Page 33 of Downfall

I think I hear him threatening Julian again, but it’s hard to tell with the blood rushing in my ears as I attempt to stand up from the stool.

All I know is I have to get out of here.

Because if I hear Declan call me his wife in that growly voice one more time, I might melt into an actual puddle, and then when I turn solid again, I might do something I regret. I should be angry. I should be pissed he’s trying to claim me. As if he has the right. But damn if his being all possessive doesn’t make my stomach think it suddenly became an Olympic gymnast.

I tell myself that has to be the alcohol talking because he definitely shouldn’t have that effect on me anymore.

14

DECLAN

Skylar is slumped in my front seat, her entire body shifted away from me as if she’s trying to will herself to teleport through the car door. By the time I got her out of the bar, she was swaying like an inflatable tube man at a car dealership. Skylar is not what I would call coordinated on her best day, and alcohol definitely doesn’t do her any favors. When she almost tripped on her own boot, déjà vu kicked in hard. Not because of the night a few weeks ago when I carried her home, but because of the night she kissed Ashton when she was fifteen and then proceeded to get loaded off Jell-O shots. I found her puking into a flower bed in the backyard. I was so angry at myself for being too busy handing Ash’s ass to him to notice she was drunk before it was too late.

Skylar scoffs, turning even further into the door. It didn’t take long to find her. I checked a few of the usual Friday night spots in Emberfield before I realized she probably didn’t want to be found, which meant she went to Rocky Falls. Sure enough, the second I walked into the Tap Room, I saw her, red waves still up in her signature messy bun, some of them sticking out of that polka dot headband she loves so much, her body swaying on the bar stool where she was perched.

I ordered a beer from one of the waitresses who not so subtly told me she was getting off in a half-hour, ignored the wide-open invitation to turn that statement dirty, and watched as Skylar knocked back shots of whiskey one after the other. Then that asshole bartender bent down and whispered something in her ear, and I decided I had seen enough. She can hate me all she wants, but I wasn’t about to let her stumble around trying to find her way home in that state.

The very moment we pull into the driveway, Skylar is up and out of the car, slamming the door behind her. I follow her inside where she throws her purse on the floor and stumbles up the stairs. I’m not sure why I decide now is the time to do this considering I’ve had all week, but I’m sick of the fucking silent treatment. I let her have the car ride, but drunk or not, we need to talk. She sways down the hallway and ducks into the bathroom, slamming the door so hard the house practically vibrates.

I’m on her the second the latch clicks. “Open the door, Skylar.”

“Or what?”

“Skylar,” I warn.

“Go fuck yourself, Declan.”

“I already did. Wanna know what I was thinking about?”

A shrill scream echoes off the tiled walls of the bathroom.

“The way your breath caught in your throat.”

The door hits my back as I slide down to my ass, resting my head against the wood. This is a bad idea, but once the words start spilling from my mouth, I can’t get them to stop. It’s like a dam has been broken. “The first time I touched you. The first time you begged me to,” I say loud enough for my voice to carry through the door. “It was just this little gasp, but it was chemical. Like you couldn’t help it if you tried.”

Silence

“The curve of your tits. How they softly bounced up and down with your ragged breaths.”

More silence. I know I should stop talking, go to my room, and leave her alone, but I keep going. “The low hum that escaped your lips when you were close.”

There’s a thud now. Like she banged her own head against the wall.

“All that usually gets me going,” I continue. “But you know what it really takes to make me come?”

Silence again. This is it. There’s no going back to pretending it never happened.

“Thinking about sinking into you. How you looked up at me. I was so fucking deep, and you looked at me like—fuck, Skylar. You looked at me and told me⁠—”

The door flies open, causing me to fall backward onto the cold tile.

“Don’t you dare say it,” she hisses from above me. Then she steps over me and stomps toward her room, boots smacking against the hardwood floor. Only a few seconds pass before another slam of a door echoes across the empty hallway.

I force myself to my feet. Once again, my head tells me to give her space, but my body doesn’t get the memo, so before I know it, I’m standing up against her door. I jiggle the handle. Locked, of course.

“Stop locking the fucking door, Skylar.”

She doesn’t respond, so I shove my shoulder into the side until the wood splinters slightly.