Annalise Starke had known her mother was going to die eventually; she just hadn't expected it to happen so soon.
At fifteen she had moved with her mother back to her home country of Australia with half a heart (metaphorically, of course) and her mo...
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I'm in the hallway, but it isn't Bryson who's gripping my arm.
It's him.
I pull back, attempting to separate us, but it's no use. His grip is iron tight, as if it were welded to me.
There's a pounding in my head and a roiling in my stomach. Notagain notagain notagain.
"Quit your whining!" he grits, which of course, only makes the sounds of fear escaping my lips escalate. My panting comes out quicker, the squeaks more defined. "I said—"
"Teacup?"
My eyes fly open.
I heard a bird chirp outside my window, and there was a heavy weight slung around my waist. Breath fanning my ear.
"Are you alright?"
Jacks.
The memories from last night come rushing back like a tsunami, engulfing me all at once. I'm not there. I'm in my bed, in my house, in Rose Hill—not Australia. Not with him. I'm with Jacks.
I'm safe.
I feel my breathing start to slow, and my erratic heartbeat calms.
"Yes," I lick my lips. The how and why I got here surfaces to the forefront of my mind.
Since I had to drive us home, it was up to me to get everyone safely to bed. It was easy enough to guide Breck to his room, and Ryan to the couch. I had intended to put Sylvie with me and Jacks in the guest room, but he followed me around the whole time, refusing to leave.
He could sense that something was off. He all but said so. And I could appreciate the thought of wanting to make sure I was alright, but being drunk himself didn't help.
He hadn't been that drunk when we left Lucy's but it had started to hit him in the car.
He argued with me the whole time, so after I had finally gotten Sylvie into some dry pajamas, I ended up having to put her in the guest room and just taking Jacks with me—I figured, worst case I could just make him sleep on the floor somewhere. Of course, that didn't happen. But I didn't entirely mind. It was kind of nice. It was like I had my own personal space heater and guard dog (a very intoxicated guard dog, but a guard nonetheless).
I remember closing Breck's door and turning to find Jacks standing right behind me. "Jacks, I need you to go to sleep. Please?" I practically beg.
He shook his head, taking a seat on my bed. "I'm not tired," he antagonized.
"Regardless, you need to sleep, and I need to sleep! So it's bed time."
"Okay," he finally agreed. I breathed a sigh of relief, but it was cut short by the smirk adorning his face. "Only if you come with me."
I gaped at him. "Jacks, just go to sleep," I had pled. He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. Finally, I sighed. "Fine. But only for a little bit."
