Page 43 of Overdose

“Blair.”

She turns, slow. Eyes glassy, lips parted in a lazy grin that doesn’t quite reach her pupils.

“Look who finally climbed out of his haunted DJ booth,” she drawls, voice molasses-sweet and just as thick. “What’s wrong? Didn’t like the sound of silence without me screaming under your set?”

“Don’t start,” I bite, stepping closer. “How much did you take?”

She snorts, leaning back against the railing like she wants to fall. “Oh, you mean tonight, or this week in general?”

I don’t smile.

Her grin twists. “What? Gonna give me another lecture, Daddy?”

I close the space between us. “Was it him?”

“Who?”

“Dagger.” My voice comes out harsher than I mean. “You been with him tonight? Did he give you the shit?”

She blinks. Her brows arch. Then she laughs. “Jesus. Why do you make everything about him?”

I reach for her arm, but she jerks back.

“No,” she snaps. “Don’t touch me.”

“You’re high, Blair.”

“And you’re a fucking hypocrite.”

Her words hit harder than they should.

“You act like you’re better,” she hisses. “Like you’re not using me too. Like you didn’t fuck me and then walk away like it was nothing.”

“That’s not what happened?—”

“Bullshit,” she cuts. “You think I didn’t notice? One second you’re inside me like you’re gonna break me in half, and the next you vanish like I’m just another body. Like it never fucking mattered.”

I look away.

She steps closer, poking a finger into my chest.

“And now you show up, throwing shade ‘cause I took something to feel good for five fucking minutes?” Her voice cracks, raw and too loud in the night air. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to stalk me all night and act like I’m some mess you get to fix.”

My throat tightens. “You think I don’t care?”

She barks a bitter laugh, stepping closer, finger stabbing at my chest. “You don’t care about me. You care aboutthis—your little dick-measuring contest with Dagger. That’s all thisis. That’s all I’ve ever been. Another round in your fucked-up game.”

My jaw ticks. “That’s not true.”

“You wanna protect me?” she scoffs. “Bullshit. You just want to win. And you’re using me to do it.”

“That’s not what this is.” I move toward her again, slower this time, palms up like I’m trying to calm a storm. “You’re high. The drugs are fucking with your head?—”

Her expression snaps cold. “It’s always the drugs. Or Dagger. Or the past. It’sneveryou, is it?”

She leans into me, just enough that I think—maybe—she’ll let me hold her. That her anger might crack just enough for something soft to slip through.

I reach out, brushing her waist, fingers curving into her hip. My other hand rises, catches her cheek. Just the lightest touch.