Forever & More: The Friend Zone series (3 page)

Why didn’t he answer the phone? Who was it? Was it another girl?

I hate how my mind immediately assumes the worst of every situation. The fact that I even doubt Skye makes me sick to my stomach. I prop my head against the door and close my eyes. As the wind tosses my hair into my face, I think about how nice it would be if all my problems and insecurities would fly out the window and ride off on the wind so I could be happy again. I would give anything to be able to genuinely smile, to not feel like the weight of the world is sitting on my chest, to be free of all these insecurities and fears.

“Hey, you all right?” Sara’s question has me opening my eyes. My eyes reach hers and I realize she is speaking to me, I nod quickly. Skye reaches for my hand and I allow it without flinching this time. A small sigh of relief leaves his lips.

The cemetery where Tom’s buried is outside of town in a small church graveyard where his father was laid to rest. It’s a forty-five minute drive from my apartment and we’re almost halfway through our journey. As the fields pass by, I think about what it would be like to just lose myself in the tall grass and woods. How liberated I would feel if I were to just wander around with nothing to do, no one to suffocate me, no nightmares taunting me. The idea is so tempting that I almost tell Harley to pull over and let me out, but I know that with Sara and Skye around, that would never happen.

I continue to read the rest of our journey home. As my eyes soak up the words of desperation, lust, and pleasured pain on the screen, I exchange myself with the images I’ve conjured of Amelia, the girl in the book. I picture myself tied to the bed; I can almost feel Chase running his fingers down my sides, asking me if I want to come, if I deserve to come. I exchange Chase with Skye and almost self-combust.

“Tell me you need me, Amelia. Tell me you’re not able to control yourself so you’re handing that control to me. Release all of your emotions and thoughts to me, my sweet. Let me do that for you. All I need you to do is agree to let me take care of you.”
Chase’s words hit home; that’s what I need. I need Skye to take away my turmoil and help me free my mind. I just need to figure out how to get him to do that.

The familiar sight of my ancient apartment building comes into sight. Harley pulls into a parking spot. The moment the Jeep is in park, I jump out. Leaving Skye to help Harley with Sara, I head into the building, race up the three flights of stairs to my apartment, and let myself in. Once inside, I slide out of my flip-flops and head for my bedroom.

I fall face first into my teal and chocolate comforter and take in a deep breath, inhaling the comforting mixture of fabric softener and a hint of Skye. I hear the front door open and muffled voices. Everyone is quiet for a moment, but then the soft padding of someone walking in my direction echoes down the hall. The door creaks, but I keep my face buried in the blankets.

I know he’s standing there watching me, wondering what’s going on in my head. Knowing Skye, he’s desperate to wrap me up in his arms and protect me from all my self-deprecating thoughts, fight off all my insecurities, and shower me with love.
If it were up to him, my life would be nothing but marshmallow clouds, fields of cotton candy, and everyone would piss rainbows.
I chuckle at the unexpected thought.

“Something you'd like to share?” he asks.

I instantly stifle my laugh and roll over to face him. His eyes widen and his lips part. When his tongue peeks out and runs along his bottom lip, my body starts to tingle. His facial expression reminds me of the Big Bad Wolf, staring at Little Red Riding Hood with the intent of eating her up.

Images of our time together in my hospital room, when he put my needs before his, flash through my mind like an old-time movie reel. His head between my thighs, smoldering eyes locked on mine, face glistening from my lust. I squeeze my thighs together, desperate to find some sort of friction. I may have shut down emotionally the past few months, but the need to feel Skye buried deep inside of me is always there.

He must see it written all over my face and in my body language because he pushes off the doorframe. Before he can take another step toward me, Harley belts down the hallway, “Pizza cool with y’all? Brady called. Everyone is meeting up at BAR around six.” Skye freezes. His eyes dart from me back to the door.

I sit up on the bed and start to stand. As soon as my feet hit the floor, nausea assaults me. My knees buckle, and before I can catch myself, I’m on all fours on the floor.

My body starts seizing from the dry heaves that are attacking me. Two large arms wrap around me and a second later, I’m cradled like a child and being hauled toward the master bath. The moment my face is above the toilet, my stomach rejects the toast and coffee I had for breakfast this morning.

The pain in my abdomen is excruciating. Sweat beads up all over my body; chills break out over my skin. Callused fingers rake through my hair, in a soothing motion, gathering my long locks in a makeshift ponytail.

“All better now?” His chest vibrates from his words.

“Yeah, I’m good.” The instant the words leave my mouth, another bout of nausea has me calling out to the porcelain god.

My body is removed from Skye’s warmth and settled onto the cold, unforgiving tile. The sound of running water resounds throughout the tiny space, causing my bladder to feel full. I tense when a cold cloth settles on the back of my neck.

“All done?” he asks. His voice is low but still causes me to tense in pain as a headache starts to settle in at the back of my skull.

“I think so,” I whisper. No sooner do I reply, I’m being lifted once again. I close my eyes and revel in the solid warmth of Skye’s embrace. My body spins and in one quick maneuver, we are both lying in the bed, my back to his front. One of his arms rests under my head while his other hand trails gradually up my side, stopping at the back of my neck.

His skillful fingers work their magic in all the right spots, relieving the tension and chasing away the migraine that’s starting to set in. I moan in appreciation. I get lost in the circling motions, hypnotized by his fingers. My eyelids begin to feel leaded and as each second passes, I’m closer to unconsciousness.

Suddenly, there’s a bright flash of light and Tom’s smiling face appears in my mind’s eye. My body descends into a free fall. All the air is sucked from my lungs and my eyes start to sting from the hundreds of tiny pinpricks stabbing me behind my lids.

My body jolts up into a seated position as precious oxygen expels from my lungs at an alarming rate. Through my watery eyes, I see a blurred version of Skye crouched in front of me, one hand on his nose, the other on my legs.

“Baby, what is it?” he asks. I can hardly hear his words; I’m so focused on the blood seeping between his fingers. The bedroom door bursts open. I wish I could turn my head to see who’s come in here, but I can’t drag my eyes away from the crimson red covering his sun-kissed fingers.

I continue to gasp for air, filling and expelling it from my lungs as quickly as possible. My body tingles and my mind remains numb. I watch a single drop of blood hang on to Skye’s pinky and I can’t help but to compare myself to that tiny drop. Clinging desperately to him with everything I have, scared to let go, fearfully waiting for the moment when I’m snatched from his grasp and pulled into the unknown to be swallowed up.

“What the fuck happened?” I hear Sara’s voice ring out. The room remains quiet for a moment before Skye answers her.

When Skye climbs off the bed, I watch the tiny drop release itself from his finger and fall onto the bed. I remain stuck, mesmerized by the tiny drop that lands on the comforter.

“Chloe? Chloe?” My body starts trembling. The bed shifts; warm hands are placed on my cheeks and my chin is raised. I can see her in front of me, but it’s like I’m looking through someone else’s eyes. When look at her, I don’t see my friend. In front of me sits someone that’s trying to invade my protective bubble. Someone who’s trying to pull me from my comfort zone.

Tears run down my cheeks at a faster rate. My breathing becomes strenuous and more rapid with every passing second. The tingling morphs to tiny needles pressing against my chilled skin and the room starts spinning. I can hear Sara and Harley’s voice, but I can’t make out what they are saying. What the fuck is wrong with me? Wheezing noises are now accompanying each rushed breath, my lungs feel like rubber.

“Call 9-1-1!” I hear Sara’s panic laced voice.

“Chloe, you have to calm down. Baby, breathe. Take a deep breath. Can you hear me?” I don’t see him, but I can feel his strong hands on me. “Get her a cold rag, she’s having a panic attack!”

My chest hurts and I try in earnest to control the uncontrollable. I command my tears to stop coming, I beg my lungs to stop working so hard, but it’s no use. Once again, my body is left paralyzed while my emotions and mind are fully functional and running rampant, leaving me panic-stricken.

Am I that weak of a person that I can’t even control my own body? It’s like someone or something has possessed me and I am floating above them, watching all the emotional havoc, powerless to stop the damage they’re causing to my psyche and heart.

A thousand tiny, white specks float in my blurred vision, dancing around me without a care in the word. I wish I were one of those specks. I sit stunned and watch as they grow larger and darker until they’re soot black and clouding my entire vision.

“I don’t know what happened. I was massaging her neck, her body jerked, and then she sat up so fast she clipped my nose with her head. I don’t think she even felt it. I’m worried about her, she slipping further and further away from us.” Skye’s gentle voice wakes me. I realize they’re talking about me, so I lay still and try to keep my breathing even so they’ll think I’m still asleep.

My head rises and falls with each breath Skye takes. His heartbeat thuds in my ear, strong and steady. The steady drumming of the organ I love most sends a relaxing sensation throughout my body.

“We need to do something. I hate seeing her like this!” Sara’s voice cracks, I have to fight the compulsion to comfort her, to let her know I’m okay. Or at least, that I will be; I just need time to process everything that’s happened. I need to find a way to crawl out of my head.

“Maybe we need to get her out of the apartment for a bit. We have to be at BAR in an hour or so. Sara, why don’t you and Chloe get dolled up and let loose tonight.” Skye’s body goes rigid at Harley’s suggestion, but he remains silent.

“That might help,” she states skeptically, then adds, “I guess it’s worth a shot.”

It irks me that neither of them feels the need to ask my approval. I’m just about to open my eyes and tell them just that when Skye speaks.

“I’m worried it’s only going to get worse. Detective Sanders keeps calling, wanting to speak to Chloe about attending the trial and possibly going up on the stand. I keep putting it off as much as possible, but with it coming up, it’s inevitable.”

Why didn’t he tell me the detective has been trying to get in touch with me? I make a mental note to contact him later myself. I’m ready to get this shit behind me so I can try to move on with my life.

Skye must realize I’m awake because he calls out to me. “Chloe?” Everyone remains quiet. I don’t want them to know that I have been listening to their conversation so I stretch and growl, a horrible attempt to seem like I’ve been asleep the whole time.

When I open my eyes, they immediately land on Skye’s. I will never get tired of losing myself in them. There is always so much love lighting them up, making them seem almost translucent. I don’t know if it’s a love for life in general, or if that love is directed at me. I’m selfishly hoping for the latter, even if I’m trying to push it away. Someone tickles the bottom of my foot and I jolt up on the bed, pulling my feet under me.

Sara smiles deviously from the foot of the bed, Harley positioned behind her. “Do not touch my feet!” I scold her, which causes her to laugh harder. I fucking hate it when people touch my feet, I’d rather be hit in the face with a bat.

“Get over it, big foot. What do you say to a night of primping and partying?” She smiles at me. I notice the guys have a wary look on their faces, like they're scared I may have another meltdown. I mull over her question, and after a moment or two, I decide I need this. I need a night of drinks, dancing, and laughing.

I would be lying to myself if I said that going back to BAR doesn’t scare me to some degree, though. This will be the first time since the attack that I have stepped foot in there.