●Sienna●
The fresh air outside helped a little, clearing my head just enough for me to walk straight, but Andrew did not loosen his hold on me. He opened the car door and I slid into the backseat, my purse handed to me a second later. I dropped it carelessly beside me as he shut the door, rounded the car, and took his seat next to Luca.
Moments later, we were pulling away from the club, the city lights blurring past the window.
I felt the heavy urge to close my eyes, to let the darkness take over, but I fought it. I did not want to look as affected as I felt. If I passed out, it would only prove my mother right and ruin any chance of convincing her to let me go out again. So I sat there, staring ahead, pretending the alcohol was not still swirling violently in my system.
When we finally passed through the gates of the house, Andrew stepped out and opened my door. I reached for my purse as I climbed out, but my foot slipped the moment I straightened and I staggered. Before I could fall, I bent down and slipped off my heels, clutching them in my arms like a lifeline before making my way inside barefoot.
Relief washed over me when I realized the house was quiet. My parents were asleep. I moved carefully, avoiding furniture and walls, each step deliberate as I headed upstairs.
When I reached my bedroom door and pushed it open, I nearly pitched forward onto my face, the room spinning sharply, but I managed to steady myself at the last second, my heart hammering as I stumbled inside and shut the door behind me.
"Oh god," I whispered to myself. If I ever got the chance to go to a party again, I would not drink this much. Being high felt thrilling for a moment, but it was an illusion, and I hated illusions. They made you believe in things that weren't real.
I finally pulled away from the door, my head still spinning, when a man's voice snapped me back into reality.
"Make sure you lock the door properly."
My breath caught. This time the lights were on, and I could see him clearly. He was dressed in black like he belonged in the dark—and he was annoyingly good-looking.
At his words, I leaned back against the door, my fingers twitching toward the knob, but he was already there before I could move.
My gaze dropped to the floor where my shoes and purse lay. When I lifted my head again, the smell of his cologne hit me.
"I will scream," I told him, but my voice came out thin, like I didn't even believe myself.
Something dark flashed across his face. Gone was the calm.
"Soon enough, you will," he said quietly.
My heart slammed against my ribs. He gripped my arm and pulled me away from the door, steering me toward the couch like I weighed nothing. I stumbled, my balance betraying me, and he forced me down onto the cushions.
"Just how much have you drunk?" he asked, his tone almost casual as he made sure I was seated.
I lifted my hand, trying to count, but the numbers blurred together in my head. I gave up halfway, my fingers dropping uselessly to my lap.
I could see the way his eyes roamed over me, slow and deliberate, like he was pulling me apart piece by piece. My skin felt hot, and I couldn't tell if it was the alcohol burning through my veins or the way he was looking at me.
Without thinking it through, I leaned toward him and he did not stop me. I ended up close enough that my forehead nearly brushed his chest, the steady rise and fall beneath the fabric grounding and terrifying at the same time.
"Which cologne do you use?" The question slipped out of me.
His hand came up, steadying me as he guided me back to my side of the couch, creating distance I had not realized I was closing.
"Such a weird girl."
That earned a weak scoff from me. My head felt heavy, my thoughts slow, but annoyance cut through the haze.
"You are the weird one here," I said. The words tumbled out clumsy. "You are literally in my room. Uninvited."
That dark, amused look did not leave his face. It only deepened.
"You know," I continued, my voice gaining momentum the more I talked, "normal people stay in their own houses like sane human beings." I gestured vaguely around the room, almost losing my balance again.
My gaze drifted to him, unfocused but accusing.
"And normal people definitely do not watch other people sleep. That is stalking."
He did not interrupt or bother to defend himself. He just watched me, taking everything in like my words were nothing more than background noise.
When I fell quiet, staring off like my mind had checked out, I heard him mutter a few curses under his breath. The sound snapped something in me, but before I could react, he was already on his feet. His hand closed around mine, and he pulled me up with him.
"Where are you dragging me to?" The words came out weak, barely loud enough to count, but he didn't answer. He moved faster instead, tugging me along the hallway like he already knew what was coming.
The bathroom door was barely in view when my stomach flipped.
I gagged.
I almost threw up on the floor, but he caught me just in time, his grip tightening as he steered me toward the toilet. I barely had time to bend before everything came up, my body convulsing as I emptied whatever alcohol was left inside me. It was messy and humiliating, and I hated that he was there to see it.
When I was finally done, my throat burned and my eyes stung. I pulled away from him quickly, ashamed, dizzy, and unsteady on my feet. I staggered toward the sink and turned on the tap, scooping water into my mouth, rinsing again and again until the bitter taste faded just enough.
My hands trembled as I gripped the edge of the sink.
I lifted my head slowly and caught my reflection—pale and glassy-eyed, my lips still smudged. He was standing right behind me, close enough that I could feel him without touching him. The room felt smaller with him in it.
I didn't know how someone could feel this dangerous and this calm at the same time.