Page 3 of A New Days Don

“About three years now. You?” My eyes meet his, something dangerous lurking beneath them, something almost addicting. My breath hitches when his hand slides under mine, holding it as if we have been doing so for years.

“I’ve lived here my whole life.” He offers, his eyes slowly raking down my body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I take another large swig of the blue raspberry abomination.

“It’s quite the city to grow up in,” I state, and he chuckles at that. Something about the way he dryly chuckles beneath his breath is strange. As if the man isn’t amused at all. A wave of awareness zaps and dips through my body then quickly dies.

The man in front of me shifts, but I couldn’t care less at the moment. The beat of the music starts to hum through my body in a way that makes me giggle.

“It was. Not much of a city for kids. It forces you to grow up quickly and understand the world around you. A city like this isn’t fair to kids or women like you.” His voice slowly becomes watery as he speaks. As if he’s speaking to me through an aquarium. I blink a couple of times, looking at his lips, trying to figure out what he is saying.

He was saying something, right? About his childhood?

I should remember that…

Remember what?

The music changes into something almost electrifying. Each note kisses my skin like a million little spikes of adrenaline. My lips become numb and tingly, as do my hands and toes. I almost forgot that there is a man in front of me. A man is currently holding my hand. A man is currently trying to help me out of the booth.

The room spins, the lights swirling and blurring around me.

“Wh-where are we going?” I stammer, looking around the club, the bodies we pass all blurring together as I try to find Karmin.

“I thought maybe you would enjoy getting some fresh air. You look a little pale.” He tells me.

Fresh air. Yes, that sounds good.

“Okay, yeah, I think I may have had a little too much to drink,” I tell him, or at least I think I tell him that, but I can’t quite make out the words I am saying.

It’s not that I don’t drink often, I drink regularly with Karmin when we host small get-togethers with our friend group, and I only had the one drink and part of that other one. Maybe there was more alcohol in that weird blue one. Nausea churns, and when James opens the door for me—I knew he was the chivalrous kind—the less humid and less hot air hits me like a glass of water on a hot day.

I stumble out of the door. My foot catches on the threshold, but I manage to keep myself upright as the late-night darkness swallows me into its depths. I look around, trying to focus my blurry vision.

Is that a trash bin? There wasn’t a trash bin at the front.

My heel catches on the grating below me, and I stumble, falling over a metal railing. I cry out as pain radiates up my spine before being muddled by the alcohol in my system. Is this what being drunk feels like?

Where’s Karmin?

Where am I?

A door slams, and the hypnotizing music from the club is muted into a distant thrum that I can barely make out.

Despite this being the ritzy Sin City, everything around me is cold, dark, and dank.

“Get up,” that silky voice from earlier is all but gone. There is something feral about the way he growls the command.

Why is he mad?

His rough hands pull me up from the dirty, littered cement. My body feels light, but my movements feel heavy.

“What’s going on?” I try to ask, but even my mouth won’t move. The warm night air brushes against my bare bottom, and tears prick my eyes as I feel my back pressed against a brick wall.

I want to go home. I want to say, but the words won’t come out.

I feel his soft hands against my skin, and I shudder.

No… No, I don’t want to. I don’t know you.

“N-No,” I stammer, “What are you doing? Stop,”