Page 23 of Cross + Catherine: The Companion

The Run

Cross POV

Whiskey burned all the fucking way down. Cross tipped that bottle up and took another long swig. The noise of the house party got louder and louder until it was nothing more than an irritation in his ear.

Drunk, and with his vision swimming, Cross weaved through the people. A couple called his name, but he ignored them altogether.

Right then, he just needed to get away.

That’s why he’d left his fucking house in the first place. Why had Zeke invited so many damn people?

The heat crawled beneath his leather jacket in an almost smothering way. He could feel the thumping in his throat—signaling something bad was coming. He moved a little bit faster, if only because he didn’t want his friend to have to clean a mess.

Cross barely made it through the backdoor before he lost his lunch all over the stone tiles. Whiskey burned coming up the same way it did going down, but it didn’t taste half as fucking good this time around.

“Oh, shit!”

Someone else laughed.

“You okay, man?”

Cross blinked, and put his hands to his knees. He couldn’t remember how old he was the last time he had drank enough liquor to make him sick. Maybe fourteen, or thirteen.

“Fuck,” he hissed, spitting to the ground.

The laughter of the people gathered outside only grated on his nerves even more. He didn’t like to make a spectacle of himself. It just wasn’t what he did.

Yet, there he was.

Being laughed at.

Being watched.

Fuck.

All he wanted right then was not to feel. To be numb inside and out. To breathe, but not feel like it took effort with every single breath.

He didn’t want to hurt.

Not in his heart, or his soul.

He only needed to be numb.

“Here, man,” somebody said.

Cross looked up to find one of Zeke’s older friends standing next to him. The guy with the gray-blue eyes held out a smoldering joint. The heady scent of weed made his stomach feel even heavier all at once.

The guy chuckled like he could see Cross’s disgust.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “This strain has a strong smell, but it does wonders for making nausea go away, or just making you feel better. It’s yours if you want it.”

Cross smacked his mouth.

Vomit still lingered there.

He eyed the joint, and swallowed hard.

Drugs weren’t usually his thing. Sometimes he’d take a couple of hits off a joint when he was at a party, and Zeke was looking out for him. That was really it, though.