Chapter 2
1123 Words
Amelia pov
I heard the shrill blast of brakes as the car stopped, an inch from me. My knees buckled, and I tumbled back with my heart racing.
"Are you crazy? The driver shouted, sticking his head out of the window. "You could've gotten yourself killed!"
I blinked, foggy from all of the heaviness of what I'd just learned. "I-I'm sorry, I stammered, my voice hardly audible above a whisper.
The driver shook his head and protested, driving away angrily. I stopped for a second as the shouts and whispers of people past coalesced into a low rumble/hum. My legs were jelly, but I willed myself to move, walking aimlessly down the street.
I didn't know where I was going, but I wasn't going to go back home. Not to that sterile mansion, where every room would remind me of Ethan. I spotted a taxi approaching and raised my hand. The cab slowed down, and I climbed in without a second thought.
"Where to?" he asked through the rearview mirror.
"Just… take me to the nearest bar," I mumbled.
---
The bar was not very well-lit, and the smell of whisky and tobacco filled the air. It was one of those places one would go to shake off one's troubles, and tonight it would seem I was meant to end up there, in that spot.
I slid onto a stool at the counter as my fingers, shaking, burrowed into my purse. "Whiskey," I said to the bartender. "Neat."
He merely raised an eyebrow but said nothing, just set the glass in front of me. I took a swallow, feeling the sting run down my esophagus like liquid fire. When the first did little, I ordered another. Then another.
By the time I was halfway through my third glass, hot tears streamed down my face unbidden. I didn't care who saw me.
Everything okay, miss?" he ventured warily.
"No," I said flatly, wiping at my cheeks. "Nothing is okay."
I have no idea how much longer I sat in that pit of despair. The room began to wobble slightly, the outlines of things running together and cloudy. That's when I became aware of a hand on my shoulder.
"Hey, gorgeous," a husky voice said from behind me. "Why don't you let me buy you another drink?
I turned to him: a man in his forties, his suit rumpled, his eyes glassy. He crouched too close, and the smell of alcohol filled the air.
"No, thank you, I said as clearly as possible through the haze in my head.
"Ah, come on, he insisted, his grip on my arm tightening. "Don't be like that. You look like you could use some company."
I pulled my shoulder back, and the anxiety just bubbled in my chest. "I said no!"
"Hey, don't be so uptight," chided another man, piping in to join his friend. "We're just trying to be friendly."
The room seemed to close in around me as the noise of the bar faded into the background. My head spun, and I felt my stomach begin to churn.
"Leave her alone.
The voice was deep, calm, and commanding. I turned and found a tall figure standing behind me, dark hair just out of place, his piercing blue gaze fixed on a pair of men in front of him. His presence was magnetic; his expression was one of quiet menace.
Mind your own," the first one remarked, but his bravado convulsed in the presence of the stranger's gaze.
"You don't want to do this, " the stranger said in a low, dangerous tone.
The two men met eyes with veiled curses on their lips and slunk away.
"Are you all right?" he asked, turning in my direction.
I nodded weakly, but the tears started again unbidden. "I—I don't know," I admittedly said, my voice breaking.
"Come on, " he said , softening his tone, "you shouldn't be here.
I tried to tell him that I did and that I wasn't into him-but the words wouldn't form. My body felt heavy; my mind was clouded. Then, before I knew it, he had his arm around me, guiding me out of the bar.
Cold night air felt like a slap, yet that didn't even wake me up. The stranger jumped into the taxi, and I let him take me inside only.
Where are we going? I mumbled, my head pressed to the glass from the outside.
"Somewhere safe," he replied, his voice firm and level.
---
It was warm, and it faintly smelled of cedar. A complete opposite of the sterile, aseptic luxury I had gotten so used to. Sleek but understated furniture; soft lighting.
"You should get some rest," he said, helping me sit on the edge of the bed.
I looked up at him, my vision swimming. "Why are you helping me?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he shifted to the patch and dropped to a crouch in front of me, eyes intent. "Because you need it."
There was something about the tone-so earnest, so sure-that managed to slice through the haze in my head. I lifted my hand, my fingers brushing against his arm.
Don't go, I whispered, half to myself, behind the hard words and the fear in my voice.
"I should-
"Please," I broke in, pulling at his sleeve. "I don't want to be alone."
He hesitated, tightening his jaw. Then, with deliberate slowness, he sat down beside me.
So I leaned forward, resting my head against his back. The alcohol made everything vague and unreal, but he was an insistent, solid presence.
"You don't even know me," I whispered.
"Maybe that's a good thing," he replied, his voice low.
I leaned my head back, pressing my lips against his. He hesitated for just a second then continued, his hand going to the back of my neck.
The rest was a dream swirl of heat and desire, of suggestions and promises unkept. I didn't bother with the consequences, who he was, or what this meant.
For one night I wanted to forget.
---
Sunrise light filtered in through the window, bathing the room in soft, gentle light. I jerked, and the memories of the night before came flooding in like a tide.
Slowly, I turned my head as my pulse started racing at the sight of him sitting by the window, his outline clear with the early morning sun behind him.
"Who are you?" I whispered.
He didn't turn; his gaze remained fixed on something outside. "Someone who wanted to help."
The weight in his voice sent a shiver down my spine, and with that, I knew in that one single moment that my life was never going to be the same.
- Writer
