Down and Out

I’ve lost that right? I’ve lost that right?
I can’t believe she just said that. She’ll always be my Kitten, whether she wants to be or not.
My throat tightens as I realize it’s “not.” She doesn’t want to be my Kitten anymore. She doesn’t want to be my anything. . .
The hardwood floor turns watery and distorted as I stare at it, my eyes stinging with every unshed tear. What she said cut me so deep it f*cking gutted me. Left my heart and entrails all over the floor in a bloody, heaping mess. I look back up at her closed door, my hands curling into fists as I automatically take a step in its direction.
She might not want to be mine, but I’m hers, body and soul. She f*cking owns me, so her skinny, bitchy ass is stuck with me. And if she doesn’t like it?
Too. F*cking. Bad.
I’m half a second away from throwing open her door and barging in there when the rational part of my brain pipes up and says that might not be the best idea. Bastard’s usually MIA when it comes to Savannah, but he’s insisting—pretty loudly, I might add—that if I go in there half-cocked, I’m liable to screw things up even more.
My jaw clenches as I rest my hands on her doorframe. Every instinct in me is screaming to fight for her, to shove my way into her room and into her heart, but I can’t risk pushing her away even more. I’ve already done a stand-up job of that thanks to my little shower stunt.
I really thought she’d try and get back at me in a similar fashion, but instead she’s been giving me the cold shoulder. As much as I hate it, I have to admit, it’s a well played move. These last two weeks of not talking to her, not seeing her, but knowing she’s right down the hall?
It’s been hell.
I even tried giving her a taste of her own medicine by avoiding her, but I’m pretty sure it went unnoticed. After all, how could she notice I’m not around when she’s not?
And now tonight, just out of the blue, she acts like everything’s back to normal.
What—the—hell.
I can’t keep up with her mood swings. Is she done freezing me out? Or is this the beginning of another shower incident?
I mean, if she wanted sex, all she had to do was say so. She didn’t have to go through the pretense of “dinner,” especially since she hasn’t cared enough to wait up for me before tonight.
Damn it, the more I think about this, the more pissed I get, and I can’t afford that right now. I need to be smart about this. Every decision I’ve made about this girl has been a gut reaction, and look where it’s gotten me: I’m trying to talk myself out of crossing enemy lines and starting what will surely be World War III. Savannah threw the first grenade with her “You’ve lost that right” comment, and it landed just fine. ’Bout blew me to bits, but I’m still standing. And if I go in there and return fire, there’s probably not going to be any survivors by the time we’re through.
I need to just take a breath and walk away. Talk to her when I’ve had a chance to cool down. We’re both pissed off, and if I steamroll in there angry and hurt, it’ll only escalate things from bad to threat level: midnight.
I know all this, and yet my gut is telling me not to walk away. It’s still telling me I need to fight for what I want.
I’m mad as hell and I think I might even hate her a little, but I still want her. Goddamn it, I do. I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
“F*ck,” I mutter, pushing myself away from her door. I pace the hallway, tugging on my hair to keep from putting my fist through the wall, when my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I absently pull it out and look at the screen, seeing a text alert from Blake. Swiping my thumb across the screen, I read:
Goin’ to Paddy’s tonight. You in?
I glance at Savannah’s door, thinking it might not be a bad idea to get out of the house for a bit. I can’t ruin things if I’m not here . . . right?

? ? ?
Rushing water has me groggily opening my eyes, and as soon as I do, I immediately regret it. Groaning, I shield my gritty vision.
Holy shit, is the sun in the room with me? Why is it so goddamn bright in here? And why does the light make my eyeballs feel like they’ve been scooped out with a rusty spoon and haphazardly stuck back in?
My head kills. My mouth feels drier than the Sahara. Add that to the general layer of shame and regret I feel sticking to my skin like an unwashed coat of sweat and it’s obvious I did something incredibly stupid last night. You know, besides drinking my weight in whiskey.
When I can peel my lids open, my old bedroom at my grandparents’ place comes into focus. It still looks the same as when I left it, even though the house belongs to Blake now.
Doesn’t surprise me, though. What’s he gonna do with a spare bedroom besides let it collect dust?
My brain sloshes around in what surely has to be a gallon of Wild Turkey as I slowly sit up. The pain ricocheting around my head has me pinching the bridge of my nose as I blink, making the various band posters lining nearly every inch of the walls come in and out of focus.
About the time I realize I’m naked, I also realize the sound of rushing water’s coming from the bathroom that connects my old room to Blake’s old room. Craning my neck, I see a half-naked girl in nothing but her skivvies brushing her teeth.
My blood turns cold as I watch, frozen in horror, until she notices me staring and smiles around her toothbrush. “Mornin’, sunshine.” Her eyes roam over me appreciatively, and I haul the plaid sheet higher around my waist.
I didn’t. Holy mother of God, please tell me I didn’t.
My stomach churns, but it’s not from of the booze. I try and filter through the hazy memories of last night, but I have no recollection of sex.
Then why does the half-naked chick look so familiar?
Fear rolls down my spine.
Pushing through the cobwebs of sleep and about a dozen shots, I struggle to remember last night. I remember meeting Blake at Paddy’s, and. . .
The brunette in the bathroom was there. She came up to me when I was only two sheets to the wind. Normally she would’ve been right up my alley with all her tight, revealing clothes and perfectly made-up face, but I couldn’t have been less interested.
I remember thinking this girl’s lips wouldn’t be as soft as Savannah’s, and it wouldn’t be as sweet to hear her say my name while I was inside her. It’d still feel nice—sex always does—but I didn’t want “nice,” not when I had heaven waiting for me at home.
Mad or not, Savannah’s still mine, and I wouldn’t have— I mean, I didn’t think I would’ve—
Oh, God. This cannot be happening.
An incredibly hollow feeling overtakes me as I realize whatever Savannah and I had is truly over. It’s dead, and I’m the one who put the final nail in the coffin.
I blink slowly as everything takes on a surreal quality. It feels like a bomb went off in my chest and I’m trying to hold the pieces together, struggling to breathe through the pain.
I’m dreaming. This has to be some kind of nightmare.
Just as I start to hyperventilate, she turns off the water and steps into my room, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Sorry if I woke you. Blake said I could use your bathroom.”
My wide eyes swing over to her. “Blake said that?”
Frowning, she glances at my open bedroom door, to the empty hallway. It’s almost like she’s afraid I don’t believe her. “Yeah. . .”
“So you hooked up with Blake last night.” And not me.
Her brows pull tight as she takes in my expression, and I can tell we’re both thinking the same thing—exactly how much did I drink last night? “Something like that,” she says.
Oh, thank God.
Relief floods me as my eyes briefly close. I think I aged about ten years in the last ten minutes. Holy shit.
“You don’t have to look so relieved.”
Her annoyed tone has me looking back over at her, and I see a slight scowl mar her makeup stained face. “Don’t worry, you were a good boy last night. Kept all your body parts to yourself,” she says, gesturing to my half-naked state as she smirks. “No matter how much I tried to get you to share.”
I force a tight smile at her before she saunters out of the room. When I’m finally alone, I fall back on the bed. My heart still feels like it’s about to fall out of my ass, and as I stare at the ceiling, I realize this is the wake-up call I needed.
This shit with Savannah has gone on long enough, and it all stems back to that stupid fight she agreed to do that snowballed into the clusterf*ck of a situation we’re in now. There’s still a lot of lingering anger and hurt at her decision to do something so dangerous without even talking to me about it, and I either need to find a way to get over it, or . . . find a way to get over it.
That’s it, that’s my only option. The alternative’s not even on the table.
The mattress squeaks as I wrap the sheet around me and slowly climb off the bed. My throbbing head protests as I bend down and pick up my jeans. My boxers aren’t in the small pile of my discarded clothes littering the floor, and I’m too hungover to get on my hands and knees and look under the bed, so I shrug and shove my legs into my jeans.
Looks like I’m going commando for a while.
After I’ve got my jeans pulled over my hips and my fly buttoned, I grab my shirt and shoes and sluggishly make my way down the stairs, doing a double take when I see Blake, bathroom girl, and the blond bartender making breakfast in the kitchen. Bathroom girl gives me a shy smile and short wave while Blake humps the air behind them, letting me know—not so subtly—that he bagged ’em both.
I give him a half-hearted thumbs up before folding myself into one of the kitchen chairs, groaning as I rest my head against the table. My current distress has nothing to do with my hangover and everything to do with the fact that Blake’s never going to shut up about this.
Ever.