The house seemed almost dead. No ticking clocks, no hum of a fish tank. I wasn’t even sure if they had fish, but an occupied house makes some kind of noise, even in the middle of the night.
Madman barked, and I took a step towards the kitchen, but I stopped when I heard a crackle under my shoe. Taking a closer look, my eyes having adjusted to the dark, I noticed broken glass or…maybe it was pottery, on the floor. I surveyed the area and took in more disarray that I hadn’t noticed when I’d entered.
Chairs were overturned, a lamp was broken, and couch cushions lay about the living room. Even the framed pictures of Jared on the wall by the stairs were shattered and hanging by a corner.
Jared?! My heart pounded in my ears. What had happened here?
Madman continued to bark, more persistently this time. I ran down the hall and into the kitchen. The dog sat looking out of the open backdoor, whining and wagging his tail.
As I looked through the door, I could see Jared sitting on the top step leading down to the backyard. I let out a breath.
His back was to me, and he was drenched. Water poured down his bare back, and the hair on his head stuck to his scalp.
“Jared?” I called out, stepping up to the doorframe.
He turned his head enough to see me out of the corner of his eye, which was almost completely covered by his soaked hair. Without acknowledging me otherwise, he turned back around and lifted a liquor bottle to his lips.
Jack Daniels. Straight.
My first thought was to leave. He was safe. The dog was safe. Whatever he was doing wasn’t my business.
But my feet wouldn’t move. The house had been vandalized, and Jared was drinking alone.
“Jared?” I stepped outside, thankful for the covering over the backdoor as well. “The dog was barking outside. I rang the doorbell. Didn’t you hear it?” I guess I felt a need to explain my presence in his house.
When he didn’t answer, I walked down the stairs to face him. Rain cascaded down my face, drenching my hair and clothes. My muscles tensed with the urgency to get back inside, but, for some reason, I stayed put.
Jared’s head was level, but his eyes were downcast. His arms rested on his knees, and the half-empty bottle was secured in his left hand where he swung it back and forth between his fingers.
“Jared? Would you answer me?” I yelled. “The house is trashed.”
None of my business. Just leave.
Jared licked his lips, and the raindrops on his face looked like tears. I watched him as he raised his eyes lazily and blinked away the water.
“The dog ran away,” he mumbled, matter-of-factly. His voice was calm.
Stunned by such a cryptic reply, I almost laughed. “So you threw a temper tantrum? Does your mom know you did that to the house?”
His brow narrowed as he looked me dead in the eyes. “What do you care? I’m nothing, right? A loser? My parents hate me. Weren’t those your words?”
For a moment, I closed my eyes, feeling guilty all over again. “Jared, I should never have said those things. No matter what you’ve—”
“Don’t apologize,” he interrupted. Swaying as he stood up, he adopted his usual sadistic tone. “Groveling makes you look pathetic.”
Asshole!
“I’m not groveling!” I snapped as I followed him into the house. “I can just admit when I f**ked up.”
I stood inside the doorway while he put his bottle on the kitchen table and grabbed a dish towel off the counter. Walking over to Madman, who was huddled underneath a chair, he wrapped the cloth around the dog and slowly dried him off. He continued to ignore me, but I couldn’t leave until I’d said what I needed to say.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you, and it won’t happen again.” There, I’d said it. No need for me to be here anymore.
But I didn’t stop there. My gaze fell on the not-yet-empty bottle of Jack, and I was worried. His mom was a recovering alcoholic, and hard liquor could be dangerous in large quantities. By the looks of the house, he was not in control of his faculties.
Snatching the bottle off the table, I walked to the sink and started dumping its contents down the drain. “And I’m not letting you hurt yourself, either.”
“Son of a bitch!” Jared heaved at my back, and I shook the bottle nervously when I heard his quick footsteps behind me.
Jared snatched at the container, which was still a few sips from being empty, but I spun around to face him, keeping hold.
“This is none of your business. Just leave,” he growled. His breath fell on my face, smelling of whiskey and rain, and his wild eyes made my arms go weak. I almost released the bottle, overwhelmed by the force he used to get it away. As he yanked, my whole body jerked.
Well, this is new.
The Jared I’d gotten used to walked around calm and collected, but this Jared was desperate and reckless. I should be scared, but, for some reason, I was intoxicated with the face off.
I wanted this confrontation with Jared. I hungered for it.
We both breathed hard as we tried to get the bottle away from each other, but no one was giving up. His arms flexed with the struggle, and I felt the bottle start to slip out of my fingers. I knew I was going to lose.
“Stop it!” I cried. Was the f**king bottle that important?!
Get a grip, jerk! He’d obviously lost control, and I needed to snap him out of this.
I let the bottle go and slapped him across the face. His head twisted to the side with the impact, and my hand stung. I’d never hit Jared. Not even when we were kids and playing around.
Stunned and furious, Jared dropped the bottle to the floor, forgotten, and turned his vicious eyes on me. I gasped when he hoisted me off of my feet by my waist and slammed me down on the hard edge of the sink. Before I knew it, he had locked my wrists in a hold behind my back and positioned his body between my legs. He pulled me to him, roughly, and I was trapped. My chest rose and fell quickly, desperate for air.
Oh, God. “Let me go!” I screamed.