Always you

Chapter 8

The evening had taken a sharp turn. Sasha stood in the middle of the party, her mind swirling with thoughts of Rafe and their intense, confusing conversation. The air felt thick, her chest tight with emotion. She could still hear his words in her head, the sincerity in his voice when he'd tried to explain the situation with the girl. But she wasn't sure what to believe anymore. She didn't know what to feel.

In a desperate attempt to escape the turmoil in her head, Sasha found herself back at the bar, grabbing a drink—then another, then another. The cold burn of alcohol was exactly what she needed. It numbed the noise, numbed the ache in her chest, and for the first time in a while, she didn't have to think about anything. The world blurred and spun around her. People came and went, and Sasha let herself sink into the haze.

A few hours later, Sasha's laughter was too loud, her movements too erratic as she tried to dance to the fast-paced beat that pulsed through the speakers. Sarah and Layla had tried to get her to slow down, but Sasha shrugged them off, refusing to listen to reason. She was beyond listening. Beyond caring.

It was only when she found herself standing by the bar again, clutching yet another drink in her hand, that she realized how dizzy she had become. The lights were spinning, and she could barely hold herself upright. A group of guys nearby noticed her unsteady stance, their eyes lighting up with interest.

"Hey, you okay?" one of them asked, stepping closer to her. Sasha squinted at him, her vision blurry, but she managed to offer a smile.

"I'm fine," she slurred, her voice loud and unsteady.

Another guy, taller, with dark hair and a smirk that didn't seem right, stepped in beside her. "You sure? You look like you could use some help."

Sasha gave a slow, tipsy nod. The attention was nice, at least in her foggy state. But she was barely able to process that something was wrong as the guy reached out and put a hand on her waist, pulling her in too close. A flash of discomfort ran through her, but the alcohol dulled it, made it fuzzy.

Before she could react, the guy was leaning in too far, his breath hot on her neck, his hands beginning to wander. The other guys around her were laughing, egging him on, and Sasha's body stiffened, her mind swimming in confusion and panic. The space around her seemed to shrink as they crowded in, pressing too close, their voices suddenly much louder and far too insistent.

"Hey, come on, we'll have some fun. You're drunk, we'll take care of you—"

"No," Sasha managed to say, her voice small and weak. But the more she tried to push them away, the more they pressed in, ignoring her protests as they each took a step closer, their intentions becoming clear.

Suddenly, a loud voice cut through the noise of the party, stopping everything in its tracks.

"Get your fucking hands off her."

The guys froze, and Sasha's vision swam, but she could still make out the shape of Rafe standing there, his jaw clenched, his posture rigid. His presence was overwhelming—strong, commanding, and yet, in the alcohol-soaked haze, Sasha felt a flicker of warmth. He was here. Rafe was here.

"What's your problem, man?" one of the guys asked, his voice defensive. He took a step forward, trying to act tough, but Rafe didn't flinch.

"My problem?" Rafe's voice was low, dangerous, like a warning. "My problem is you're not respecting her. So, you're going to walk away now, and if you don't, I'll make you."

The tension in the air was thick, and Sasha's heart began to race, even though her vision swam. She wanted to shout out, to tell Rafe to leave it alone, but the words wouldn't come. Everything felt like it was slipping out of her control.