Follow the River (River of Rain Book 1) Page 9

  Spoiler alert, it doesn’t work.

  It doesn’t matter though, because before I know it, my balls draw up and cum bursts from the head of my cock into the condom I don’t remember managing to slip on before I put my dick inside her.

  Did she give it to me, or did I have one?

  Whatever, it doesn’t matter.

  I just thank God for small miracles. I don’t need some cleat chaser trying to tie my ass down with a fucking pregnancy.

  I sway on my feet as I pull out of her, setting her back on the ground.

  Her drunken smile tells me in no way, shape, or form if she got off, but at this point I don’t fucking care. A fuck in the club bathroom is just that; a fuck. And from the looks of it, she’s too far gone to give a shit either way, because she sashays out the door without bothering to right her skirt or fix her mess of hair.

  Shaking my head, my hand works on peeling the condom from my softening cock before discarding it in the trash receptacle to the side of me. Tucking myself back in my jeans, my hands slightly blurred as I do, I sigh.

  What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck did I just do?

  Or more like who? Because I still don’t fucking remember what her name is, only I think it starts with a K.

  Karlee?

  Fuck me.

  This was a relapse of the worst kind, I know it. All my vices rolled into one messy, fucked up package. And while part of me should give a crap about the possibility of drug testing, getting kicked off the team, the cleat chaser poking holes in the condom…I don’t fucking care.

  Not one goddamn bit.

  Shit, I’m still really fucked up.

  Wiping the sweat from my brow with my wrist, I turn on the faucet and quickly wash my hands and face. I press my hands into the cool counter, holding my weight up with them as water drips from over my nose and lips and close my eyes. Inhaling deeply through my nose before releasing the breath from my mouth, I war with my emotions, heightened to hell from the booze and blow.

  It’s all I can do not to fucking vomit right now.

  When the room stops spinning enough for me to open my eyes and not puke, I glance up into the mirror.

  And I proceed to lose the contents of my stomach. Right there in the sink.

  I’m fucking hallucinating.

  He wasn’t here before, and he’s not here now.

  He didn’t watch me fuck a random girl in the bathroom of a club.

  I look up again, certain this is part of a bad trip. I know the coke was laced with something. E, right? Or it was the combination of the alcohol and drugs. Fuck, maybe the fact that I’ve been clean for a few years now, save for one night, and this shit is just hitting me differently than it used to.

  I don’t know.

  Whatever the case, it has to be the reason I’m met once more with the dark hazel eyes belonging to one of the many ghosts from my past.

  My head is still pounding the following afternoon as I take a seat on Doctor Fulton’s couch in her office, my face resting in my hands as I try to fight off the continuous urge to cut my head off to stop the headache.

  Yeah, I’m back at therapy again.

  And after last night, I think I fucking need it.

  If tripping out and imagining my dead friend on the table of the private room in the club wasn’t bad enough, then hallucinating my ex-best friend twice, who I haven’t seen or spoken to in years, definitely pushed me in this direction.

  The second I cleared my thoughts enough to be able to move, I bolted from the bathroom and ordered an Uber to take me to Taco Bell. It was my only hope that some food might sober me the fuck up so I could walk straight back into the hotel room.

  Because yeah, I was definitely still drunk as shit off the whiskey I downed faster than a fish out of water. And the last thing I wanted in the entire damn world was to wake River up when the whole point of me going out to the club was to avoid him in the first place.

  But alas, even though I was off my high and able to walk without running into anything in my direct path, I opened the door at half past three in the morning to find River sitting on his bed with the lights on, his head in his hands, looking like a fucking wreck.

  A feeling, something like guilt, tickled the back of my mind at the sight of him looking so helpless.

  That all changed the second he saw me, though. Because he was on his feet and screaming before the door to our room was fully closed.

  “It’s after three in the fucking morning, Rain! We have to be on a plane at eight o’clock. Or did you forget that little tidbit of information when you decided to go out and get fucking plastered out of your mind?” His eyes darted to my neck, where I was correct in assuming my little blonde hook up left quite the lover’s bite and he scoffed. “Of course. And to get fucked apparently.”

  Yeah…

  Needless to say there wasn’t a whole lot of talking the rest of the night between River and me. Or the plane ride home, which was thankfully short because I spent most of it fighting the urge to puke the entire time.

  I even let him call me that goddamn nickname because I didn’t have the energy in me to fight with him. All I wanted was to flop down on my bed, pass out, and hope to fucking God the nightmares would stay away since I wouldn’t be getting a ton of sleep.

  I relived part of one in the flesh while I was high as it was, but that didn’t mean the memories wouldn't torment me in the few hours of shut eye. Normally I’d fight the sleep off, and especially with River in the same room. But it wasn't worth it. I needed sleep because when the crash hit my body, it was like being backed over by a tank multiple times and then tossed over a cliff onto a ton of sharp, pointy rocks below.

  You’d think it would be reason enough for people to keep off drugs, but apparently I’m one of those idiots who never learn their lesson. Because I broke years of drug sobriety for the cheap thrill of a meaningless fuck in a semi-public place and a quick way to chase away the demons for the night.

  Again.

  Only that didn’t exactly work, did it? Because the damn things—persistent as ever—were still there the whole time.

  But I digress.

  “So Ciaráin, tell me what brings you back after your colorful departure the last time we saw each other,” Doctor Fulton requests. I peek at her through my fingers to find her with a perky smile I want to wipe off her smug fucking face.

  And don’t get me started on her cheery ass voice. It’s like nails on a fucking chalkboard, making me want to rip my goddamn hair out with every syllable.

  Jesus Christ, coming back here was a worse idea than getting fucking lit up last night.

  I remove my hand from my eyes entirely and glare at her, not giving a fuck that I look like I want to kill her with my bare hands. Honestly, life imprisonment for homicide charges might be worth it if I never have to listen to her damn voice again.

  You’re here for a reason, I tell myself.

  Namely, I fucked up by getting fucked up and the only way I’m going to deal with the resonating emotions from my actions last night is to talk them out. It sucks donkey dick, but there’s no way around it. It’s like I need someone else to absolve me of my sins in order for me to even attempt to move past them.

  Though I’m rethinking this route, knowing it would be simpler and a lot less of a hassle to join a church and start going to confession.

  Just fucking tell her, Rain. Tell her what a fuck up you are.

  “I…” I start, letting out a sigh. “Something happened last night. A lot happened, actually, but I honestly don’t know where to start.”

  Doctor Fulton sets her pen on the notepad in her lap and leans forward in her chair, her forearms resting on her thighs. “Usually when you don’t know where to start, the best place is the beginning.”

  The beginning of what? Last night? This bullshit with River? The bullshit that is my life?

  Doctor Fulton must sense my apprehension, because she offers me a smile. Not one of condescension or annoyance, but a re
al, genuine smile.

  “Ciaráin, it’s okay to be hesitant to share after what happened with your previous therapist. I get that. But just know this is a safe space for you to get out whatever it is eating you.”

  And I don’t know why, I really fucking don’t, but for some reason, I believe her. This is a place I can share what I need to in order to move on from my mistakes and transgressions and find closure from my past.

  So, I do it.

  I open my mouth and tell her everything that happened last night from the moment Coach announced River was my assigned roommate up until I was face down on the bed at three-thirty this morning.

  The confrontation with River, the texts from my stepfather, the drugs, the girl in the bathroom.

  The hallucinations.

  All of it.

  And when I’m done baring my soul to this stranger, we sit in silence while she digests the previous night’s events. But there is no judgement in her eyes, no look of disgust on her face.

  The only things I see are compassion and empathy and fuck if it doesn’t make my heart ache in my chest for being such a damn douche.

  “Let me ask you this,” she says after another minute, twirling her pen between her fingers. “What part of last night do you regret the most?”

  Her question gives me pause, which it shouldn’t. The answer should be obvious. I should be regretting taking the two lines of bumped up coke. If I hadn’t done the lines, I wouldn’t have hallucinated Deacon or Roman. I probably wouldn’t have even fucked that girl. And for the life of me, I still can’t even remember her name.

  So that’s exactly what I tell her.

  “I know what I should regret the most,” I sigh. “It should be drug use. Because if I had kept clean, I could have avoided so much of this other bullshit.”

  She nods and then prompts me to continue with, “But?”

  But the thing I regret most isn’t going to the club, getting drunk and high, or fucking that girl. No, what I regret the most…was coming back to the hotel to see River’s face for the split second before he lit into me.

  I’ve never seen another human look so…distraught.

  Like somehow, me leaving him there and going out was the worst thing to ever happen to him.

  Which makes no fucking sense. But it doesn’t stop me from feeling an immense amount of guilt for it.

  “I regret my actions in general for keeping River up half the night wondering where I was,” I mumble, putting my head in my hands. “And I hate that I don’t know why I feel this way.”

  “He’s really gotten under your skin, it seems.”

  Very observant, Doc.

  “Yeah, he has,” I sigh, rubbing my temples. “He’s found every fucking one of my buttons and makes it his life’s purpose to push them until I snap. It drives me insane. And the worst part is, anything I say or do doesn’t seem to phase him in the slightest.”

  “Say or do?” she asks, and I glance up to her, finding her brow raised.

  I wince. Fuck.

  How do I say this without sounding like a completely homophobic asshole?

  “Look, I’m not saying I’m in the right because I’m not. I know that. But…” I swallow roughly and shake my head. “I’ve called him some pretty awful shit. Derogatory slurs or whatever. Pinned him up against the wall a couple times when he came at me with his silver fucking tongue. But it was only ever when he pushed me over the edge.”

  Not exactly a lie...

  Doctor Fulton scribbles something in her pad before looking up at me, still lacking judgement. “And do you regret those words and actions like you do the ones from last night?”

  I shake my head, frustration building within me from her line of questioning. About the topic of questioning, more like it. “I don’t know. I didn’t. At the time I did and said those things, I felt, I don’t know. Justified, almost? Like there was a reason behind them and he deserved them. Even last night when he was taunting me yet again about blowing me, I didn’t feel bad about what I said or about leaving to go to the club. But when I got back to the hotel last night and saw him all…vulnerable or whatever, it’s like it set off some alarm in my brain and all I fucking feel is remorse.”

  That’s the kicker of this whole thing. I left so I wouldn’t do and say more awful shit to him, but in the end, it probably was the worst thing I could have done. Because, for the very first time, I saw him hurting from my actions and seeing it only confused me more.

  And now I don’t know what I feel. Besides guilty, that is.

  “Ciaráin, I know you said Roman is an off limits topic, but part of me feels this unhealthy form of communication you have with River might be stemming from that.”

  I close my eyes and groan because she’s right. I don’t want to talk about Roman.

  “I don’t know. They’re similar, yeah. But Roman, he would never push me past the limit I could handle. He’d get me to the edge, but he never sent me into freefall.”

  “Except it might be exactly what you need.”

  My brows furrow. “How so?”

  “Ciaráin, it’s easy to see you have this need for control. And there’s nothing wrong with that, most people do. But with your past trauma, it’s intensified the desire in you to have a hold on everyone and everything around you.” She pauses and gives me a smile. “Again, not a bad thing. But I think you’ve reached the point where you need to relinquish some of it.”

  The good doctor has a point, unfortunately. “Okay. I mean you’re not wrong. But what does my need for control have to do with Roman or River?”

  She sets her pad and pen on the table beside her and leans forward. “It sounds like Roman let you have a lot of control during a time of your life when you needed it. Over your friendship as well as the end of it. So when he pushed you to the edge but never made it so you had to take the plunge, you still had a hold on your world. Which, at the time, was a good thing.”

  She pauses and gives me a little smirk. “But River? From the sounds of it, he refuses to let you tell him what to do, let you control him, like you’re itching to do. But it’s not just that, is it? He has this way of making you lose the control of yourself that you’re so desperate to cling to. And I think it could be good for you. I think you need it.”

  Losing control is good for me? Yeah, I don’t fucking think so, Doc.

  “I tend to disagree,” I say through gritted teeth.

  She scoffs. “Of course you would. Because it goes against your nature.”

  “Then why would you want me to purposely go against my nature?”

  “This thing called self-growth, Ciaráin. River could be an opportunity to give it to you, just like Roman did at a previous point in your life.”

  I shake my head, adamant that this is not going to fucking happen. “We’re enemies. I don’t want him to be in charge of any form of growth.”

  Especially one in particular…

  “But you were willing to let Roman?” she counters.

  “Roman was different. I’d known him for years, we were best friends. And it’s not like I was aware he was leading me on some journey of fucking self-discovery or whatever.”

  “And you had feelings for him.”

  Her words give me pause. “What?”

  “Ciaráin, you had feelings for him. I’ve read all your files, every word about Roman in there. I see the way you tense when I bring him up or the look in your eye when we started talking about him. I know infatuation when I see it.”

  Fuck me.

  My chest aches at her words, hating the validity to every fucking one of them.

  “The day he kissed you, he didn’t ruin your friendship because he was bisexual and came onto you. It was ruined because you trusted him, loved him even, and when he finally made the move to show you he felt something similar, it was too late. He was leaving for college. Leaving you.”

  I feel like I might pass out as the words slide over my body, constricting and squeezing around me like a snake coated in
barbed wire.

  She has to stop fucking talking.

  “And I also think—” she says slowly, her eyes searching me as I war with myself, “you have some of these confusing feelings for River as well. This attraction you don’t know what to do with because of how much he reminds you of Roman. And while you might not talk to Roman anymore, you still have a sense of loyalty to him. So, in turn, having these confusing feelings for River feels like a betrayal.”

  “You don’t know shit,” I growl.

  “I don’t?” she challenges, a brow raised. “How do you explain what you feel for River then?”

  “I don’t feel anything for him except disdain and contempt. Especially when he started being a fucking cunt and egging me on just to get me to lose my shit.”

  “Lose control,” she corrects. “But do you blame him for lashing out after what you said? Do you understand why he is acting the way he is?”

  Of course I fucking do. Does she think I’m dense?

  I know he’s only lashing out because of the shit I started. It all could have been avoided had I just been straight up with him from the beginning. The moment I found out about his sexuality from Elliott at the party.

  But I’m the one who pushed him first. His retaliation is on me.

  “Whatthefuckever,” I snap, not wanting to think about any of this shit anymore. I glance up at the clock, noting there is over a half an hour left in our session. But I can’t fucking be here for that long without losing control of my temper. “It doesn’t fucking matter. We’re done talking about this.”

  Rising from my seat on the couch, I stalk over to the door and yank it open, pausing in the threshold as she speaks.

  “You can’t run from this, Ciaráin. Not forever. Sooner or later, you have to face it.”

  I swear to God, I need to see a shrink, because despite the shit Rain keeps pulling with me, I can’t seem to let go of my fascination with him.

  It’s still early in practice, so Garrett and I are in only athletic shorts, T-shirts, and our red practice pinnies since we’re in the middle of passing drills with some of our wide receivers. Including, of course, Ciaráin. I’m off to the side taking a break as Garrett throws about a forty-five yard bomb to Ciaráin down the field. Watching as the ball sails down the field, I’m in awe at the perfect spiral as it lands safely in Rain’s hands at the opposite ten yard line.