Halloween House Party (10)

Chapter 10:

Slowly I’m pulled from whatever dark abyss I was dropped into, my head throbbing with each shift of movement, even blinking is likely to have me passing out.

“Hey, hey. Easy.” The voice’s familiarity dragging me back to the world of the conscious, something about it irking me. Turning to my right I see his face and my blood goes ice cold.

“What the fuck?” I sit upright, instantly regretting the decision as the pounding in my head thrashes harder, tiny sword-like iv stabbed into my arm tugging deeper than surface level as I try to ease the tenderness in my skull. “Shit” I wince, scrunching my eyes tight, forcing all the bad shit away. “It’s a dream. It’s all just a really fucked up dream. None of this is real. He’s not real, it’s just a fucked up dream. It’s just a fucked up dream.”

I keep whispering the words like a mantra running a hand through my hair, attempting to ignore each surge of agony as I shift and move. “I don’t know why you’re having a fucked up dream about your fucking ex but it’s just a dream. He’s not real, it’s fine. You’re fine. It’s all good.” I keep trying to give myself the pep talk of the century, reaffirm my sanity but the more I say the less I believe.

“Uh Quinn, closing your eyes isn’t going to make me magically disappear. And this isn’t a dream, I’m really here.” The teasing sincerity in his tone proves to infuriate me further.

Quickly I open them, directing my heated stare solely on Sly. “Why are you here?” I don’t bother wasting time with niceties, his presence just pissing me off.

“The police called me; I’m your emergency contact.”

“Not anymore.”

“Well, your current one isn’t going walk through that door and act as your support system from the grave now, are they?” His words strike me to the core. “So, obviously I was next on their list of calls. But I would have come either way, if my girlfriend’s hurt or in trouble, I want to be there for her.”

I put up a finger, my brows furrowing deeper. “No no, ex. I’m your ex-girlfriend. We are broken up, for a long fucking time now.”

He leans over, grabbing up my hand, intertwining our fingers. “What if we weren’t anymore?” Cupping my cheek, my body itches to push him away, but even as I swallow my throat screams with soreness. “I miss you Quinn and I want to get back together.”

Gritting my teeth, braving the agony I wrench my hand out of his hold, pushing myself a few scoots away in the small hospital bed. “Fuck you Sly” I say slowly, the words laced in venom. “There’s nothing you can say that will get me back together with you.” Folding my arms across my chest, I fumble my hands around the wires before giving up and letting them sit somewhat limply at my side.

“Nothing?” He taps a finger to his lips, a small smile growing making me uneasy from the peripheral gaze I toss his way.

“What’s that look for?”

Leaning back, legs sitting apart he gets real damn comfortable, hands laced behind his head. “Oh nothing. I just figured if you were willing to get back together, I might be able to help you out of this little predicament you gotten yourself into.”

Narrowing my gaze, something about his words makes me uneasy the machine’s beeping increasing in turn as my heart pounds harder. “What are you talking about? What predicament?” I swallow again, ignoring the ache in my head as I try to follow along.

“Well, from what the cops told me when I got here, you’re under 24/48-hour suicide watch. Apparently, you tried to off yourself in their bathroom after they subjected you to a drug test. Was there something you didn’t want them to find Quinney?”

I’ve always hated when he called me that, and he knows it too, from the smug look plastered across his face, shirt ridding up as he remains stretched out, showcasing a network of tattoos along his lower torso. “No” I grit out.

“And then there’s the matter of your ex-girlfriend. What was her name? Candy, Cassie, Katrina, Koala? Something like that.”

“Cas” I interject, balling my hands into tight fists ticked that I’m forced to listen to him butcher my late girlfriend’s name and blackmail me into getting back together. “I didn’t kill her. You were the one everyone found dead. Which also, not my fault.”

His smirk drips in mischief and sin. “It was a prank.”

“That’s a fucking sick prank Sly. Some girl fucking passed out at seeing you like that, don’t you feel bad at all?”

“It was a Halloween party; did you really expect me not to do something like that?”

“Then why not tell everyone that it was just a prank?”

“Now where’s the fun in that? Besides, the look on that girl’s face was fucking priceless. Totally worth it.”

“You sick fuck.” I shake my head, fingers sliding along my brows. “Wait, but you weren’t there when I brought the cops in. Where the fuck were you?”

“I went up to the bathroom to ice that little bump on my head, you know from when you hit me with the bottle of vodka. Or are you having a hard time remembering the moment you went all psycho on me. Again.” He adds it like an afterthought, though he’s always been one for the dramatic.

“I remember that part perfectly well” I hiss, guard up. “Question is do you remember what you did to deserve my wrath? You know, the part where you tried to fuck me over the counter.” He shrugs. “Or are you having a hard time remembering the moment you went serial rapist on me? Again.”

I shove away the drugged-up memory, when we were still together, his hands on my body, tugging at my hair sensually before I tasted the whiskey, malt and spicy, on his tongue and my back was forced up against the door as he dug his fingers into my hips. We went from sexually alluring to dangerous and painful too quickly, the screams stuck in my throat as he devoured my skin, punishing my pink flesh in any way he saw fit. I plead for him to stop but they were just words, drowned out by his thrusts and slaps, my cheeks rosy, pretty pink pussy, he always called it, stung raw. Embarrassment at what I let happen rearing its ugly head every chance it got.

“Knock that shit off will ya, you know full well what my name is little psycho.”

I growl under my breath at that infuriating nickname. “Don’t call me that.”

“Then don’t call me my stage name. We’re both adults here, so let’s act like it.”

“Fine” I concede.

“Good girl” I grimace hoping he doesn’t notice. “Now listen up Quinn right now, the cops have enough circumstantial evidence to at least hold you for questioning. Plus, the attempted suicide to get out of performing a drug test just placed you as suspect #1 on their list.” Rubbing my hands on my arms doesn’t sooth me as I hoped. “Now, if you’re fine with going to jail for a crime you may or may not have committed be my guest. But, if you want to walk out of here without any issues, you’re going to be my girlfriend again and I’ll talk you into innocence.”

“Why would I want your help after you screwed me out of my career?” Among other things I think to myself.

“Last I checked, beggars can’t be choosers and from where I’m standing you don’t have a lot of options here.” He points behind him, a beat cop talking to Reeves right outside, giving me about thirty seconds to decide on a lesser-of-two-evils situation. “If I walk out that door you’re fucked, and not in the good way. But if you agree to my terms, say you’re my girlfriend and we get back together then you’ll be out of here in an hour, two tops with nothing remaining on your record.”

I bite my lip in thought and mostly worry. My decision to basically sell my soul to the Devil making me queasy, bile slowly rising up my clenched throat.

“…yeah, I know what you mean.” Reeves’ voice pouring into the room as the door opens confirming my worst nightmare, one I know I’ll end up regretting real fucking soon.

“Fine, I’m your girlfriend” I whisper to Sly…I mean Jason just as Reeves drags a seat over to sit.

“So, Miss Harlem. Seems we have a lot to talk about.”