Chapter 102

“Sophiee, you know I lurve you a million times over babes.” Leila slurs over the top of me, alcohol breath almost flooring me with its sheer toxicity, captured in her crazily strong embrace as we both sway. I’m a little worse for wear too, having drunk one too many champagne cocktails. The party is wearing down, but Leila is beyond wrecked and slobbering a gush of emotion all over me as I try to say my goodbyes to her.

“Baby, come on, Sophs is being suffocated by the fumes coming off you.” Daniel is trying to extract his wife’s arms from me and guide her towards the door, “trying” being the word, as he fights with octopus limbs in a bid to coax her away. A lot of guests have departed already, and Leila is being taken home to pass out or get up to whatever they get up to when drunk and childless in an empty house for the night. I do not even want to know what my sister and her husband are into if I am being honest, the thought terrifies me.

Daniel moves in a little closer, pulling her into his embrace and brings her face gently to his.

“Come on, beautiful, we have some drunken sex to be getting on with, to celebrate another year of marriage without killing each other.” He smiles down at her before planting a kiss on her smudged red lipstick. Not caring if he is now sporting a matching shade and gazing at her as though she is still the most beautiful girl in the world. Despite all me seeing is a makeup smudged hot mess, who can barely see straight.

“I know! God, I love you …” She pauses to kiss him back a little harder, groping him openly in full view and I turn away rolling my eyes, used to the naughty behavior of my overly sexed sister and Daniel over the years. Yet it still is not something I want to witness when I am practically attached by clingy limbs. Leila breaks free with a giggle and another sway my way.

“I just need to make sure my baby sister is okay, you know, cos I love her more than life, and the world, and the earth, and the …” She breaks off as something catches her eye, swinging under Daniel’s arm, she grabs a passing dark suit and hauls them towards us backwards.

“Arree!” She chants and startles him half to death with her ninja-style maneuver. Arrick stumbles a little with the sudden backwards force, righted by Daniel with a quick reaction and turns to face us all completely confused by the sudden assault. It isn’t hard to tell he is probably as drunk as Leila, unusual for him, well, at least it was three months ago, and the swaying he has going on matches the completely out of whack look in his eyes as he clears his throat. His eyes immediately come to me and scan me in one obvious swoop before looking back at my sister. I try to ignore the goosebumps or internal fluffy sensation it triggers and keep my eyes locked on Leila.

“What, Leeloo?” He sways in, bopping her on the head adoringly and almost bangs noses with her, pretty much falling into Daniel who shakes his head in my direction, as if to say “drunks”. He pushes them apart and keeps hold of Arrick’s arm too, to keep him steady on unstable legs.

“Take Sophie home and look after her. She needs a real man to take care of her, not that gay guy she hangs about with, making moon eyes at my husband.” Leila is slurring so much worse now, barely coherent, but Arrick frowns, leaning in with a severe look of “what?” on his face. My face gets hot and I try not to react, hoping he assumes my sister is crazily under the influence.

“What gay guy?” He’s slurring too and genuinely confused. Daniel starts pulling Leila in the direction of the door once more, in a bid to control her wandering body and throws me a deep frown.

“Christian! He’s lovely and all, but Sophie needs a real boyfriend, Arrick. Why don’t you love my sister? She’s awesome and beautiful, and she adores you. You would make such cute babies and look; we would be like a real brother and sister.” Leila grabs his face clumsily and plants a kiss on his nose, in a mortifyingly cute, yet kind of gruesome way. Daniel has obviously had enough, and a wary glance my way which reminds me that he is Jake’s best mate, for like the past twenty-odd years, and probably aware that Arry has no clue that I am not dating Christian. I suddenly realize what Leila has said in letting the cat out of the bag and the tell-tale blush hit my cheeks as it dawns on me that he might get pissed about this little facade. I was never good at maintaining this kind of deviousness and kind of care that he just caught me out, even if I shouldn’t.

Shit!

“Come on you.” Lifting her and scooping her legs, Daniel is drunk too, but as a seasoned ex-party animal he is handling it so much better than she is, and I am grateful that he takes care of my fireball sibling; even though she claims she doesn’t need him to. Despite a rough start, they ended up being another fairy-tale couple who truly make each other happy, even if it is in weird ways. I am so glad of him at this moment.

“Leila, I’m staying here. I don’t need anyone to look after me and I don’t need a boyfriend. I’m fine.” My face is burning, aware of the way Arrick is staring at me as if I have two horns, and his gaze has not left my face once since she said it. I literally cannot look at him as heat courses through me and my heart plays the rhumba, knowing fine well he will probably be wondering why I even carried on with this charade at all. I feel strangely guilty, ashamed, and yet also a lot of mad at him that he will even judge me for this. I hate that I sort of lied, but he did so much worse to me.

I make a move to help Daniel maneuver my sister to the door, pushing through milling party stragglers and handing him her shoe as it slides off. Staying close to catch discarding items, like her bag, bracelet, and more than aware that Arrick is right behind me. He seems unwilling to be parted and I have no idea why he is even following us. I am trying so hard to ignore him.

When we get to the door Leila hugs me around the head, slobbering a few more kisses my way, unwilling to let me go without a shower of love and garbled sentiments. Daniel expertly disentangling limbs, so I can get free before carrying her off towards home which is only fifty yards away.

I wave her off with a relieved sigh at finally being free, turning to head back inside when Arrick grabs my hand, blocking my route with his body and a crazily serious expression on his face that stuns me. He yanks me back outside with him, giving me no option but to obey and I’m not even sure how I should be reacting. He does not say one word, just hauls me, as though he has a right, into the darkness so that I start tripping with shoes on soft ground. He tugs me towards the side of the garden, out of sight, towards the Carrero house. For a very drunk male, he moves with too much speed and I am literally hauled with him without any resistance. I am too damned drunk myself to really fight in any way and have to focus fully on not falling.

“We need to talk,” he slurs, vice-like grip of hot smoothness holding my hand in his and I try to wriggle it free. The cool air hitting me, suddenly makes me realize how much more drunk I am than I thought. My legs instantly turning to Jell-O and head getting fuzzier by the second. I try to tug my hand out of his again, but his hold is relentless, and I start to trip over my own feet with every step as he speeds us up.

Damn heels!

“Arrick slow down, wait!” I’m falling, struggling to keep pace with him in stupidly high shoes not meant for this terrain, as he pulls me diagonally across the street from the corner of my front garden, towards the house he grew up in. I try to look back and see if either of my friends is milling around near the entrance, but I know it’s futile. They were both engrossed with other people last time I saw them, in the marquees out back with every other straggling guest. No one else is here.

“Why did you let me think you and he were together?” He spins on me angrily, creating a human wall as soon as he’s hauled me down the side of his own home, concealed by bushes and much quieter; away from the eyes of anyone leaving the party. We are in the weird narrow side area to his house, a narrow grassy lane that is closed in on both sides partially by tall bushes, and completely by a high fence on the other side.

I stumble against him with the sudden halt, going over my ankle and yelping, grabbing onto him to stop myself going fully down as his arms wrap around me securely to hold me. Arrick pulls me up, straightening me against him and automatically scoops down to slide my shoes off in a swift action, sliding them off quickly, so I stand barefoot on the crisp dry grass, giving my poor ankles relief. He drops them beside us and straightens up to look me in the eye, still with the same accusatory glare and I my temper snaps.

I shove him off as soon as I regain my balance and glare hatefully at him. So many emotions hitting me, rage being at the forefront.

“I didn’t tell you I was with him in that way, not once! Don’t you dare hit me with this shit!” I spit angrily; annoyed that he has the nerve to even yell accusations at me, after everything. That he felt he had a right to drag me here for this, away from my family and friends so he could have some moral high ground of a go at me.

Who the hell does he think he is?

Fuck him!

Has he forgotten what he did to me?

“Then why would Jake think that? Why would you not want to see me again? Tell me straight, Sophie … is there someone, are you seeing anyone? Have you moved on?” Arrick catches my jaw in a firm hold, his angry tone dissipating fast, rambling incoherently as he verbalizes his internal brain mess. His fingers cupping me along the side of my face and pulling me towards him, bridging the gap to my height as he leans into me, and for a moment, I think he might kiss me.

All the hurt and anger and sadness of the past month well up like a dragon inside of me. Enraged and seeing red at how much he pisses me off when he thinks he has a right to touch me in any way he likes. I shove his hands off me, pushing him to arm’s length so I can breathe and only let go when he is standing away from me, his hands dropping to his sides in mild surprise.

“It has nothing to do with you.” I snap, furious at the way he’s making me feel. Hemmed in, heart racing and blood pumping fast. Just his touch alone is causing all sorts of an unwelcome internal meltdown, which is trying to slice through the anger and confusion. I am completely out of my depth and doing what I do best, I lash out and fight back at those who try to wound me.

“It does when I can’t stop thinking about you, can’t stop missing you. I just need to know Sophie, if I blew it … if I’m too late?” Arrick is focusing on me, intense gazing into my eyes, but I only see an asshole who thinks he can turn everything around. From angry to whatever this is, sorry, pleading. I don’t want to give a shit about him anymore. His words don’t heal, they only slice deeper and I stare at him in open-mouthed disbelief.

You don’t deserve anything from me!

“Don’t you fucking dare! You don’t have a right to do this to me again … To say this to me!” Tears sting my eyes and I slap his hand away as he reaches out to me impulsively, shoving him away harder so he steps back again with the force. Arrick’s eyes stay on mine, an intense look of desperation on his face and he comes at me again, hands up as though he can’t control the urge to be nearer me. It’s not what I need or want from him anymore; it’s not fair on me or my heart for him to do this to me again.

“Sophie, I just want to talk, to explain.” He starts, his tone ravaged but I cannot hear this, I don’t want to do this. I hate that he’s making me do this. I won’t go backwards and let him fuck with my head and my heart all over again. My insides close to splitting open and bursting all over the lawn, while my lungs feel like they’re being sat on by an elephant and my brain is as close to self-combustion as is humanly possible.

“I’m not a toy you can pick up and drop anytime you feel like it, Arrick. You hurt me. You chose someone else. You don’t get to come back and try again. You don’t get back in.” I grab for my shoes, scooping to bend without caring if my dress flashes my ass to the bushes, anger bubbling in full fury, heart and soul ripping apart while alcohol let’s all this stupid heartache loose to play like giddy kids in a cornfield.

He catches my wrist and hauls me back to him, but I fight back impulsively, shoving him away again and move out of reach this time. Panting with effort as my heart erupts in my chest, and my lungs struggle to function. The pain in my gut has me clinging to my arms in a bid to relieve it and I know I am losing control of the aching wave of tears rising in my throat.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t ever fucking touch me again.” I yell at him vacuously, the tears breaking loose and pouring down my face in final release, reminiscent of a monsoon, and hating that he has pushed me to this; that I have shown him how deeply he wounded me. That inner part of me trying so hard to fight back, to lift that wall of ice-cold indifference, but damn alcohol has made it near impossible and his presence has ruined me. I was always useless when I was this drunk and him suddenly hitting me with this has pushed me over the edge into no man’s land, where my emotions run free, ungoverned by me and my mind takes a long vacation from the “norm”.

“Please, Sophie, hear me out. Give me a chance to explain, a chance to say what I have wanted to say to you for weeks.” He lifts his hands defensively for a second time, as though trying to convince me he will behave and stop trying to touch me, pleadingly, but keeps his distance as I begin pacing around frantically. Anger spiking inside, fear and heartache pushing and shoving each other to dominate my heart. Like I am going to self-implode with the battle of emotions, thoughts and feelings swirling like a cyclone. I feel like he’s turning me into some crazy Leila version of myself and I have no clue how to stop it. It all comes crashing in on me, the months of forced self-composure and pain.

You don’t get to fucking do this to me again!

“Why? So you can tell me how confused you are? How you don’t want to hurt Natasha? How you love me, but you don’t know how to feel? Go fuck yourself! I moved on … I found a way to deal with things on my own, and the last thing I need is you fucking my head up all over again! Go away.” I turn on my heel, in bare feet, tramping back in the direction we came from on unsteady legs, no longer caring about shoes, just the need to get away from him and this all-consuming thing he does to me. Terrified of how much more he can hurt me if I let him.

“Do you want me to beg? I will, I’ll beg … on my knees, Sophie. If that’s what it takes for you to hear me out. That’s all I want, just a chance to speak to you.” His voice is torn, emotion making him sound different and even though I am stomping away onto rough ground and ripping my feet to shreds on harsh terrain and concrete on the road away from the house, I glance back and almost sob when I catch him on his knees in the middle of the street. Like an instant punch to the gut.

It stops me, as does the fact he has tears in his eyes and looks completely broken for the first time in his entire life. I don’t know what else to do, or say, or how to react. I have never seen him look this way in the whole time I have known him, so desolate and ravaged. This isn’t him; this isn’t the version that I have ever known, and I don’t like it. It riles up some lost broken piece of me that aggressively tries to make him stop.

“Stop it. Get up. Don’t do that.” I yell at him impulsively, hating seeing him like this, not wanting to see my Arry this way; waving my hands in agitation to make him get up. He doesn’t get to be this way, on his knees like some sad, broken shell who has to beg. He was always my rock, my stability, the one who stayed emotionally cool when I needed him too. The one who kept me sane and calm. He isn’t allowed to be useless and upset and looking to me to hold him up. I hate it.

I storm back to him and tug at his jacket childishly, looking around because I don’t want anyone else to see him this way. It’s not who he is. I hate that he has left himself this publicly vulnerable when he is the last person in the world who likes people to see him anything but in control. I tug and cry and yank at him, but he doesn’t budge an inch.

He stays put, staring at me like he has lost all ounce of self-preservation and has no reason to get up anymore. It rips my soul apart in so many ways and I start to whimper in defeat pleading with him to stand up.

“I want you back, Sophs … I need you. I can’t keep going on like this, without you. It just gets worse with every passing day. I can’t do it …. I’ve tried and I can’t live a Sophieless life.” He swallows hard, his voice breaking, his voice barely audible as a tear rolls down his cheek, shrugging dejectedly, and my floodgates open with a vengeance. I start sobbing too, in agony because he is and unable to look at him or move away to give myself distance, breaking because I broke him too. My rock isn’t allowed to break. How can I be strong when he isn’t anymore.

“I don’t want to face a future that doesn’t have you in it. I can’t live that way. Nothing means anything anymore.” He sounds exactly how I feel, and it’s too painful to hear. I cover my ears, sobbing and try so hard to not crumble. Trying to block him out, moving to shielding my face so I don’t see him this way, willing my ears to stop hearing him, and my heart to stop caring about him. He completely ravages my soul.

I slide my palms over my eyes in a bid to gain control, calm the torrent of tears wracking my body when I’m suddenly enveloped by heat around me, as his arms find their way about my shoulders. His hand slides under my chin and tilts my face towards him, my fingers sliding away obediently with the shock of his familiar touch. It’s almost like he takes full control of my body in its weakened state and I let him, because I don’t know how to feel, and I need him to help me. I need him to be strong and cool and in control, because I no longer am.

He steps in close, still as broken and I can hardly look into his pained face. Unexpectedly, his mouth molds to mine, making me inwardly gasp, his lips crushing to mine in the same excruciatingly perfect way. The instant searing heat and passion consuming from the first moment of touch and catches me in shock.

Weakened by a tiny second of hesitation I let him kiss me, the joining of lips and slightly parted mouths before that good old self-defense system ingrained inside of me reacts, shoves and slaps out at him like a psycho. Enraged that he would do this to me all over again.

It’s not the hardest of slaps I have ever delivered, but enough to snap his attention by connecting with his face and to the fact that he doesn’t get to ever touch me like that again. Taking even me by surprise that I even would lift my hands to Arry, of all people with a proper assault. He barely seems to register it at all, just looks at me with that same wounded broken expression that claws at my heart and adds another level of excruciating agony to this.

“You lost me. You don’t get to do that anymore.” I wail at him, pulling his hands off me and pushing him away once more, finding his touch unbearable. Pain crushes me, soul aching and guilt seeping in that I hit him.

I shouldn’t care, I shouldn’t feel anything but satisfaction, and I fight to stop the regret washing through me. Arrick numbly stares at me for a long moment, breathing hard, seemingly un-phased by the fact I have left a small handprint on his cheek that is staring at me like some horrible arrow in the face, telling me I am a violent bitch, as bad as Leila.

What’s wrong with you?