It was always Carrington.
Stumbling out of the college, I got into my car. The rain streaked across the windshield, a blur of silver and gray. Every drop was a hammer against my skull, matching the ache in my chest, and ramping up my fucking migraine. Vodka burned through my veins like molten metal, hot and sharp, and the streetlights slashed past in jagged lines from my speed. I squinted through the wet glass, half hoping I wouldn’t make it to the next stop sign.
Xanthy’s wedding checklist was weighing on me. Flowers. Centerpieces. Bridesmaid dresses. Seating charts. Every call, every text from her was a needle twisting into my spine, reminding me that I was trapped in this—her world, herobsession. Her life was now tethered to mine, whether I wanted it or not.
I chose this.
The phone rang, and my hands tightened on the wheel while my vision blurred further. I barely saw her name flash on the screen on my car’s dashboard, the speaker automatically connecting to the speakers before I snapped completely.
“What?” I shouted, too loud for the empty car.
The road curved under the tires as the slick highway continued. I needed to do something. I needed just to breathe, and I wouldn’t be able to without getting Xanthy off my fucking ass.
If I went to Normal, maybe she’d be placated enough to leave me alone and accept some meaningless sex.
I had gotten used to beating my dick into submission.
Hell, these past few months, I spent more time jerking off in the showers than fucking her. I blamed it on distance, but the hours in a car weren’t the reason, and we both knew it.
“Shiloh…please,” she whispered. Just the sound of her voice made my chest ache with unease, and my stomach twist with guilt and fury.
“I don’t care what you have to say, Xanthy. You’re smothering me. You’re—” I couldn’t stop. The words tumbled out like knives as my word vomit continued.
Alcoholism was stupid.
It was a truth bomb, and my self-medicating was biting me firmly in the ass.
“You’re fucking suffocating me. Can’t you see? I can’t even take a shit without you breathing down my neck? I’m drowning in this crap you’ve built around me. The wedding isn’t for another three months, can we just fucking relax?”
There was a pause. And then…crying.
Greeeeeat.
“Shiloh…please…please just listen,” she sobbed. There was something odd in her voice. “I need you to go back to where it began. Please…for me.”
I opened my mouth to ask what the fuck she was talking about, but then…
The line went dead.
I blinked through the haze of the alcohol and rain, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles ached from the pressure. My pulse pounded in my ears.
Go back to where it began?
What the fuck did that even mean?
I tried calling her back immediately.
Nothing…just the voicemail prompt of her chipper, husky tone.
My mind raced faster.
My chest tightened.
I tried to place the emotion in her voice from before. The weird tremor had her sounding strange, not sad.
She sounded…terrified.
I tried her phone again.
