Affliction

“Come on, girl,” I say, pulling her up and sitting her on the toilet.

“But it’s so comfortable,” she argues, looking like complete shit.

“You’ll be more comfortable without vomit down your tits.” I point down the front of her.

“God, how embarrassing,” she says, looking down the front of her. Her hands go to her straps, pushing them off her shoulders. I keep my gaze up high, knowing I can’t handle seeing her naked and so close to me.

“Help me, Sy,” she slurs, pushing the dress down her body and swaying on the spot.

“Here.” I offer her my hand, and pull her up to standing. My hands go to the tops of her arms, holding her still as she steps out of the dress.

“Oh, does this remind you of something?” She giggles and I make a note to check her meds, and alcohol side effects.

“Give me a second,” I tell her as I guide her back down to sit on the toilet lid while I grab a clean washcloth and an old T-shirt for her to throw on.

“You awake?” I ask when I come back in and see her slouched over herself, her head hanging low. “Holly?” I nudge her, but she’s completely out of it. Who the fuck falls asleep sitting up? Wetting the cloth, I try to wipe her down as best as possible before I put her in one of my shirts. She doesn’t stir once and I know my night is going to be rough making sure she’s okay. Picking her up, I carry her back to my room, and place her on the left side of my bed. She rolls into the fetal position, curling into herself and nestling into the pillow. She looks so innocent, yet when I look at her, I see myself; a lost person who’s trying to fight the darkness. Only I’ve had years to perfect it.

Taking the blanket, I cover her and pray she doesn’t get sick again. The last thing I need to be doing is changing my sheets after the night we just had.

“Night, Holly.” I brush a piece of hair off her face.

“Sy,” she murmurs before she’s out again, but the damage is done. My name coming from her lips as she finds sleep explodes into my heart.

I’m fucking screwed.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Holly

My hung-over ass rolls out of bed and looks around the room. Where the hell am I? The bare room rings no bells as I sit up and get my bearings. My legs are naked and I’m wearing a worn black tee and my panties. What the hell? The shower runs in the next room and for a moment I panic that I’ve ended up in some stranger’s bed. How did I get here? My eyes search the room some more, only stopping when they land on the leather cut draped over a chair. Shit. The memories of Kadence getting engaged, Sy and his calling me out, and me getting drunk off my ass all comes back. Oh, God, that all happened. My stomach turns, and before I know it, I’m racing for the bathroom. I don’t care if Sy’s in the shower, naked, only a few feet away from me—or the fact I’m only wearing panties, and a T-shirt. My only concern is the toilet and hoping like hell I make it in time.

“What the hell?” Sy turns as I push the door open and run straight to the toilet. Dropping to my knees, I hug the bowl like it’s my long lost friend.

“Holly, are you okay?”

“Yep,” I croak into the bowl, hiding the crimson shade I’m sure to be wearing on my face. I dry heave some more, my embarrassment growing as the sounds being exorcised from my mouth echo around the small bathroom. The shower door opens, and I don’t have it in me to turn and tell him to stay in there.

“Fuck,” he curses, leaving me alone for a moment, before returning a few seconds later. “Here,” he says, pulling me away from the bowl and holding out a cold glass of water. I look up, my eyes watering from the intense chuck-up session, but through the haze, I’m met with the image of pure fucking sex. Sy is wrapped in a towel, every inch of his body covered in tattoos, and dripping with water.

“Fuck me,” I curse, taking him in.

“I already have,” he says, smirking. If it weren’t for the fact that I’m probably still drunk, a wet, naked Sy standing in front of me would totally mortify me. But it doesn’t. I swallow past the lump forming in my throat and take the glass of water, swallowing the bitch down fast before I choke on my drool.

“Care to tell me how I ended up in your bed?” I ask after handing the glass back up to him.

“Well, I could have put you in the spare apartment, but I was worried you might have choked on your own vomit.” He smirks again, resting his hip against the basin.

“I vomited already?” I wince, wondering how much I had to drink.

“Twice,” he informs me as he folds his arms across his tatted-up chest. Jesus, the man is covered in ink. Every single inch of him.

“Is that why I’m not wearing my clothes?” I ask, putting two and two together.

“Yeah, you totally fucked them up,” he tells me, shaking his head.

“Did you change me?”

“Yep, stripped you, washed you and dressed you.” My face heats up again, embarrassment filling my cheeks.

“Not like I haven’t seen it all before,” he remarks, and at his comment I tense. The past comes crashing back, reminding me of my grief, but most shockingly, the regret. I need to tell him.

“Where did you just go?” he asks, his eyes narrowing, watching me carefully like he can read me every which way.

“Nowhere.”

“You went somewhere. For a moment there, I thought I had you.”

“Had me?” I ask, coming to a stand, but I’m shaky on my feet. He reaches out, steadying me.