Page 8 of Milked for the Holidays

I blink over at my brother as he hovers over her with a syringe. Seems as if it’s time to wake my sleeping cow.

CHAPTER 4

JESSICA

Odd sounds hover about my head, buzzing like annoying insects. Heat climbs over my body like thousands of ants stinging and biting me. Though I long to scratch at my limbs, I find I still cannot move.

God, the nightmare continues. Off in the distance, a loud chime sounds, but I cannot tell if it’s from the movie or the grandfather clock sitting in the hall. Each bong slams into my skull, reminding me of how much I must have had to drink.

The groan ripped from my lips sounds soft, even to my own ears, and yet, the agony reverberates across the synapses of my brain. That’s it. I’m never drinking again. Ever. Can’t do it.

I long to tip over onto the floor so I can crawl my way to the bathroom, but any minute movement seems like too much effort. Maybe I should continue to lie here and contemplate the consequences of my actions. Too much alcohol, plus probably bad lasagna, times grief, minus sappy Christmas movies seems to equal abject misery that refuses to go away.

Somehow none of the actions of last night managed to cancel out the other. And so I lie here, my stomach in knots and my head feeling as if it’s going to explode. Another moan slips past my lips as I turn my head to the side.

Whispers float across my skin, the words harsh and raspy to my ears. What the hell is on the television now? Nothing about it sounds like Christmas. Too bad the remote is probably on the floor or buried in these mountains of blankets.

“Jessica?” The question hovers above me, still soft, yet insistent.

It’s deep and masculine, causing goosebumps to explode over my skin.

“God?” I ask back, my insides quivering as a laugh bubbles up to the surface.

Of all the ridiculous things. It would be far more likely to be one of the Christmas ghosts coming to take me away.

“Jessica.” This time, the voice sounds far firmer, commanding even.

I can’t deny the effect it has on me. My pussy spasms with each drawn-out syllable. The crisp, harsh tone of his words only makes me that much wetter.

“Am I in trouble?” I shouldn’t tease, but if my psyche is finally breaking, I should have some fun first.

“You’re about to be,” the mysterious voice grumbles. “Open your eyes.”

“Can’t make me.” A laugh slips out unbidden as the hilarity washes over me.

“What the fuck is wrong with her? What did you do?”

A different male answers, his voice a touch more strident. “I didn’t do anything. You know humans can become odd and potentially incoherent when coming out of forced sleep.”

“This isn’t incoherency,” the voice snaps back, drawing a frown across my face.

He sounds angry. But underneath that, part of me somehow seems to know he’s also worried. Granted, I don’t know how I know. I just do. But why is he worried? Should I be worried?

“You’re not usually here for this. I am. Now do you want me to kick you out so I can deal with her myself?”

No! I scream out in my mind. I have no idea what’s going on, but internally, I know I want the man with the concerned voice to stay. I don’t want him to leave. My fingers tremble as I reach out, desperate to touch the phantom.

Sensations wash over my skin as sounds become clearer. It’s as if I’m waking from a strange dream. I’m groggy but slowly able to move different parts of myself.

First, I wiggle my fingers, then my toes. When those work, I move on to bigger limbs like my arms. When they don’t move, I try my legs. Terror infuses me as déjà vu slams in so hard my head spins.

I’ve been here before. Just like this. I couldn’t move, couldn’t understand anything. The hospital. Hysteria builds as I look about, my gaze landing on two blue men. They’re still blue.

What the fuck? This has to be a dream. Right? I tug at the restraints with all my might, desperate to be free. They don’t budge. Not even an inch. A scream claws at my throat but refuses to go past my lips.

“Do something,” the presumably kinder male barks out.

The other turns to him, his eyes slanting. “She’s your cow. Maybe you should do something.”