I’m unworthy.
He knows.
He knows.
He knows.
Without meaning to, I whimper. Brand stirs in his sleep, his heavy arm strewn across my waist.
I’ve got to get out of here. The walls are closing in. I’ve got to move.
I quietly try to slip from bed, but Brand’s arm tightens, pulling me even more closely to him. Even if he knows, he’s still here. He still wants to share this bed with me. He still wants to touch me.
So I’m even more curious now. What exactly does he know?
I wait, inhaling and exhaling deeply, calmly. After a few minutes more, I try to move again. This time, I’m able to slip away.
When I reach the door, I grab Brand’s shirt and put it on in lieu of a robe. The sleeves fall way past my hand
s, so I shove them up as I grab a bottle of wine and uncork it in the kitchen.
I don’t bother with a glass. I simply take the bottle and start to walk outside, when my phone buzzes on the counter.
Dread fills me, instantly and completely.
Which will it be? My father or my uncle?
I force myself to look, only to find William’s name.
You fucked up. So did your boyfriend.
Startled, I stare at the words. So did your boyfriend. What did Brand do?
I grab my phone and the bottle of wine, and head outside for some air. I walk down to the beach, dropping into the sand, not worried about the fact that I don’t have underwear on and sand will get into all of my business.
It doesn’t matter.
Nothing matters.
The words on my phone threaten to burn my hand, so I drop the wretched phone and take a swig of wine. Directly from the bottle. My mother would be so proud.
I take another.
Then another.
Then, when the liquid courage has begun circling through my veins, I pick the phone back up.
What do you mean?
I don’t even have time to put the phone back down before there’s an answer.
You should’ve known not to fuck with me.
Chills run down my spine. I didn’t fuck with him. I do know better.
I can’t breathe.
He’s threatening Brand.