at my flesh, cutting me open, as my blood poured out. No fucking mercy.
I wondered if I’d ever stop feeling numb. The alcohol helped, most of the time. But when I was sober again, I just felt shittier. So I’d drink again. And again. Until I was drunk, day and night. Numb to everything, everyone, every fucked-up emotion brewing inside of me.
Except, the taste of betrayal lingered. Heavy and bitter.
Lila fucked with my head, and I let her in, gave her the power to do this to me. Turned me into the 17-year-old Maddox, who was bitter and enraged. She promised she’d be there when I needed her. But she wasn’t. And that – that betrayal cut me worse than my father’s disappointment or my mother’s lack of care.
A pounding headache woke me up, and I glanced around the bare room. The clock said it was past one in the afternoon. Shit, I slept the whole morning away. My head hurt; my body ached. I needed a drink, again. To forget. To go back to being numb.
There was a commotion outside, before the bedroom door slammed open. I groaned, pulling a pillow over my head. “Get the fuck out, Colton.”
“No.”
My muscles tensed, and my heart skipped.
That stubborn voice.
That beautiful, stubborn voice.
Goddamn it. What was she doing here?
The memories of last night came back to me, flashing behind my closed lids, like black and white polaroid photos. Lila was here last night.
The kiss.
The fucking kiss that I could still taste on my lips.
Her dreamcatcher.
The pounding in my temples grew worse.
“Get up,” she said, in her sweet, sing-song voice. A voice that haunted me in my dreams and in my reality.
I kept the pillow over my face, refusing to look at her. She was my one weakness, and I couldn’t afford to look at her and… feel. “And you can fuck right off, Garcia.”
There was a small growl, a kitten growl. “Don’t test me, Coulter.”
Oh, so we were back to being Garcia and Coulter.
Lila was silent for a minute. I heard her footsteps moving away, and I breathed out. She was leaving? Giving up already? My ears perked up, when I heard the water running from the bathroom. What…?
Seconds later, her footsteps approached my bed again. I didn’t have time to react, before I was hit with the unexpected.
Freezing cold water. I gasped, threw the pillow off my face, only to have more water dumped over my head.
“Holy fucking shit!” I sat up on the wet mattress and wiped the cold water off my chest and face. “What is wrong with you? Jesus Christ, you’re such a fucking bitch.”
Lila dropped the pitcher on the floor, her eyes blazing with fury. “Listen to me, Coulter. Call me a bitch again, and I will make you eat that word.”
“Bitch,” I hissed under my breath.
Her eyes narrowed on me and then she smiled. A sweet smile that should have warned me of what was coming, but I fell for it. Fell for that beautiful smile that owned me.
I didn’t see it coming. And when I did, it was too late.
Lila marched to the closet, rummaged inside, looking for something. Thirty seconds later, she came back out with a… baseball bat.
Woah. Woah, hold-the-fuck-up.
Her eyes glistened with something unrecognizable. There was anger and frustration there. And more. Lila stalked to my window, raised the bat and…
BAM!
My heart jumped to my throat. I scrambled off the bed, gaping at my window. Lila lifted the bat again and brought it against the window in one hard swing, shattering whatever was left of it, after her first hit.
“I’m nobody’s bitch. Good luck sleeping without a window, Coulter.”
I gaped at Lila. Her Latina side was obviously showing. I looked at the shattered window and then back at her grinning face – although there was nothing warm about her smile. “You’re a psycho.”
But was I surprised? No, I wasn’t. Lila Garcia might be midget-sized, but she was a dragon. A little, red dragon who was capable of doing the most damage.
She dropped the bat and stared, waiting. My eyes ran over her figure, taking in the tempting sight of her. Today, she wore faded blue jeans, ripped across her knees, a black long-sleeve shirt tucked inside her waistband and black combat boots. Her hair was in a messy braid and her throat…
It was bare.
No necklace. No dreamcatcher.
“Put your dick away, Maddox.”
“You are in my room,” I retorted, but still grabbed my boxers off the floor. “And if I remember correctly, you like