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I want to ask him to leave. I want to shout for help or run to my phone and call Jake, but I’m too preoccupied with the cut on his lip, the dry blood under his slightly swollen nose, and the bruise forming on his red cheek.
“What happened to you?” I whisper, almost too ashamed to voice my worry out loud. Was there a Wolf outside again? That’s impossible, it’s not like them to take too much risk.
“Aah…that, beautiful. That’s just my sweet little brother and his two besties jumping me out of nowhere because he’s too fucking weak to take me on his own.” I can hardly believe what he’s saying but I know how Jake can get.
I need to tell him to leave. Now.
“Are you okay?” That is not what I should have asked.
“I don’t know. You tell me.” He stumbles forward as he tries to take a step and that’s when it hits me. The slur in his words, the smell of whiskey. He’s completely drunk.
In our almost three months relationship, I haven’t seen him drink once. Then again, it wouldn’t be the only thing he hid from me.
“You’re drunk,” I say as if he didn’t already know. He walks past me and heads for the kitchen.
“You got any whiskey in here?” He opens cupboards in the kitchen, holding onto the handles so he doesn’t fall and growls when he realizes all we have is snacks and sodas.
“Nathan, you need to-”
“You know, ‘Me, I can understand Jake being pissed that I hit Ozy. Fuck, I get pissed at myself when I do that.” He turns back and walks towards me, meeting me in the middle of my small living room.
“You shouldn’t have hit her,” I agree.
“Yeah, I fucking know that. And Jake has every right to want to beat me up for it. But number one,” he holds a finger up too close to my face, “fucking Christopher fucking Murray doesn’t get to tell me shit. Who the fuck does he think he is, telling me how to treat my little sister? She ain’t his to fucking defend. I can defend her just fine.” He has no idea he barely makes sense but I’m not sure how to stop him. “What? Is he in love with her or something?”
“I really don’t think he–”
“He doesn’t get to be in love with her. He’s not good enough. Sam ain’t good enough. No one is. You know? She’s just…” he lets out a long huff and brings his sleeves up to his elbows. “She needs to be taken care of. She’s too precious for her own good. She needs protection…she…I couldn’t…” He takes a few steps in a circle until he’s back in front of me, using his palm to rub his forehead. “I didn’t protect her. I was too fucking scared, ‘Me. I was a coward and Jake…he was too young.”
I have no idea what he’s going on about anymore but the pain in his voice and the tears glistening in his eyes tell me this is about much more than Chris being protective over Rose. His head drops to his chest in shame and sadness.
“Nathan, she’s fine. With the Murrays, with Chris and Jake. She’s fine.”
I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but he suddenly grabs my wrist violently.
He looks up and the look in his eyes has gone from guilty to predatory. I try to take a step back, but he follows, holding me tight.
“Number two,” he growls. “Jake might be right in warning me not to lose my shit against our sister, but in what fucking world does he think he can order me to stay away from you?”
The lump of panic forming in my throat and the fear gripping my stomach stop me from breathing correctly. “He’s just trying to help–” His other hand wraps my jaw so tightly that I can’t finish my sentence.
“I swear to god, ‘Me, if you let him touch you the way I touched you. If you fall for him…I’ll fucking raise hell.”
“Nathan, you’re hurting me. Let go.” I try to keep a voice of steel, but he can perfectly read me.
“I take full responsibility for the lies, but I won’t let you throw away what we had. I won’t let you choose him.”
“We’re not together anymore. It doesn’t matter what I do now. It’s none of your business.”
“You said you loved me.” His head falls in the crook of my neck and I have to take further steps back. Surely we can’t be back to this conversation? Our relationship has gone past anything reparable. I’m forced to stop when my back hits the wall. His face doesn’t leave my skin and I can smell the whiskey on him, on his breath. His hair smells of cigarettes and his body feels heavy on mine as if he can’t hold himself properly.
“You’re drunk,” I whisper. I’m scared if I raise my voice he’ll flip.
“Not too long ago, I was making you come in this house, on this sofa, in your bed. You told me you were in love with me. A few weeks? Is that what it takes for you to get over me?”
No. It took a few hours because I was always involved with Jake. Because Jake was always on my mind. Because it was always him.
For a second I think I’m going to tell him but I’m too much of a coward to say the truth, so I tell him part of why we were doomed.
