, causes a big scene. Now he's just lying—it's what he does best, it seems. He wouldn't actually—
"Option two, it is."
"Wha'? Wai', wha' are you—"
I gasp as my world flips on its head—along with my actual head. Bent at his shoulder, my hair sprawls downward, tracing the planes of his back, bouncing with his every step.
"Hey!" I bark. "Put me doooown!"
In response, his hold around my thighs tightens, my only solace being that I sided on jeans instead of a dress. He'd have me flashing every person on this lawn, all of whom watch with amusement—or envy.
I lift my head, spitting the strands of hair stuck to my mouth, just to find Mei with her hands covering hers, eyes blown wide with shock.
"Mei?! MEI! Don't jus' shhtand there!"
FORTY-ONE
JULIANA
By some miracle, I didn't throw up last night.
Not during the insufferably quiet car ride—although the thought of emptying my guts all over his pearly-white interior was quite tempting. But alas, I held it back, even in the penthouse's private elevator and the kitchen, when Hayden force fed me bread while badgering about drinking water. And, by the looks of it, my bed made it out okay, too.
All alone in my room, I squint at the morning sun streaming in through the windows. I hate to admit it, but I missed this bed—but not as much as I miss Hayden's. I scoff with no one to hear, before quickly convincing myself it's because of the Egyptian cotton sheets. They were properly hyped-up.
I don't remember everything that happened last night, but I can recall the important bits, including some choice words I said to Hayden. All an accumulation of built-up rage from the past five days that spilled over. And the worst part of it all? He just sat there and listened, letting me get everything out, letting my voice boom through the penthouse like a vicious onslaught, while he nursed my drunkenness.
It makes hating him that much harder.
But my trust is shattered, like irreparable glass.
Sitting up in bed, I wince at the dull ache throbbing in my temple. It should be worse, I know. I scan the room, discovering things that palpitate my twisted heart.
A tall glass of water on my nightstand beside a bottle of Advil. I take two. A bucket on the ground by my side of the bed, presumably for throw up. It's empty. A long pillow laid across where my back was while asleep—this one chokes me up the most.
He followed the cardinal rule of drinking: when someone's on the verge of blacking out, lay them on their side and position a pillow along their back to prevent choking if they vomit in their sleep.
I shouldn't be surprised. Hayden is a professional at this whole partying thing, which is why, even while having taken such a precaution, there's still a large imprint atop the comforter on the opposite side of the bed. He must've laid there once I fell asleep after screaming him out of my room.
That, I remember, and wish I had forgotten.
