Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
The only thing causing me any level of concern is the headache throbbing at my temples, but that’s what I get for going to the club and attempting to drink away my problems.
My night out started simply because I felt like I was going insane all by myself. I’m not accustomed to spending so much time alone. When I stepped into the loud club, I instantly regretted it, but instead of heading to the grocery store which was my second choice, I pressed up to the bar and ordered two doubles. I just wanted to be around people. I wanted to feel less alone. I wanted to not think about the man who has lived in my head incessantly for months.
Maybe I wanted to seek out temporary comfort in the arms of someone else. One who didn’t matter. I just needed to get lost in something. That thought was as bitter on my tongue as the tequila I ordered, mostly because it reminded me of the way Brooks’s mouth tasted after the bachelor party he attended.
When a woman approached, fangirling like I was her long-lost love, I batted her away without a word.
Her boyfriend, the man who should’ve been offended by his drunk girlfriend hitting on me, was pissed I waved his woman off so easily.
What started out as a night of drinking and seeking a good time, ended on the sidewalk in a cussing match with whoever was around to listen.
I still don’t know what I said, but I remember seeing several phones out recording me, so I know I’ll get to relive all of it later.
“Bremen?” a guard snaps, making me eyes turn to the door of the holding cell. “Bail has been posted.”
I frown at him. “I don’t want to leave.”
My words draw the attention of every man in here with me.
“Fucking idiot,” one of them mutters.
Seems the goodwill I thought I’d formed with my cellmates has drawn to a close.
I stand, wincing from the pain sitting for so long has caused and walk out when the door is opened for me.
It takes longer than I anticipated to get my personal belongings. It’s an entire process and nothing like I’ve seen in movies where they just hand you your shit in a plastic bag and tell you to fuck off. I sign my name on about a million documents as the clerk explains a court date and the procedure for taking care of my latest incident. She acts as if I’ve been arrested before when I haven’t.
I take my own sweet time walking through the exit doors because I know who posted my bail. I know I have a lot of explaining to do, and I’d like to avoid that as long as possible.
“Brooks?” I ask, confused to see the man standing right outside the front doors.
I expected to find Davien standing there, but I guess after the last conversation I had with that man, I shouldn’t. We haven’t spoken in weeks because I couldn’t live with the I told you sos from my closest friend.
I clear my throat before taking a step closer to him. I hadn’t prepared for this, but my body is telling me to run into his arms, to press my nose into his throat.
I don’t, because I have no doubt in my mind that he’s still going along with Jules’s lies. He’s allowing himself to be manipulated because his fear of actually admitting there’s something between him and a man is just too much to deal with.
I don’t even know the woman and I hate her with every part of my being, but I also understand how Brooks is handling this.
If I had a choice between being outed or staying in the shadows with my own sexuality, I probably would’ve voiced my love of the darkness. Knowing what was going to happen, I would’ve easily chosen lies over the truth. I would still have my band. I would still be in the public’s favor.
I never would’ve met Brooks.
That’s the hard decision, the one I struggle with. Everything that has happened to me also allowed me the time I’ve spent with the man standing in front of me. As painful as that is today, I don’t know that I would’ve given a second of it up.
“I’ll take you home,” he says, turning away from me and walking toward the parking lot.
I have no choice but to follow him. My phone is dead, and I’ll be damned if I walk back into the jail and ask them to call me a cab.
He doesn’t say anything when I climb inside his SUV. He doesn’t open his mouth once, not to ask me if I’m okay, not to tell me I’m an idiot for what I did last night.
It’s like he doesn’t care, and I’d rather have his anger than his indifference. His fists on my skin would hurt less than his flat effect and silence.