Oh. My. Freaking. God.

My hands tremble as I re-read his words and pinch my thigh to make sure this isn’t some nasty dream hitting me out of nowhere.

How…how does he know all that? How can he figure out so much in such a manic, detailed kind of way?

Unless he’s been watching me, too? He’s been noticing me, too?

But Xander doesn’t watch people. He doesn’t stop to make room for me. He doesn’t even look at me most of the time.

I’m the only one who does. From afar. Like a stalker.

Xander: So? How well did I do?

Xander: I can go on if you want. I can psychoanalyse your relationship with Jeanine and Calvin and Kirian, and even with Marian.

Kimberly: How about the one with you?

Xander: You have no relationship with me. Know your fucking place.

I push the covers away and jump to my feet, my muscles pumping with destructive energy.

He can’t tell me all that and then decide he wants nothing to do with me. He has everything to do with me. Hell, he knows things I refuse to admit to myself. He can’t pretend nothing happened and that he didn’t just stab a different type of weapon in my already chipped armour.

That he isn’t peeling underneath it and seeing what no one else has seen.

Me.

It terrifies the fuck out of me, to be seen by Xander out of all people.

But at the same time, it feeds a starved part that’s been waiting for this since forever.

It’s time I confront him about this whole thing.

9

Xander

A buzz starts at the back of my head. It’s my cue that I drank too much and should probably cut it off.

Well, fuck that side of my brain.

I snatch a bottle of vodka from Summer’s hand and chug half of what’s in there in one go.

The burn picks up where the buzz left off.

The burn means I’ll be able to collapse and sleep without having thoughts I shouldn’t have. I’ll wake up with an epic hangover, but it’ll be worth it.

In other terms, I won’t let my mind take me into dark mazes that have no way out.

As usual in one of Ronan’s parties, it’s full-blown mode. People grind against each other, and other people who won’t shag tonight tell them to get a room. Post Malone is playing in the background, but he’s ignored with the amount of chatter in this place.

Noise.

So much fucking noise.

It’s normally my playground. Their noise means they can’t hear me. Their distraction means they can’t see me, and even when they do, they see what they like to see. Popularity, social status, trust funds that could boost a third world country’s economy.

I’m as rotten as they are, if not worse. I just hide it better.

With the help of my friend vodka.

Summer is blabbering about the shit from today and how her best friend, Veronica, had to go to the doctor – an aesthetic one – to fix her nose and how upset she is, while she drags her fingernails up my thigh.

“If you’re upset, maybe you should be with her.” I smile, speaking with the slightest slur.

I’m drunk as fuck. I know because I hold my liquor well and don’t typically slur. Also, I’m seeing double and Summer shouldn’t have ten fingers on one hand.

Still, I don’t speak as if I’m wasted. That’s the power of being a drunk fool since I knew what drinking was. I would say I blame my mum and her own alcohol problem, but meh, who needs that tearjerker in their lives?

Step one into decimation: mummy issues.

Summer is protesting about some shit, but I’m not focused on the blabbering. I shake my phone as if that will make it magically light up with a text from her.

Maybe I shouldn’t have said that all at once like some pubescent with a problem of holding down his wiener.

To my defence, I usually have a wingman, Ronan, to stop me when I’m drunk. He disappeared somewhere, and he’s been acting like a dick all night, which probably means he’s mad at me.

Fuck him, basically.

I’ll have time to regret tonight tomorrow, so I might as well continue the show.

Unlocking my phone, I type.

Xander: Do you still sample Calvin’s collection of tea?

No reply.

Xander: Do you still hide Jeanine’s brushes to have her come out of her studio?

Nothing. Absolute fucking desert.

I don’t know why I want to prove that I know her better than anyone else, that the fucker Ronan or that other metalhead arsehole Knox, Elsa’s brother, would never know her the way I do.

It’s not how it’s supposed to go, but I continue my self-destructive path.

Xander: Are you still scared of horror films but watch them anyway?

Xander: Do you still make wishes upon the stars?

Xander: Do you still want to sleep beside me at night?

I delete the last one before I hit Send, then shake my head.

Fuck this. I’m spiralling down that rabbit hole. I stagger to my feet and Summer protests as she falls on her arse.

Huh. I forgot she was even there. Sorry, I guess.

I hit one person, or three, as I walk on unsteady feet, still gripping the bottle of vodka in my hand.

It takes me what feels like an hour before I finally find who I’m looking for. Cole sits beside the poker table, watching a game between Elites’ team members. His face is calm, almost interested in what he’s watching, but I know he’s fucking pissed off because of a certain someone.

He and I are the same on so many levels. But I’m way worse because I’m fucked up in the head and need someone to stop my thoughts from going in that direction.

“Yo, fuckers.” I raise my bottle, making a show of my drunk state.

Cole’s at my face in a second, gripping me by the nape. He smiles at the others, but when his green eyes fall on mine, they turn deadly.

It’s weird how he has the same eye colour as her, but his hold no beauty at all. Hers can be the reason for my free fall to hell.

“Your eye colour is fucking ugly,” I say.

“What do you think you’re doing, Knight?” he asks with a harsh undertone. “We have a game tomorrow and you’re hammered.”

“Ronan knew and he didn’t stop me. If I’m going to the corner, send him with me, Captain.” I laugh, even though I meant to smile. That’s what happens when you’re drunk – you sort of lose control over your actions.

“Jesus.” He punches me across the face, but it’s not mean like what I hoped for. He’s only doing it to make me sober up.

It’s enough to fill my thoughts with pain instead of the hell trying to break loose in there.

“Go sober up.”

“Yes, Captain.” I grin.

“The bottle.” He extends his hand and I put it in there. “The fuck is wrong with you lately?”

“Your eyes,” I slur.

“My eyes?” I swear he’s smirking in one of the two versions standing in front of me.

“No, not your eyes. The colour. Fucking green.” I slap my palms against his cheeks, smushing his face with the motion. “Why green, though? Just why?”

“Are you going to kiss?” Aiden’s bored voice brings me out from my spiritual questioning.

My vision is slow as I turn towards him. He’s wrapping an arm around Elsa’s waist and tucking her to his side as if he’s ready to kidnap her out of here any second – which will probably happen. Her goth sister with a tendency for sarcasm, Teal, is standing by her side, wearing a T-shirt that reads, I don’t want to be here.