Blue Dream (20 page)

Thank Yous

Crazy Lady- I know what you're wondering. Just call and ask.

Her Hubs- While I know you will never indeed read these, I know Crazy Lady will indeed read them to you. So it works for me.

The Law Student- When you're finally reading this you will be stretched out on the beach and hopefully I'll be relaxing beside you.

The Lumberjack- Well...you know this story better than almost anyone else and love me anyway. Most of the time, lmao

Sissy B- Thank you for just being you.

Katniss- We can gossip about this post reading, lol

Throwback- For all you do. Big and Small. Text and in person, thank you.

The Real Life Erin- Keep on keepin on my love.

The PAs- Thank you for keeping me on the straight and narrow when I wanna Netflix binge...it's gonna get worse, lmao.

Boss Lady- For giving me the courage to go through with this when I thought I'd fail, thank you. Times a million.

Genie- Thanks for the magic you sprinkle on all of my work, in my heart, and in my soul. Keep up the glitter woman!

Marketing Guru- Advice always appreciated and bowed down for, lol. Even bigger things are coming your way. You'll see...

The Editor- This was a nerve racking thing for me. Thank you for your patience.

The Writers Who Inspire Me- Keep writing please. The world needs more of you!

Dream Team- You are some beautiful and wonderful ladies. Thank you for the endless support.

Angie- My Dallas love. Yes you. You are an inspiration to all, this girl included. If I am half as awesome as you and a third as successful doing what I love, I'll consider myself hugely blessed even more than I already do.

Bloggers- Thank you for never turning me down.

Readers- Thank you for always having my back. Leaving reviews and really helping my name grow.

Lastly, to
he
who I know will most likely never stumble across this. I know I should hate you. I know I should regret the things that happened, but I don't. I'm thankful for all of them. The good, the bad, the sexy, and the ugly. You taught me so much about love and myself. You were a necessity once in my life. It took decades to see why. So, thank you.

Other books by Xavier Neal

Senses Series:

Vital (Prequel) Found in Interwoven

Blind (Book 1)

Deaf (Book 2

Numb (Book 3)

Hush (Book 4)

Savor (Book 5)

Callous (Book 6)

Agonize (Book 7)

Suffocate (Book 8)

Mollify (Book 9)

Senses Series Box Set (Books 1-5)

Havoc Series

Havoc (Book 1)

Chaos (Book 2)

Insantity (Book 3)

Collapse (Book 4)

Devastate (Book 5)

Havoc Series Box Set (Books 1-3)

Never Say Neverland

Get Lost

Lost in Lies

Lies Mistrust and Fairy Dust

Adrenaline Series

Classic

Vintage

Masterpiece

Unmask

Error

Connect with Xavier Neal

Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/Xavier-Neal/e/B00IY1FR1Y

Links:
www.xavierneal.com

Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/XavierNealAuthorPage

Twitter: @XavierNeal87

Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4990135.Xavier_Neal

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Read ahead for an excerpt of Vodka Dreams by Angie Merriam.

Vodka Dreams

Chapter One

I'm not sure where I am. The room is pitch black but warm. I've discovered that my hands and feet are bound to what must be a four poster bed. Not my bed. My own bed is the front seat of my car or a stranger’s couch, not a piece of shit like the one I'm laying on. My brain filters through my memories, trying to recapture the one before I woke up bound to a strange bed in a dark room. I can't see an inch in front of my face, not even outlines of furniture but I can smell, hear and feel.

I feel sticky, sweaty. I'm wearing a thin nightgown and no bra or panties. My exposed skin is wet with sweat, and I can smell myself, telling me I've been there longer than a day or two. I also smell the faint scent of wood and musk. Must be in an older home, I decided. I listen and hear my own breathing, labored but not distressed. I hear footsteps outside of the room like a distant thumping in my head. The sheets I'm laying on are made of silk and smooth my warm skin.

Again, my mind reels. I think about screaming but decide against it. I'm not sure I'm ready to meet my captor yet. A few times the thumping sound of footsteps beats louder in my ear and I tense, prepared to meet my captor, but the door has yet to open. Suddenly, I see myself sitting in a bar. It's a dingy bar. Those are the kind I like. Dirty. Scummy. It makes me feel a little better about myself and the things I do if I surround myself with trash. It's a problem I'd developed lately and wasn't sure how to fix it.

I was waiting to meet a man, while shooting vodka and sipping whiskey and Diet Coke. I'd met this one on Facebook. Probably not one of my smartest moves. I was sure the man in the profile photo was not the man I was meeting, yet I agreed to meet him anyway. It seemed exciting, and I was quite the thrill seeker these days. I probably should be dead. I'm not really surprised to find myself in my current situation. I'd been tempting fate frequently. I don't remember meeting the man though. Last thing I remember was growing angry with the bartender. My drink was empty and he'd disappeared. I felt a hand on my back then my memory fades.

I'd been shaking Satan’s hand a lot lately. Was this him welcoming me to Hell or was this God's punishment for my sins? Did I care either way? Probably not. I wondered if anyone was looking for me? Missing me? Again, probably not. It was my own doing though. I’d taken to disappearing a lot the last year. It started with just a night or two. I had to get away from him. My husband. The biggest fucking asshole I ever had the displeasure of knowing yet I couldn’t bring myself to leave him. The thought was terrifying. Being alone never appealed to me.

My drinking began long before anyone caught on to what I was doing. I am the great pretender. I can handle my shit and pull off “sober” at a moment’s notice, at least I thought I could. But the alcohol consumption increased more and more until I, myself, couldn’t decipher if I was drunk or sober so there was no acting. I was in a constant state of inebriation. Shit went downhill from there.

My husband grew meaner, more violent, and I drank more, all the while our son got a front row seat to our dark dysfunction. He’d threatened to kill me, and I believed him, so I started not coming home. One day, after I’d been gone for two days, I came home to an empty house. I knew the day was coming but the paralyzing fear I had about being alone was almost more than I could take. I drank to numb the nerves. As time went on I saw my husband here and there when he’d have a fight with his girlfriend of the week, but he refused to let me see our son. I know in the back of my mind, somewhere floating in the vodka haze that I needed to be with him, to get him, but I was drowning. The longer I stayed away from him the more I tried to disappear from everything. Even the bitch outs from my sister had ceased in the last few months. So no, no one would be looking for me.

I pushed thoughts away of my life, my son, and my family. I was sober, which allowed my mind to think and my heart to hurt. I didn’t like it. I needed a drink. I was shaking and wasn’t sure if it was from fear or withdrawals. Probably both. I closed my eyes and tried to push any thoughts out of my brain. Tried to force sleep. It wasn’t working. Guess it was time to meet my captor. “Heeeyyyy!! Let me the fuck out of here!” I screamed over and over until my throat was dry and I couldn’t scream any more. Finally, I heard the footsteps right outside my door just before I heard the jingling of keys and the doorknob. My captor slowly pushed the door open and I heard him step inside.

I determined the floor was wooden by the creaking I heard when he stepped inside. A small amount of light penetrated the dark but not enough for me to see anything more than shapes. He entered the room then turned to close the door before hitting a light switch that turned on a dim light that assaulted my eyes. My captor didn’t come to me though. He stood just out of my sight, silently.

“Where am I?” I asked quietly, my throat sore from screaming and lack of water.

“My house,” he replied firmly. His voice was deep and slightly gravelly but soothing for some reason.

“Who are you?” I tried.

“I’m your savior,” he replied quietly.

“My savior?” I laughed a little. “What makes you think I need a savior?”

“Trust me, you need one and I am the man to save you.”

“Why?”

“Because you are a mess. You’re broken. I think I can help you.”

“What could you possibly do to help me and why would you want to?”

“That’s enough questions for now.”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

“No, not in the ways that you’re thinking.” His response stunned me a little, and I didn’t know what to say so I said nothing.

“You’ve been here a few days and I’m sure you’d like a bath. Would you like a bath, Lucy?” I did want a bath, badly. I wanted to stand up. To feel my legs beneath me. I wanted to see his face. I should have been afraid but I wasn’t. His voice was too soothing to be afraid.

“Yes, please,” I responded shyly.

“Okay, but there are some rules?”

“Okay.”

“You can’t scream or try to escape. I will stay in the bathroom with you the entire time. Do not scream or try to run, I am bigger and faster than you and we’re in the middle of nowhere so screaming will only irritate me and hurt your voice. Clear?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Very good then,” he said and walked toward me, coming into view, taking my breath away. He was fucking beautiful. He’d always been beautiful to me. “Dallas?”

“Hi, Lucy. Come on, let’s get your hands untied, shall we?” He leaned over me and started to loosen the ropes. My mind was reeling. Why the hell was Dallas Foster holding me hostage?

I first met Dallas a few years ago, at work, just before my life spiraled out of control. He was a customer in the restaurant I waited tables at. For almost six months, five days a week, he came in every day that I worked and sat in my station, ordering the same thing. After the six months were up, he came in less frequently until I didn’t see him at all. I was fired for being drunk on the job a year ago, so I don’t know if he’d been back in but I hadn’t seen him in over a year.

All the girls were envious that he always requested me as his waitress. I was married at the time, so I kept my flirting to a minimum, but he was attractive and always made my heart flutter and my panties melt. I knew he was in sales but didn’t know exactly what that meant and didn’t ask. He wasn’t married and didn’t have kids. He traveled a lot and was in town on business, at least that’s what he told me. When he started coming in less than not at all, I assumed he had moved on for business. Why the hell was I tied up in his house?

“There. Better?” He asked as my hands fell from the bedpost and my ankles were set free. “Yes, thank you,” I replied trying to sit up but my head protested. I was dizzy and nauseous.

“Whoa, slow down, Lucy. Let me help you,” he insisted and had me in his arms before I could protest, carrying me out of my prison. He led me down a dark hallway and into a bathroom. He used his elbow to flip the light switch which turned on a plethora of bright white lights nearly blinding me. I closed my eyes and held them tightly shut, burying my head in his chest.

“Sorry about the lights but you’ll adjust. I’m going to set you down while I run your bath okay?

“Okay.” He set me gently on a bench near the tub. I tried to adjust my eyes to the blinding light and looked around the enormous room. His bathroom was bigger than any bedroom I’d ever slept in. The tub sat in the center of the room near the floor to ceiling window that overlooked a city in the distance that I assumed was Portland. I saw a wardrobe on the far side of the room and his and her sinks lined one of the walls.

“Wow, this is quite a bathroom, Dallas.” I felt strange inside. I reminded myself that I was being held against my will and any normal woman would be frightened, should be frightened. I felt oddly comfortable with Dallas. Just another confirmation that my brain didn’t work like others. Another confirmation that I wasn’t cut out to be a wife and mother. I wanted it. I really did, but it wasn’t me. It didn’t matter how hard I tried it wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t good enough.

“Hey, where did you go?” Dallas’ gentle voice pulls me from my thoughts. Why was I even thinking about my failed marriage and failed stint at motherhood? I’d moved on. Moved passed it. When I missed my son a little too much I just threw some vodka down my throat and fell into my “Vodka Dreams.” That was the problem. I was dry. No liquor in God knows how long. I became aware of the trembling again and my stomach lurched, craving the clear fluid that had become my best friend.

“Lucy, come back to me. Come on, Lucy. Let’s get you in the bathtub.” I heard his voice but couldn’t answer. I was stuck inside my thoughts. Manic, that’s the only way to describe me. Manic, without my clear medication. I felt his hands on me, gently lifting the nightgown I was wearing over my head. I felt a rush of cool air once the gown was off. I knew I wasn’t wearing a bra or panties and that I should feel embarrassed, modest, but again I didn’t. I was beginning to think that I was incapable of feeling. His arms encompassed me then lifted me off of the floor before setting me carefully into the enormous bathtub.

The warm water enveloped me. I slid my body further into the tub and sucked in a mouthful of air and slid more until I was completely under water. I closed my eyes and held my breath reveling in the warmth surrounding me. Enjoying the feeling of weightlessness the water allowed me. Again, my thoughts turned to my son, my handsome little boy who did nothing more than be born to two selfish human beings. I was watching his face, smiling, giggling and enjoying this private moment with him. It had been so long that he occupied my entire thoughts. So long since I pictured his smiling face.

I felt hands wrap around my arms and jerk me out of the water. I gasped for air and sputtered, irritated for the interruption and for the water that made it up my nose thanks to his pulling me up.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I yelled. He came to stand in front of me, his normal inviting and warm face was hard, angry.

“I warned you, Lucy, nothing crazy. What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck are you doing? You just checked out.”

“Why didn’t you let me check out? I was happy for a minute and you ruined it. What am I doing here with you anyway? What the hell is going on? Why do you give a shit if I check out or not?” I was yelling at him. I needed a drink to even my emotions out.

“I need a drink, Dallas.” He didn’t respond but walked away toward the sink, turned the handle and filled a cup. He came back, offering me the cup of water.

“No, I need something stronger than water. I need alcohol, Dallas.” I held out my trembling hand to show him that I physically needed it.

“No,” he said then grabbed a bottle of shampoo, squirting the creamy soap into his hands. He began washing my hair.

“What do you mean no? I’m sick, I need it. I won’t stop shaking. Just one shot, please.” I was begging, shamelessly. Who did he think he was anyway, telling me no?

“Lay back,” he ordered pushing my head into the water, but not completely submerging my face. I watched him, confused still. He pulled me back up and massaged conditioner through my hair before rinsing and beginning the cleansing of my body.

“I know you think you need it, Lucy, but I won’t let you have any. I don’t keep liquor in the house anyway but if I did I wouldn’t share it with you.” He poured water on my body, rinsing off the soap that smelled like vanilla. “Come on, it’s time to get out.” I stood and stepped into the towel he was holding. He continued his care of me, drying me off from my hair to my toes.

“I don’t understand why I’m here. Please tell me why I’m here,” I tried again. He sucked in a deep breath of air and met my eyes. His bright jade eyes were framed by heavy black lashes and pierced into me.

“All of your questions will be answered but not tonight. You have a long road ahead of you. There will be plenty of time for questions. I will tell you this though, I have great plans for you but you have to be sober. As long as you’re with me, which is going to be for a long time, you will be sober. If you ask for alcohol again you will be punished. I’m going easy on you tonight because I know your physical limits, but next time I won’t be easy. Clear?”

“What the hell does that mean, punish me?”

“Come, it’s time to go back to your room.” He led me back to my room, not another word was spoken. I was even more confused but still not afraid. I was a little excited by him. I felt a foreign feeling in my lower belly, one that disappeared many years ago.