Page 19 of My Fault

She opened her eyes, and I saw terror in them.

“The light,” she muttered as if she were hardly capable of pronouncing the words.

It was weird. There wasn’t any light on.

“Turn it on,” she almost begged.

I observed her a few seconds before realizing that what scared her wasn’t that I was in her room or the drugs or the fact that she could barely move; it was the darkness.

“You’re scared of the dark?” I asked, leaning over her and turning on the lamp on her nightstand.

Her body instantly relaxed.

I raised an eyebrow, asking myself how this chick could be so complicated. I got up, arranged her against the pillows, and then stood there a moment, making sure her breathing was normal. It was. Noah was a strong girl.

“Get out of my room,” she commanded me, and I did.

I think it was the sanest thing I did all night.

7

Noah

When I opened my eyes that morning, I felt awful. for the first time in my life, the light bothered me. My head hurt like crazy, and I felt weird all over. It was hard to explain, but I was aware of every movement, every sensation taking place in my body, and it was uncomfortable, irritating, upsetting. My throat was dry, as if I hadn’t drunk anything in a week.

I stumbled over to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror.

Jesus Lord, how horrible!

Then I remembered.

And my body trembled from head to toe.

My eyes were swollen, my hair messy and pulled back in a ratty ponytail. I didn’t remember pulling it back, though. I took off my dress, brushed my teeth to clean that bitter taste from my mouth, and put on my pajama shorts and my favorite T-shirt with the holes in it.

Memories flashed through my head like stop-motion photographs. Drugs. That was all I could think. Someone had drugged me. I’d taken drugs, I’d gotten in a stranger’s car, I’d gone to a party full of goons…and it was all one person’s fault.

I walked out of my bedroom, slammed the door, and went to Nicholas’s room.

I didn’t bother knocking before opening the door to what looked like a bear cave with a person under a dark blanket in a huge bed.

I walked over and shook the person sleeping there like a log, as if nothing had happened, as if it wasn’t his fault someone had drugged me.

“Dammit,” he muttered without opening his eyes.

His disheveled hair was camouflaged against the dark-satin sheets. I pulled hard on the cover until he was exposed. I didn’t care.

Fortunately he wasn’t naked, but his white boxers did throw me off for a second. He was sleeping facedown, giving me the perfect panorama of his broad back, his long legs, and—forgive me for saying so—his splendid ass.

But I forced myself to focus on what was really important.

“What happened last night?” I nearly shouted, shaking his arm so he’d wake up.

He grunted and grabbed hold of my hand, still with his eyes closed, and with one jerk, he pulled me into his bed.

I fell down next to him and tried to struggle away, but it was futile.

“Even when you’re high you can’t shut the fuck up,” he said before finally opening his eyes.