a growl. “What the hell,” I say to myself, unsure of what I should do.
I know he should just stay there, deal with the consequences of his stupidity. And in the same breath, I feel bad for him. I don't want him there. I don't want him to feel abandoned. I don't want him to think I hate him. Because I don't. I just hate the man who thinks getting drunk and reckless is a good thing.
I just can't understand why he's so self-destructive. Why would he risk everything he has for a night of fun? I can't make sense of it at all.
Screw him. It's his own fault. He's a big boy, he knew what could happen, and he still decided to go.
Closing my eyes, I bury my face in the pillow and try to force myself back to sleep. I toss and turn for some time, counting sheep, and wishing myself into good dreams.
It doesn't work. All I keep picturing is Phade locked up behind bars, his entire future disintegrating around him like dust in the wind.
Toss and turn, toss and turn, I roll around unable to get comfortable. I can't sleep. “Fuck,” I bark, shooting the word out like a dart at my pillow. “Son of a bitch. Why? Why do I give a shit?”
Slamming my arms down on the bed, the blanket flips onto my lap and I stare at the ceiling.
I wish I was coldhearted; I wish I could shut off everything and not care at all. It would be so much easier, except I don't work that way. My heart hurts and it feels like there's a pile of rocks in my gut.
I can't sit here like this anymore. So, I do what feels right, and it isn't going back to sleep, pretending like he didn't call.
Climbing out of bed, I throw on a t-shirt and jogging pants, give my hair a quick brush. Pulling it back into a bun, I grab my keys and purse, and head for the door.
Before I know it, I'm standing in a room full of chairs bolted to the floor, with walls that are bare. There's a large glass window against the back wall, and a man sitting securely behind the inch thick, bulletproof glass.
The white of the brick is almost too much, making my stomach turn like I'm on a boat at sea. I walk in a circle, unable to sit down because I'm afraid if I stop moving I'll puke all over the floor. My hands are getting sweaty, so I keep wiping them on my pants, hoping whatever is happening to me will just go away.
A loud buzzer rings overhead, and I almost drop to the ground like a tornado is coming. I've never been in a jail before; the sounds, the smells, all of it is overwhelming and aggravating my nerves.
The door swings open and Phade walks out holding his jacket and laces. “You came,” he says, the corner of his lip twitching in a soft smile. “I didn't think you were going to.”
“Yeah, well, it's better I come get you than Daniel. At least this way, maybe I can do some damage control before he sees the paper tomorrow.”
“Thanks for doing this.”
“I didn't do this for you,” I say quickly, darting my eyes up to his. “I did it for Daniel. He's dealt with enough of your shit.”
Fiddling with my keys, I move to the exit and throw the door open. He follows behind me, his head down, hands at his side, but I can feel his eyes on me. And I swear he's smiling, not on the outside, but on the inside, like he won because I'm here.
We reach my car and I climb in, starting the engine with a turn of the key. My body shivers and it's hard for me to tell if that's because I'm cold, or if it's because I can already smell his cologne, and it's making my thighs clench.
As he drops in beside me, he lets out a sigh as he buckles. “I can't believe this happened. This wasn't how I thought the night would end.”
“Yeah, well, drinking tends to lead you here, so you shouldn't be surprised at this point, I know I'm not.”
“That's not what happened, I didn't get drunk and do something stupid.”
“Right, this time was different, is that what you're saying?”
His eyes lock on mine and he nods. “Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying.”
“Oh, come on, Phade—you expect me to believe that?