Page 17 of Play the Part (Marsford Bay #2)

HUXLEY

M y breathing is shallow. I can barely take a full breath. I’m storming through the auditorium as my vision starts to blur. My mind racing, my throat tightening, and it feels like reality is slipping away from me.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe .

I spiral into darkness.

I’m going to die in here.

The thought appears like a ghost, crawling out of the grave I buried it in. Flashes of memories. Torn pieces from my time in prison assault my senses, and I double over, resting my hand on the back of a seat.

I’m going to die in here.

The auditorium disappears, and I’m back there.

I try to take a deep breath, but I can’t.

I can’t.

I can’t do anything.

I’m stuck.

I’m stuck.

I’m stuck.

I sit on my cot. Frozen. Dead eyes staring back at me. My bunkmate. He made a noose out of his bed sheets while I was sleeping. Now he’s dead.

I’m choking back air.

I’m going to die in here.

“Huxley, are you okay?” A hand lands on my shoulder, and I reel back. I shove the hand away and stumble backward. My eyes are wide as I snap back to reality.

Whit stands a few feet away from me, shock splashed on his face. I’m blinking fast, my breathing still shallow, trying as I might not to let myself slip into a flashback again.

“Hux,” he repeats, “What just happened? You’re white as a ghost.”

“I’m …” My tongue feels like cotton in my mouth. I look toward the exit. “I need some air.”

I leave him standing in the middle of the aisle and bolt outside through the front doors. The winter air hits my clammy skin first, my bare arms breaking out into goosebumps, before I’m gulping down oxygen as if I’d been drowning until then.

I hear the door creak behind me, and I don’t need to turn around to know it’s Whit. I close my eyes and squat down near the wall, curling my arms over my head while shame spills over me like tar. I can’t believe he’s seeing me like this. At work.

I don’t know what exactly about my run-in with Connie triggered this, but I blame her for all of it. I need to stay the fuck away from her.

She’s nothing but toxic.

I take a few seconds, trying to ground myself with the icy feeling in my lungs, before standing back up and begrudgingly meeting Whit’s concerned gaze.

He’s the first to speak. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” I say a little too forcefully, as I swipe a hand over my buzzed head back and forth.

He shoots me a look that clearly conveys that he knows I’m full of shit, but shrugs his shoulders and pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He wordlessly offers me one.

I stay still for half a second too long, then finally, step closer and pull one out of the pack. He lights mine first, then his. I grunt out a Thanks with the filter between my lips.

We smoke in silence, the white cloud of smoke and cold breaths mingling in the air between us. The weather eventually gets the best of me, and I start to shiver.

“Need the rest of the day off?” Whit asks offhandedly as he stubs his butt into the metal ashtray on the wall.

“Absolutely fucking not,” I snap back, flicking my butt into the snowy street.

Whit chuckles, and I swallow hard.

“Alright then,” he says, “Let’s get back to it.”

Nothing about this bottle of Jameson is going to help ease whatever happened to me today. But at least the burn of the alcohol down my throat helps to keep the thoughts at bay.

I’m sitting on the couch in the dark, drinking straight from the bottle. Memories of my deadbeat dad doing the same filter through my mind, and a bite of shame threatens to undo the numbing buzz I’m working on.

Like father, like son.

It’s a cliché for a reason. It satisfies my need to wallow in peace. At least I’ve turned on the TV just to make the image of me a little less depressing, DK curled up and sleeping against my thigh.

I thought of texting Selina, but even meaningless sex wouldn’t help quell my thoughts about Connie.

What the hell is it about her that has me in a chokehold? I feel as trapped under her spell as I did behind bars. She’s strung me up like a puppet, pulling my strings, making me dance against my will.

I take another swig from the bottle.

On the living room table, my phone lights up with a phone call. I eye it numbly, but it’s a number I don’t recognize. I stare at the screen until it goes dark and deliberate if I should just turn my phone off for the night.

My phone vibrates with an incoming text.

Groaning loudly, I lean over and plop the bottle of whiskey on the table, picking up my phone. My stomach flips, despite my irritation.

Pick up, it’s Connie.

Not a second later, my phone starts to ring again.

“ Shit ,” I mutter out loud.

Being at least a little familiar with Connie’s temperament, something tells me she won’t be taking no for an answer, even if I ignore her call a second time.

I unconsciously smooth my shirt down as if this isn’t just a voice call, and straighten up on the couch before answering.

“What?” I grunt.

She takes no time to jump right in.

“Are you ever going to apologize for what you said today?”

Guilt gnaws at my conscience like tiny razor-sharp teeth, but I don’t let it be heard in my voice.

“How did you get my number?” I ask, my tone flat.

“Well, it wasn’t fucking rocket science now was it?” she snips back. Sophia, probably. “You know, we’re going to have to start acting civil, whether you like it or not.”

The line goes silent, and I chew on my lip. Finally, I let out a long sigh and decide to act my age for once.

“I —” The words immediately die somewhere on my tongue. I clear my throat, smoothing my hand over my face in exasperation, and try again. “I’m sorry,” I say a little more forcefully this time. “It’s none of my business who you’re seeing. It won’t happen again.”

Connie stays quiet for so long that it has me checking my phone to make sure the call hasn’t been dropped.

Finally, she speaks. “Thank you. Apology accepted.” She pauses. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

I force a smile, even though she can’t see it.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow, boss.”

Connie snorts a laugh, and my heart skips a beat. I ignore the embarrassing flutters in my stomach and hang up. Dropping my phone beside me, I sit motionless while I stare at nothing, feeling everything.

Eventually, I snap out of it and swipe the bottle of Jameson from the table.