Remember Ivy from End Game? Well, she's back with her own story. But don't worry if you haven't read End Game, this can be read as a standalone.
We follow Ivy as she returns to London having been offered a job at Risk, the Kink Club owned by Za...
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~ ~ Alex ~ ~
Kicking the fridge door shut, I twisted the top off the bottled beer and tossed it into the sink.
You heard of recycling, Loser?
What the fuck do you care?
I don't. It replied flippantly.
One day, I'm going to shut you up.
Yeah, good luck with that, Loser. I'll tell you what. Why don't you tell someone about me... the voice in your head. See how that plays out for you.
I'd tried to once. Had a few therapy sessions but I couldn't tell him. Because my biggest fear was they'd say I was like my mum, and my sister. And it scared the ever loving crap outta me.
Oh yeah, that's right, because you're chickenshit.
Couldn't argue with that.
Psst. Perhaps step-daddy will get you a room next to Nessy.
A cold shiver passed over me. Lifting the beer to my mouth, the cold liquid fizzed against my tongue as I guzzled the entire thing down without a breath. Slamming the bottle down, I swiped my hand across my mouth.
Might as well have another. Opening the fridge again, I reached inside. Was it my fifth or sixth beer?
I waited for the voice to answer, but it stayed quiet—finally.
Guess it was lucky number five... or six. Not that it mattered. I was drinking to stop my racing thoughts and feeling shitty.
Why?
Because I was on edge. An irritated, off-kilter feeling itched under my skin and made it impossible to relax. The fucker had wound me up tighter than a nun's arse.
You're wondering who?
That would be my fucking step-father. Or ex-step-father. Nick. Nessy's dad.
I twisted off another bottle lid, and it joined the other in the sink. Only this time I got no snarky comeback. Bonus.
I cracked an eye up to the wall clock. It was getting late, and I wondered what Ivy and Josh might be up to. I could have really done with hanging out with Josh tonight. Or Ivy. I think talking to her would be just as easy as Josh.
But both were out of the question. Them being on a date—together.
Muttering to myself, I dragged my heavy feet back to the living room, collapsing onto the sofa. "Shit." Spilling some of my beer onto my thigh. Rubbing it into my sweats with my other hand.
Fuck it. Sure, I already stank like a brewery. Resting the bottle on my damp thigh, I relaxed back. But I still couldn't shift the restlessness.
Only Nick got under my skin like this. Made me feel like shit. And this time, when he'd tipped up, he let himself in. Cheeky bastard walked around like he owned the place.
