Take (Need #2) by K.I. Lynn & N. Isabelle Blanco
Thank you to all our fans. Your support means so much to us.
As we said in Need, we fucking love all of you.
~K.I. Lynn & N. Isabelle Blanco~
Part 2
“Heav’n has no Rage, like Love to Hatred turn’d. Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn’d.”
- William Congreve
“And I’m ready to walk through that hell, a thousand times over if necessary. I’ll walk through it with no clothes on, let the flames singe every bit of flesh on my body. But I’m fucking getting my girl back, no matter the cost.” - Brayden
April 18th, 2015
“Don’t you get it? You can make my body come against my will, a thousand times if you want, but that doesn’t change anything.”
It’s only been about an hour since I heard those words, maybe less.
It feels like they’ve been haunting me a lifetime already.
Or is this merely a taste of what’s to come? Is this anger and impotence swirling in my chest just the beginning?
It’s funny how a matter of a few minutes can completely change a person’s perspective. I was so sure upstairs. Grounded. Cocky, even.
But the words, man. They keep digging deeper and deeper with every minute that passes, burrowing past all of my beliefs. All of my common sense.
That’s the power of words, though. Isn’t it?
Did she mean them? Was that just her anger talking?
I don’t know what would be worse: knowing she meant them, or this sick speculation that twists over and over in my head.
“It’s too late, Brayden. Too. Late.”
I spent years playing a stupid game, trying to deceive myself. Always convinced that I was ready to let her go. Ready to move on and live without her.
Yet I always knew, didn’t I? I always knew I wasn’t really letting her go, that I wasn’t ready to do so.
That I never would be.
That’s why I kept coming back. Living without her isn’t a possibility, and subconsciously, in the pit of me where there was actually some truth, I’d known that.
This insane despair crawling up my throat right now, the dark rage that’s choking me slowly, one breath at a time at the thought of truly losing her is the final piece of evidence.
I was never going to let her go.
I can’t do it, no matter how much she asks me to, especially not now with the certainty infecting every cell in my body.
That’s why I’m here, back where I started out the night. Hiding in the shadows at the side of the house, a drink in my hand, my chest in slivers inside my leather jacket. I’ve probably had four drinks in the last ten minutes alone.
Am I trying to get drunk? Maybe. I shouldn’t, but I also can’t help but try to chase the feelings away.
I haven’t seen Kira again. I’m not sure a part of me wants to just yet. She had every right to slice me up the way she did, every right to continue doing so, but I’m too raw right now to face her.
Too hooked to leave her completely alone.
Even though I’m not staring at her—in fact, I have no clue where in the house she is right now—this is my way of keeping an eye on her. Making sure this party doesn’t get really out of control and she isn’t dragged into anything too sordid.
I know what she’d say if she heard my thoughts right now. How she’d throw in my face that, until recently, I was all up in the sordid, partaking like a true hedonist.
The thought actually makes me smile.
She’s right. I’m willing to change that now, to be better, for her, but it doesn’t change who I’ve been all these years.
Where I’ve been and what I’ve been up to.
That’s the real problem, isn’t it? Who I’ve been. It isn’t so much a matter of getting Kira to forgive me, it’s a matter of getting her to believe I’ve really changed. For her to believe I don’t want anyone but her.
I throw back the rest of my drink and take out my phone. I don’t know what I’m hoping for, or why I would even hope for it. After I changed my number for Kira, only she, Ryan, my parents, and a few of my college friends have it.
None of the girls I ever fucked in the past have it. Yeah, I did that shit on purpose. I meant it when I said I was closing that door permanently.
Not seeing a message hits me with disappointment. Especially because, despite all logic, I know what I was hoping for.
Time for another drink.
I retrace the same path I’d taken earlier, heading toward the front of the house. Someone set up a garbage bin right at the end of the path, obviously anticipating that some people would hang out where I’d been.
So far, it’s only been me. That I’ve seen anyway.
I deposit the red Dixie cup in my hand into the bin. One step in the direction of the front door and I see a metallic black BMW peeling down the road. The car turns sharply into the driveway and parks behind another black car.
I’m knotted inside, warped, but even on my best day I wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of that car.
The sight of its owner.