Chapter 17: Fiery Words and Drunken Kisses

RINA'S POV

TEN YEARS PRIOR

I stepped out into the early Spring air, gasping like I'd just surfaced for air after being held underwater. I half expected to find the front lawn littered with partygoers, but it was empty. There were beer cans and red solo cups scattered across the ground that indicated that this was a recent occurrence—likely due to the now-pouring rain—but I was nevertheless alone. It was a welcome relief after I had every eye in the living room seemingly trained on Easton and I's exchange a few moments prior. I felt panic building up in my chest at the thought, knowing I'd done something, intentionally or not, that Easton wasn't going to let go of.

I knew him well enough now to know that this—being here in his house, unwittingly, but here nonetheless—crossed a major line. I'd walked into the lion's den, and I'd dragged Bryce down with me. He was drunk—probably too drunk to remember much of this in the morning—but I still felt bad that he'd even been involved in the first place. I should have known better. 

It was quiet outside, save for the incessant boom of the bass coming from the house and the heavy rain. It was pouring now, coming down in heavy sheets, and barely forty degrees. I hadn't thought to bring a jacket—largely because I was completely unaware of the parking situation prior to leaving Jen's—and I was kicking myself now. Jen's Rav-4 was parked at least a quarter mile down the street in front of someone else's house. Though the word house could only be loosely applied—true in one sense, yes, but it didn't cover the magnitude of what it was actually like.

This neighborhood was full of sprawling mansions, plain and simple. And the one I was at—Easton's, apparently, to no one's surprise—put them all to shame. It was enormous, made of pale, off-white stone with a sprawling front porch held up by columns. The house sat on top of a hill and had a meticulously maintained front yard with a long, circular driveway attaching the house and detached garage to the quiet street below. Just sprinting to the road would leave me soaked to the bone, and I'd still have to make it past the never-ending line of parked cars to Jen's. And I didn't even know if she left it unlocked. 

I didn't have any other option, though, because the thought of going back inside after what Easton had just done made my stomach drop. Staying out on the porch wasn't an option either—not if I valued all of my toes. I turned back to the pouring rain, deliberating for a few moments. But that hesitation was costly, because the next thing I heard was the sound of the front door opening behind me.

The blast of the music grew louder as it did, the dim light of the party leaking out onto the unlit front porch, but I didn't turn around, even after I heard it shut behind me. I was so focused on where I could possibly find Jen—God, locked in a closet with Sam by now, I was sure—that I didn't hear the person approaching until a firm arm locked around my waist. I yelped, a hundred different scenarios flitting through my mind—many in which I ended up dead in a ditch—when a pair of lips came down next to my ear. 

"Where you going, Cinderella?" A voice—unmistakably Easton's—rasped in my ear. "Not even midnight yet and you're already running away from me?" 

I could smell how drunk he was. It was coming off him in waves, especially with the wind blowing directly in our direction. He was pissed, too. I could feel it in the rigidity of his body pressed against my back, the way he was grabbing my hip so tightly it was going to leave a bruise. I'd never seen him this pissed and this drunk all at once before. One or the other, sure, but not in combination. 

"I swear I didn't know this was your house," I said, tempted to apologize but too stubborn to actually do it. He'd have to settle for an explanation. "I never would have come if I did. You know that." 

"Why wouldn't you?" His pulled me tighter against his chest, his other hand—the one not wrapped around my waist—swiping my hair away from the ear he was whispering in. That's how I knew he was a goner. He would never touch me like this if he wasn't piss-drunk. "You don't want to see me?" 

I didn't answer his question. It was a trap. If I said I did—and God, would it even be entirely a lie? —he'd be mad that I sought him out. If I said I didn't though, he'd think I was here for somebody else, especially after seeing me with Bryce. That never ended well. He didn't want me, but nothing got under his skin faster than the thought that someone else did. 

"I just didn't know," I said, stuttering on the last word. It was involuntary, the way he made my voice shake. And I couldn't even blame it on the cold. We were out here all alone and he was furious. I didn't know what to expect from him, and I felt like I was defusing a bomb with every word that came out of my mouth. 

"So that's the reason you thought you could dance with that fuckboy from Flint?" He snarled. "Because you didn't think I'd find out?" 

"Does it matter?" I asked, exasperated and still unable to think of a way to appease him. I could tell him that I didn't really want to dance with Bryce, that Bryce had made the decision for me. But would he even believe me? And would it matter either way? I was still at his party, in complete violation of our agreement from the beginning of the year. There wasn't anything I could say that would make him overlook that fact. "I'm going home now, just like wanted. You can forget I was even here." 

He laughed in my ear, dark and dangerous. It sounded like an omen. "You don't get to show up here, dance with someone else right in front of me, and then just run away," he snarled, his voice increasing in volume as he spoke. My ears were ringing but he wasn't done. "You're going to stay here, right where I can see you, or I'm going to go inside, find that little dance partner of yours, and break his jaw. Is that what you want? Because I promise you Rina, if you let someone else touch you like that, I'm going to break every bone in his body. I don't care who he is." 

I jerked against his grip. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I demanded. "Let go, Easton." I tried to pry his arm off my abdomen but he just gripped me tighter. 

"What's wrong with me?" He choked out a laugh. "You let a complete stranger feel you up in the middle of my house where everyone could see you. What the fuck is wrong with you?!" He was yelling now, his breath hot and furious against the side of my head. 

"Jesus, either lower your voice or back up! You're hurting my ears," I demanded, expecting him to ignore me. Instead, he spun me around and pressed my back up against one of the columns on the porch. Lowering his face so it was level with mine, he looked at me expectantly, eyes bloodshot and wider than saucers. His pupils were so dilated his blue irises looked black. "We were dancing, Easton. Because that's what people do at parties. You're acting psychotic." 

"Oh, that was dancing? He had his hands all over your ass, staring at you like he couldn't undress you fast enough," Easton spat, looking remarkably crazier now than he did drunk. I'd seen Easton act like a headcase plenty of times, but it was never like this. His face was so twisted and angry he barely looked human. "Is that what you want?" He growled, his hands coming down on my upper arms, fingers clenched and digging into my skin. "You want to be treated like a piece of meat?" 

"For God's sake, Easton, you're acting like there wasn't a dozen other people in the same room doing the exact same thing! It's not like I asked him to grab my ass like that. It just happened." 

"Just happened?" He snarled. "Bullshit. You knew exactly what you were—" 

"You're drunk, Easton," I interrupted, taking a good look at his dilated pupils again. "Probably high, too. You won't even remember this in the morning so stop embarrassing yourself and go inside. I was just leaving anyways." 

"I thought you were here for me, Rina," he blurted out, like he hadn't even heard me. He gripped me tighter though, like he was anticipating me trying to leave. "I saw you walk in and I thought you came to see me. But you barely even fucking looked at me!" He roared, pounding the side of one fist into the marble column above my head. "You'd never dance with me, but you did with him. You don't even fucking know him!" He was yelling again, his voice echoing in the empty yard. 

"You never asked me to dance," I countered. 

"We both know what the answer would have been if I had," he snarled. "You won't even spare me a second glance unless I force you." 

"Yeah, and who's choice was that? You told me to stay away from you in August. You don't get to act indignant when I follow the rules you set up." 

"That was August, Rina! Things have changed since then." 

"Yeah, maybe for tonight. But only because you're incoherent. Tomorrow, when you sober up, you'll be back to jumping down my throat every time I breathe in the wrong direction," I snarled. "You don't want to dance with me, Easton. You just don't want me talking to anyone else, lest I let your little secret slip." 

"You have no idea what I want," he bit back, ripping a hand through his dark curls. I noticed he squared his shoulders, though. At least in that way, he was predictable. He always stiffened when I brought that up, like he'd conveniently forgotten what exactly it was that made me his enemy number one. Like I'd been the one holding it over his head this entire time. 

"You're right, I don't. So why don't you tell me, Easton? You don't want me at your house, but you're not letting me leave, so what exactly do you want from me?" 

"Right now?" He countered, his eyes brightening, like I'd just made a move in a game I didn't realize we were playing. 

"You shouldn't need further clarification. It was a simple question." 

"Yeah, with a complex answer." 

"Complex? I could ask the average four-year-old the same question and they would have an immediate response." 

"The things I want from you aren't something the average four-year-old would understand," he said, suddenly looking remarkably less angry. It was like I'd flipped a switch and turned him from drunk and angry to just…drunk. 

"How about you stop being cryptic so that I understand?" 

"You should already understand," he murmured, his words starting to slur now that he was no longer yelling. "I told you I thought you were here for me because I wanted you to be here for me, Rina. That much should be obvious." 

"Because you're drunk," I countered. "And it isn't me that you want here. You want a warm body and I just so happen to be the one currently in front of you." 

"I specifically sought you out, did I not?" 

"Because you were pissed. And now that you've calmed down, I'm still just a warm body." 

"You know that's not true," he snapped, his dark eyebrows pinching together. 

"I don't know that. I have no idea what you actually want. You said so yourself." 

"You want me to just say it?" 

I rolled my eyes, exasperated. We were both far too stubborn on a good day, but with him drunk and me pissed, we were like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing against one another. "Yes! Do you think I'm out here freezing my ass off just to play charades? Just spit it out, Easton." 

"I'd rather you just…" he trailed off, his eyes glassy and slitted. He was looking at me softly now, like I was no longer the bane of his existence. Like he actually wanted me around. Which was how I knew he was a goner. He was so drunk that he'd started to view me as a human being. 

It might have been touching if I wasn't impatient and shivering. "For the love of God, Easton, just say it so I can go home. I don't have a coat." 

He was staring at me intently, like he was choosing his words carefully, but his gaze was so intense that I couldn't meet it. One loose curl was hanging across his forehead and I reached to swipe it behind his ear before I could stop myself. I did it without thinking, an involuntary response to how self-conscious the way he was looking at me made me feel. When I touched him, he sucked in a breath, like I'd just stepped over a line he'd been waiting for me to cross. He swallowed hard, pursing his lips. "I want you to make it up to me." He said it so low I could barely hear him over the hum of the rain and the boom of the bass. 

"Make what up to you?" 

"What happened tonight," he said slowly, like he was struggling to get the words out. "You being with him. Make it up to me." 

"How do you expect me to do that, Easton? Do you want me to turn back time and tell him to leave me alone? We were just dancing. It's not like I came here for him." 

"No, but you didn't come here for me either. That's the problem. You saw me here when you walked in, Rina, and you still danced with him like that. You knew I was watching and you did it anyways. I want you to make that up to me." 

"Why does me dancing with someone mean I owe you a favor?" 

"Because you did it just to fuck with my head!" 

"I didn't do anything to you," I argued, exasperated. 

"Prove it. You just wanted to dance, right? So dance with me like you were dancing with him. Make it up to me, Rina." 

"There's no music out here." 

"That's not the point. I want you to let me touch you the same way you let him." 

"So, you don't actually want to dance with me. You want a warm body, just like I said," I snapped. "You've wasted all this time just to prove me right." 

"Not just any warm body," he argued. "I want you, Rina. Stop playing games with me and just let me have you!" 

"I'm not playing a game. You just admitted that you see me as an object." 

"Yeah, just like your little dance partner. You were fine with him treating you like that so why is it such a problem when I do it?" He snarled, grabbing me by the hip bone and yanking me forward until we were inches apart. I could feel his breath on my cheek and I could smell what he'd been drinking. Fireball. And a lot of it. "All I said is that I want you, Rina. Why the fuck is that so bad?" 

"Because you don't even mean it!" I shouted. "Look, none of this even matters. I'm going home, just like you wanted. You can forget I was even here. You're probably too drunk to remember anyways." 

"I don't want you to go home!" He was yelling again, his face only inches from mine. 

"I don't care what you want, Easton. Coming to this party was a mistake, and believe me, it won't happen again. Is that good enough, or do you want me to just stay locked up in my house every weekend, too?" 

"No, it's not good enough!" He grabbed the sides of my head with both hands, staring at me wide-eyed, looking like he'd finally lost his mind. "I just want you to choose me, Rina. Pick me over him. That's all." 

"I didn't choose him. For the last time, we were just dancing, Easton. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?" 

"Because he wanted more than just a dance," he snarled, tightening his grip on my head. 

"So what if he did? Are other people not allowed to find me attractive?" 

"They can find you attractive all they want. I just don't want them acting on it," Easton said, his voice a low growl. He was glaring at me again, his gaze so heavy and intense it was hypnotizing. He brushed one thumb across my open mouth, and I sucked in a breath. "Would you have given him what he wanted if he asked?" He continued, his voice low and rough, his jaw clenched. "If he wanted to go upstairs, would you have gone with him?" 

"No!" I snapped, flabbergasted. The second the word was out of my mouth, his shoulders drooped, like all the tension had melted out of his body. He didn't say anything in return. He just looked at me expectantly, like he'd asked a question that he wanted a prompt answer to. "Please just let me go, Easton." 

"I don't want to. I want you to come upstairs with me," He murmured, his eyes slitted again, his voice husky. For a second it seemed like he was about to tip over, he was so far gone. 

"To do what?" I prodded. "You're so drunk that you can barely stand up." 

"You know what," he said, his words slurring together. "I told you I want you. So fucking badly. It's all I think about." 

"No, you don't, Easton. You're just drunk." 

"That's not true." 

"I can smell how drunk you are, Easton. Yes, it is." 

"I didn't mean to drink this much. But it was the only way I could stop myself from doing what I really wanted to do." 

"Yeah, and what was that?" 

"Beat the shit out of every guy who looked at you," he snarled. "I told you I didn't want you here if you weren't here for me. That's why." 

"Why does it matter if they did? You think I'm going to tell a stranger your dirty little secret?" 

"Christ, Rina, no, that's not why I'm upset. You're so unbelievably stupid sometimes, you know that?" 

"It's not stupid! That's why you hate me so much, is it not? It's March, Easton. If I was going to tell someone about what I saw, I would have done it by now. So you can stop acting like my prison guard, alright? Just leave me alone. You promised you would." 

"I don't want to leave you alone," he slurred. "I told you what I want. Stop fucking with my head and just give it to me." 

"Give you what, Easton? I have no idea what the hell you're even talking about." 

"You. Your mouth. Your body. Your virginity. It's supposed to be mine so just fucking let me have you!" 

"You're disgusting," I seethed. "What is wrong with—" 

"You are what's wrong with me," he interrupted, slapping a hand over my mouth. "You have driven me crazy for months and you know exactly what you're doing. You wouldn't be here if you didn't. Wearing that tight little dress, walking around my house like a goddamn vixen, and still not giving me the time of day! You made every guy in that room salivate over you, knowing how much I hate seeing you with somebody else," he was screaming again, barely coherent. "You danced with him, a total stranger, while I was standing a few feet away. I know you saw me. You looked right at me and you still did it. You're making me lose my mind and I am done playing this game with you." He moved the hand covering my mouth to grip the back of my neck and before I could even process what he'd said, his mouth collided against mine. Just like the last time, it made me feel like my feet were nailed to the floor. But it was rougher and angrier than it'd been before. I could feel how furious he was in the rigidity of his body, how hard he was gripping the back of my neck. 

He didn't wait for me to kiss him back before his tongue darted into my open mouth. It tasted like whiskey. It might as well have been for how much it made my head swim. It felt like molten lava was rushing to my core. It'd never happened before, this gushing feeling in my stomach. I wanted to hate it, because I knew who was causing it, but I just leaned into the kiss like somebody else had control over my body. 

I knew he could feel it when my resolve cracked because the tight, angry grip he had on the back of my neck got lighter. He leaned into my body, his hard chest pressing me up against the wall. When my hands twisted hesitantly into his hair, he moaned into my mouth. It was like I was in a trance, my mind a black hole and my body functioning on autopilot. 

He pulled back, his hands gripping either side of my head. I realized for the first time that I'd be lying to myself when I said I didn't want him. Kissing him like this should make me feel disgusted, but instead it just made me feel feral. I should've hated it, but the heat in my core and my inability to think made it hard to hate anything. 

"Say yes, Rina," he whispered, his voice husky, like he'd just woken up. It felt like I was waking up too, my lips parted and my breaths coming out in gasps. I blinked at him, feeling lighter than air, like I was awake but not fully present. I couldn't respond right away. I didn't know what to say, and my mouth felt permanently agape, like I was still frozen in time. 

His drunken breath hitting my cheek is what did me in. Like coming out of a trance, I remembered that he'd hardly even looked at me the past three months. This—whatever just happened between us—only happened because he was completely wasted. I couldn't say yes to anything—and especially not going to his bedroom—because if this went any further, I was going to get hurt.

Everything he'd just said to me was the alcohol talking. And I'd be an idiot if I took any of it to heart. 

I pushed at his chest gently, turning my head away from him because I was so nervous that I couldn't even look at him. I heard him suck in a breath, though and it sounded haggard.

"You aren't even going to answer me?" He growled, his voice low and rough. I finally looked at him, and he looked angry enough to break something.

"What do you want me to say, Easton? You aren't even going to remember this conversation in the morning, so what's the point?"

Things were silent for a moment, save for the noise of the party. The silence between us felt heavy like an anchor. I braced myself for the worst, but I still wasn't prepared for what he said next.

"Maybe you're right. There is no point. And I really hope I don't remember you in the morning," he snarled, his hands balling into fists. "I can go into my house right now and hook up with any girl I wanted. Why the fuck am I wasting my time out here with you?" He looked at me—really looked at me, like he was studying me—and then he laughed, his eyes darkening. "You aren't even that hot anyways. I don't know why I bothered."

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and stormed back into the party, leaving me alone. Before I knew what I was doing, I was running down the stairs into the pouring rain, no longer caring if I got wet. At least in the rain, nobody could see that I was crying.