He may even be more angry.
And I’ve been conditioned since childhood to react to a man’s anger in only one way—cowering in terror.
But my father isn’t the only man in my life with a track record. David has one, too, and even as my hands start to tremble, I remind myself that I am safe. That no matter how out of character he’s behaved tonight, or how angry he might be, David would never hurt me.
Not physically, I silently amend. Because Brian never physically hurt me either, and look how well that worked out.
I suck in a deep breath and shake the thought away. This is David. Sammy’s oldest friend, my friend, and he’s never been anything but good to me—tonight’s argument notwithstanding.
By the time his heavy, stomping steps start to grow louder a couple of short minutes later, I’ve mostly reined in my irrational fear. But I remain still, keeping my eyes shut tight, feigning sleep. David and I definitely need to talk, about so many things, but I don’t want to do that when he’s still angry, or when we’re both probably still a little drunk.
The bedroom door swings open too hard, and it hits the wall with a thump only muffled by the hoodies hanging on the back of it. It resonates through the dim, quiet room, and I wonder if David noticed my startle.
“Fuck. Me,” David mutters in a hushed tone that surprises me in its softness. He doesn’t sound angry at all. Just frustrated—and it’s all out of synch with his bullish presence.
There’s another loud bump just as I’m thinking it, this one followed by several lesser ones, and a string of slurred curses.
I crack open one eye. And then it hits me. David isn’t enraged…He’s just completely hammered.
I don’t know where he went when he left me tonight, but wherever it was definitely served alcohol.
“Fuck,” he slurs again, and then a bang and a resounding, “shit!” and I can’t hold in my giggle. I turn in bed and spot his massive shadow right away, his hand gripping the closet door for balance as his feet shuffle to catch their footing.
He tries to kick off a sneaker and stumbles again, and I hastily crawl across the bed to help him. The movement catches his attention, and even in the dark, his deep, hazel gaze has the power to halt me in my tracks. And it does, and suddenly I’m sitting here on his bed, waiting for something—anything—to give away his current mood.
Slowly, David’s lips stretch at both corners, spreading into a lopsided smirk. “I’ve had this dream before,” he mumbles clumsily.
I frown at him. Just how drunk is he?
David squints at me. “There are two—no, four…there’s a bunch of you.”
I cock my head at him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this intoxicated—and I’ve seen him plenty drunk…and high, for that matter. I get up from the bed and approach him warily. “It’s just me,” I murmur.
David’s grin is almost goofy, and it melts something in me. “You’re not me. You’re Bea.”
I smile. At least he’s not so drunk that he doesn’t know who I am.
David wavers on his feet, and stubs his toe into the wall. “Shit!”
“Come on,” I say, shaking my head and biting my lip to stifle my own goofy grin. I let him lean on my shoulder and help him to the bed, his unbalanced bulk harder to maneuver than I anticipated. We take a bit of a zigzag path, but I finally get him close enough that he can flop himself down, which he does, on his back, his legs hanging off the bed, feet planted on the floor. His eyes are closed before he hits the mattress.
I push his jacket off his shoulders, holding out each sleeve and guiding his arms through them, and leave it bunched under his heavy back. His leg jerks and it takes me a second to realize he’s trying to kick off his shoes again.
I shake his shoulder. “David.”
A whiney groan.
“David,” I whisper more loudly, shoving at him to try and sit him up. It kind of works, in that he opens one eye and inches up onto his elbows. I climb off the bed to undo his shoelaces and hold his sneaker so he can get it off. “Pull it out,” I prompt.
David sits up further, squinting at me under a furrowed brow, and I’m caught off guard by his sudden intensity as I stare up at him from the floor.
I bite back a smile. “I meant your foot,” I clarify. I wiggle his shoe to urge him to remove it, and he frowns before slipping out of his shoes, one at a time. I startle at the sudden sensation of his hand on my jaw. He huffs in a heavy rush of air, and then he’s grabbing me under my arms and yanking me to my feet in front of him.
He nods to himself, satisfied, and then promptly pulls his legs onto the bed, and plops down onto the pillow.
“David, your clothes,” I remind him.
“Hmm…” He doesn’t even open an eye.
