“How much have you had to drink?” he grills, leaning into me.

“What’s it to you?” I fire back.

“I need to know if I can fuck this attitude out of you, or if I should be letting you sleep it off,” he growls, pushing his hard cock against me.

I repeat, Oh. My. God.

“Why does it matter if I’m drunk or not?” I ask, openly letting the idea of Sy’s angry fuck entice me. We’ve been teetering on the next step all week. I know he wants to; hell, in the heat of our makeouts I want to.

“Oh, it matters, Holly. When I take you, you won't be drunk, and I won't be angry.”

“But I like angry sex,” I challenge, not understanding why he’s angry. I’m the one who should be angry.

“Oh, I do, too. But fuck, baby, I don’t want you to be able to blame the alcohol.” He dips his head and takes a deep breath of me.

“Why are you always saving me, Sy?” I wonder, probably ruining the moment, but I need to know. How did this man go from not even giving a fuck about me to making sure I’m safe, or that I’m not drunk so he’s not taking advantage of me?

“Someone has to, Holly,” he says, curling his finger around a stray hair.

“Maybe I don’t need saving,” I mutter, feeling brave as I push off the wall and walk toward his room. I might be drunk, but we can do other things.

“Don’t ever say that, Holly.” His harsh grip stops me, spinning me back against the wall. “Someone once told me that and it broke me. Holly, don’t break me,” he says so quietly that I wonder if I even heard it. “You need time? That’s all I’ll give you, but don’t ever ask me not to save you, ‘cause I won’t listen. I’m not walking away from this. The sooner you realize that, the better.”

PAST

Sy

“I can't deal with this anymore, Katie,” I tell her from the window, trying to find the words that need to be said. “There's only so much I can deal with. I can't make you want to live and I can't keep bringing you back.”

“I told you to stop trying,” she fires back. “I don’t want to fucking live, so stop trying to fucking save me!” she screams while her mother sobs from beside her.

“You don't mean that,” her father says, taking her bandaged arm. It's her fifth attempt to end her life, and I don't understand how she keeps failing. No, that's not true; I know why. She's addicted to it. Addicted to the pain.

“Don't fucking touch me. I don't want you all here. I don't even want to be here.” She thrashes from side to side, pushing her family away.

“Get the nurse in here,” I tell her sister as I come forward to try and calm her.

“I hate you. I fucking hate you all so much. Let me go to her. It's your fault,” she spits, thumping into my chest. I don't correct her. I don't stop her; instead, I let her release her anger. I've been where she's at; I've felt that extreme anguish and pain that feels like someone is tearing you open. The only difference is I've moved past that soul breaking feeling. It never leaves you; I've just learnt how to not let it destroy you. She hasn't.

The doctor comes in, the nurse following behind. I don't watch as they fill her line with something that will only bring on darkness. I just hold on to her, knowing that this will be the last time. I can't do this anymore. I can't help her when she won’t help herself. She holds on for a moment longer, putting up a substantial fight before the drugs take over and pull her away. Laying her down, I step back from the bed.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” her mom asks, sweeping the hair back off Katie’s face.

“If I don't, then she's only going to bring me down with her,” I tell them. They might not get it, but they see it. They see the fucked-up situation I'm trying to get through. My child is dead, buried two years ago, a child who wasn't mine by blood. Every day I'm reminded of that while her mother throws her life away. I stayed as a promise, but at what cost? I can't help her. She's like my personal cancer, spreading through me and tearing me apart.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Holly

A heavy heat covers me, but it’s the sound of soft breathing close to my ear that pulls me out of sleep. What the hell?

Shifting my body, I groan. The movement awakens an almighty headache.

“You awake?” a deep grumble asks me. Sy.

“Yeah,” I croak, feeling worse each moment my eyes are open. I don’t remember drinking that much last night. “Want to tell me why I’m in your bed?” I ask when I realize I’m wearing only a pair of black lace panties.

“You put yourself in it, wearing what you’re wearing, too,” he replies. Oh, shit.

“You could have put me on the couch, another room perhaps,” I say, looking up at the roof, too afraid to turn and face him.

“Would you have preferred Hunter’s?” he asks, causing me to turn and look at him.

“What?”

“Yeah, Hunter. The one you were flirting with last night,” he says, causing me to cringe. Shit. How much did I have to drink?

“Well, maybe if I woke up in Hunter's bed there’d be less talking,” I’m not even sure what I’m saying, but I might as well play along.

He moves so fast that before I know it my hands are above my head and his body is over me.

“Is that what you want, Holly? You want me to fuck you when you’re so drunk you don’t know whose bed you’re lying in?” he demands to know, his tone dangerously dark.