Whisper to a Scream (Alexa O'Brien, Huntress #6.5)

I didn’t stay. Instead, I found myself sitting in Woody’s Pub with a shot of tequila in front of me. I spent a lot of time staring into the tiny glass.

After leaving a message for Christina telling her where I’d be, I waited. Part of me hoped she wouldn’t come. I didn’t think I could look her in the eye after what I’d seen. I did owe her an apology though, one that I preferred to deliver in person.

Envy ate its way through me like a bitter poison. Knowing what Christina did with men was not the same as witnessing it. If only I could dig the image from my mind.

I held the tequila, turning the glass to examine the contents. In the pale gold liquor, I saw the vision that would forever haunt me. I struggled against it, but jealousy made me watch again and again.

I swallowed the shot, seeking to burn the memory out of me. It didn’t work although it did hold the promise of distraction. I ordered another.

“Where the hell have you been?” Christina slid onto the stool beside me. “Are you ok? I’ve been worried sick.”

Her cheeks were flushed with false passion. She slapped a few bills on the counter and signaled the bartender for a drink. I gazed at the money, knowing how she’d come by it and hating it.

“I’m sorry I left like that. Again. I had no choice. Something happened to me after we… were together. I came as soon as I could.”

“What happened?” She asked in a hush, glancing around for eavesdroppers. Other than the bartender and the one other patron that laughed raucously with him, there was nobody within earshot.

I hesitated. Could I do any more damage if this affair continued? “There were repercussions for what we did. I paid a price.”

“Oh my God.” She covered her mouth and gasped; I’d come to look forward to her dramatic mannerism. “Have you been cast out?”

“I have.” I nodded, flinching at her choice of words. “I’ve fallen.”

“I’m so sorry, Willow. I was so worried. I kept imagining all these horrible things that might have happened to you.” Christina grabbed my hand and peered up at me with worry shining in those dazzling dark eyes. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

I took a deep breath and tossed back another splash of tequila. After a few, it didn’t taste quite so toxic; it was even almost good.

“Is that so? It didn’t quite appear that way an hour ago when you were on your knees for another man.” Jealousy’s flame continued to burn, but I regretted saying it.

She recoiled immediately, horror etched on her face. Her jaw dropped in speechless shock. My gaze landed on her painted red lips. I had kissed those lips and felt her body against me. I wanted her to be mine and mine alone. That would never happen no matter how desperately I wanted to believe otherwise.

“What?” Christina’s voice cracked and she shook her head, confused. “Were you watching me? Like, spying?”

“I saw you,” I admitted, enjoying the painful burn that scorched my insides with each tequila shot. “I didn’t stay to watch; I wish I’d never seen it.”

“What the fuck, Willow?” She was angry. Fierce tears welled up in her eyes. With her fists clenched, she sat stiffly, and I thought she might hit me. “That’s an invasion of my privacy. How could you do that to me?”

Instantly, I hated myself. Feelings I had never experienced before dominated my thoughts. The jealousy was maddening, making me question everything. So much had changed so quickly. When had I become so weak willed?

“How could you do it? Jump into bed with the first guy that throws some money at you? You’re better than that, Christina.” My voice rose, and I took a moment to calm myself. “We shared something special. I risked everything to be with you. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

I wasn’t sure where the sudden selfishness was coming from. It filled me with bitterness so profound that it left a sour taste in my mouth. Somehow being with her had distorted my view of our situation.

Christina stared at me, aghast. She sputtered a few times, trying to form words. “I don’t even know how to answer that. I trusted you. I gave myself to you, my real self. Despite how many times I told myself I couldn’t, I still fell in love with you.” She let that hang between us; her declaration, which should have meant so much, was cheapened by my envy.

“You’re in love with me?” I echoed, uncertain I’d heard her right. It was what I wanted, but it didn’t feel right, not anymore. “Then why would you… how could you go right back to sleeping with men for money?”