All That's Left Page 4

  “So then you can show it to me.”

  I swallow. “Well actually my cousin came in an hour ago and I gave him my bag to take home because I tend to lose things, so I only have cash on me now.” The look he gives me tells me he knows that was the dumbest excuse I could give. “I’m twenty-one, I swear.”

  His eyes narrow, and for the first time I can tell he doesn’t know whether he should believe me or not. I have makeup on and I’m tall for my age; I don’t look seventeen right now. I can definitely pass for older, and he’s trying to figure it out.

  The redhead jumps in. “She’s telling the truth. I saw her ID myself.” He winks at me in the least subtle way possible. “Come on, Marcus, you know I was buying beer for you and your buddies when you were sixteen.”

  He clears his throat. Clearly he didn’t want me hearing that particular piece of information. “That’s different.”

  “Why?”

  “Because now it’s my bar so it’s my ass on the line.”

  The redhead grins. “Like the cops would care anyway. They’d have to get off their asses if they wanted to come check it out, and you know every single one of them was drinking in bars around here when they were underage.”

  Marcus cuts him a look.

  The redheaded guy shrugs. “Hey, we both know whenever the football team wins a game, they can get anyone in town to buy them booze. Don’t be sexist.”

  Marcus lets out a long sigh, and I grin. Looks like I’ve won.

  I hold my hand out to him. I like this bar. It’s dark and dreary, and I’ve been left alone for the most part. I definitely want to come back, and I do not want him deciding to ban me from coming in. “I’m Izzy.”

  He eyes me for a second, taking me in, looking at me way too intensely for my liking, and I’m pretty certain he’s about to ask me to leave when he lets out a sigh and shakes my hand. “I’m Marcus. Marcus Bailey.”

  I grin back at him. There’s something about him that I like. “Hi Marcus. Could I get another drink please?”

  He rolls his eyes but reaches for my glass anyway. “Don’t make me regret this.”

  Three hours later, the room is spinning, so hard that when I stand from my stool, I have to grip the edge of the bar to stop from falling.

  I take a minute to collect myself and pull it together. I’m a master at acting sober when I’m wasted these days. I take a breath, straighten my shoulders, pull out my packet of cigarettes, and start to walk to the outside smoking area at the back of the bar. The redhead, Leighton, chuckles after me. “You okay, Izzy?”

  “Always.”

  The bar’s filled up, and I hadn’t even noticed. People are sat at tables, eating chicken wings and drinking beer whilst music is blasting from speakers. I guess a Tuesday night here is a pretty big deal, and it looks like it’s brought in some university-aged kids. I had no idea there was a uni around here. I glance back towards Marcus, who has been sending me disapproving glances all night but never enough to deter him from serving me. I even think he might have gone so far as to tell the rest of the bar staff not to serve me, just him, because when I asked one of the other guys behind the bar for a drink, they just told me I’d have to wait for Marcus. I guess he feels some sort of ridiculous duty to try to keep me semi-sober and this is his way of doing it. He has no idea I also have a bottle of vodka in my bag and I’ve been taking swigs of it every time I go to the toilets. He has no clue how drunk I actually am.

  I’m only about ten steps away from the bar when the dark-haired guy from the group of dodgy-looking men who have been sending me glances since they first arrived falls into step beside me.

  “Babe,” he starts.

  I look over at him as he steps in front of me, blocking me from going any farther. His hands fall to my hips, and a smirk fills his face. He dips his head, and I’m sure he thinks whatever he’s about to say will make my knees weak.

  “You’re beautiful. I haven’t been able to stop staring at you all night.”

  I glance back at him, and he almost looks sweet. Almost.

  “Seriously, you’re beaut—”

  I cut him off, shoving my cigarettes into my back pocket then pressing my hands to his stomach and sliding them around his waist. His eyebrows rise in surprise, and then his smirk is firmly back in place when I step closer to him and his fingers press into my hips.

  “Can I buy you a drink?”

  I shake my head.

  “Do you want to dance?”

  I glance behind him at the makeshift dance floor. There are enough people attempting to dance that it wouldn’t be weird if we joined them, but I have no desire to do that.

  “No.”

  He looks unsure of himself for a minute. Clearly he was expecting me to react differently. He starts again. “I’m Owen.”

  “Izzy,” I mumble back.

  “I haven’t seen you—”

  “Do you want to find somewhere quiet?” I ask, looking him straight in the face.

  His jaw drops open slightly at my words and he pulls his head back slightly, trying to see if I’m serious.

  I am. Deadly serious.

  This is what I do. I’ve drunk myself stupid today, but I still haven’t found that place where I can forget everything. Usually I would have done, but not today, not when the reality of being in my dad’s house is starting to set in. The next step would be drugs, if I were really in the mood to black out, or sex. Since I’m not about to start hunting around for a line of coke, sex it is. I guess it’s because of where I am and what I’m doing, how I’ve realised this isn’t me drinking at some party in London with people who, even if I’m not friends with them, I’ve at least met before. Here everyone is a stranger. Here I’m not going back to the flat I’ve lived in for years, or Richard’s flat. Here I have to go back to the mansion my dad owns.

  He won.

  He won, and there’s not a thing I can do about it.

  I’m here in a country that isn’t my own in a place where I know no one. Tonight I need someone else to help me find oblivion, and tonight? Well, tonight this Owen guy is the first person who asked.

  He raises an eyebrow. “You’re being serious?”

  I stare straight back at him. “Well, if you don’t want to…”

  I turn to walk away, but his hand clamps around my wrist and he tugs me back to him. “I didn’t say I wasn’t interested. It’s just most girls—”

  “I’m getting bored,” I warn him.

  He grins at me, nods his head, and turns around, leading me across the dance floor, pulling me in close behind him. It’s a fake show of us being close, like he can’t wait to get his hands on me, like he thinks I’m the hottest thing in the world and can’t wait another second to touch me. It’s all bullshit. He’s just some random guy who wants to have sex, and all I want to do is forget this feeling in my body that is threatening to crush me. I’m hoping this is going to help.

  The guy gives me one last tug and I stumble, falling into his back. He laughs as he pulls us into an empty bathroom. He turns around, and any pretence that he’s a decent guy is gone, but I don’t care. That’s not what I deserve. He pushes me roughly up against the sink, and he’s on me, his lips finding mine and his hands immediately going to the buckle of my jeans. His head drops to my neck as he starts kissing it in a way I can only assume he thinks is pleasurable.

  And it happens. It happens just like it has done every time I’ve been this close to a guy for the last nine months.

  My mind turns blank.

  He’s done trying to kiss me and pretend this is anything other than just sex—raw, rough, dirty sex in the toilets of a run-down bar in the middle of Texas. He grabs my right hand, shoves it towards the front of his trousers, and pushes it down there. Then he reaches for my own jeans and shoves them down, pushing them over my hips whilst simultaneously lifting me up so I’m perched on the sinks.

  He starts digging around in his pocket, fishing for a condom, and I’m grateful for that. I’d forgotten a
ll about protection in my need to forget about everything. I drop my head back, looking at the ceiling, the damp on the walls, the dirt on the windows, and I’m just starting to lose my buzz and the oblivion I’m chasing when the door bursts open and the guy from behind the bar, Marcus, comes storming in. He grabs my left hand, tugs me down from the basin, and is demanding I buckle up my jeans before I have any idea what’s going on.

  “Marcus, what the fuck?!”

  Marcus stares straight back at Owen. “You’re out of line. She’s wasted and you know it.”

  Owen’s eyes widen. “What the hell do you care? The slut’s up for it.”

  A growl rips from Marcus’s throat, and deep down I know I should be insulted by this guy calling me a slut, but the truth is I don’t care. I stopped caring about that sort of thing a long time ago.

  “You’re way too damn old for her.”

  That hits a sore spot with Owen. “I’m not that much older than you.”

  Marcus scoffs. “I was in middle school when you graduated high school.”

  Owen glares back at him and makes a move to grab my hand. “Well she’s a big girl—she can take care of herself.”

  Marcus pushes me further behind him. “I’m two seconds away from calling Brittany and getting her to come deal with you herself. You can explain to her why I’m gonna ban you from coming here unless you get the hell out right now.”

  Owen narrows his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me.”

  Owen stares at him for a couple of minutes then decides it isn’t worth it. Brittany must be his girlfriend or wife or something. He buckles up his jeans, scowls in my direction, and then leaves, purposely bumping into Marcus on the way out.

  The door slams closed behind him and I’m left standing there with this Marcus guy who seems incredibly pissed off. He glares at me whilst I sway on the spot.

  “So…what? You want to go instead?” I mumble, gripping the side of the sink.

  He looks at me in disgust. “Are you kidding right now? You can’t even stand up.”

  I try to prove him wrong, but standing has suddenly become very difficult for me. “Whatever, I’m fine.”

  He lets out a growl of irritation and pulls me out of the bathroom, ignoring the people who are lined up outside and giving us knowing smirks. God knows what they think just went down. He tugs me along behind him, back towards the bar and the barstool I was sat at. He grabs my purse, which I stupidly just left sitting there (and which I’m pretty sure would have been gone if Leighton wasn’t still sat there). He also grabs my jacket and tells the guys behind the bar he’ll just be a couple of minutes before he ushers me outside.

  “Where do you live?” he asks, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

  I look around, bewildered, unsure how we’re suddenly outside the bar, staring at a bunch of cars.

  He misconstrues my look. “There’s no way I’m letting you drive home. You can barely walk.”

  I look over at him, and he genuinely looks pissed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He looks disgusted. “Are you kidding? You get way too drunk in my bar—I should have cut you off hours ago—and then disappear into a bathroom with one of the biggest dogs in town? A thirty-one-year-old dog, no less.”

  I wince at that. I didn’t realise he was that old. I thought he was in his twenties.

  Marcus is looking at me like he’s expecting a response, but I have nothing to say.

  “What’s your address?” he asks, putting his phone to his ear. “I’ll try to get a taxi for you.”

  I reach for my phone, muttering something about Uber, which elicits a snort from him. Of course they don’t have Uber around here.

  “Your address?” he demands again.

  My mind draws a total blank. I don’t have a clue what my dad’s address is. I shrug. “I don’t know it.”

  He looks at me in disbelief. “You don’t know your address?”

  “I told you I just moved here. I don’t remember the address.”

  He scowls. “Well you must know what it’s close to. Is it off the main strip? Out by the lake? Near the football stadium?”

  I shrug. I could probably find it if I really wanted to, but the reality is that I don’t. I don’t want to go back there. I’d rather stay here.

  “I’ll just stay here,” I tell him.

  “You’re going home,” he insists. “Right now. I’ll take you myself.”

  I frown, looking at him with narrowed eyes and trying to focus on his face. It’s not easy. “The bar’s full.”

  “Yes, and here I am wasting time taking a drunk girl home.”

  I’m about to ask him why he’d bother, but I’m suddenly distracted by the need to throw up—quickly.

  “What?” he asks, seeing the look on my face.

  I just about manage to push past him before I vomit all over my shoes.

  My head is screaming at me when I wake up the next day. I roll over in bed and promptly hit the floor.

  And that’s when I realise I’m not in my bedroom at my dad’s place.

  I’m in a random living room I’ve never seen before and have just fallen off a sofa, not a bed. I glance around in panic as a sick feeling comes over me, and I try to remember what happened after I was talking to Marcus outside.

  Please, please tell me I didn’t go home with that Owen guy after all.

  A throat is cleared behind me and I whip my head around, ignoring the sharp sting of pain. I see Marcus stood in the doorway to what I presume is a kitchen with a large glass of water in his hand.

  “So you are alive then,” he says dryly.

  I swallow hard, taking in his casual sweatpants and t-shirt, and for the first time I realise I’m just in the t-shirt I was wearing last night and my underwear. My legs are bare.

  “Did we…” I glance behind me to the sofa. “Did I…did we…”

  “Jesus, give me some credit,” he snaps. “I don’t need to stoop so low as to take advantage of a girl who’s so out of it she can’t even stand.”

  A sigh of relief escapes me. “I’m sorry. I was pretty drunk.”

  “You think?” he deadpans. “You couldn’t even tell me where you lived. Then you blacked out and I had no choice but to bring you up here to sleep it off.”

  I swallow hard. God, I really was a mess last night.

  “I’m sorry, and thank you. I really appreciate it.”

  He nods. “How’s your head? You drank way too much yesterday. I should have cut you off.”

  It’s certainly not his fault I got so drunk last night. I was on a mission and nothing he could have done would have stopped me from getting in that state.

  “It’s not the best,” I admit as he passes me the glass of water and two headache tablets. I down them in one before looking around. “Um…do you know where my jeans are?” I’m pretty sure my face is bright red right now.

  He smirks at me, clearly enjoying my discomfort. He probably thinks I deserve to feel uncomfortable. In all honesty, I do. “I put them in the washer because you threw up on them. They should be dry in ten minutes or so.”

  I nod, my cheeks burning in shame, and then glance towards the clock on the wall. It’s almost eleven.

  He sees my gaze. “I’m guessing you’re not going to work today?”

  “I guess not.” I glance around and see my phone is on the coffee table next to me but the battery is dead. It’s not like I’d have any messages anyway. Nobody will be wondering where I am.

  “That guy from last night is bad news.”

  I nod, taking heed of his warning. It’s not like I ever want to see him again. I was just using him to try to forget. Turns out I just needed to hold out a little bit longer for the alcohol to take effect and knock me out.

  “Are you really twenty-one?”

  I startle at his question, and when I look over at him, he’s staring at me intently. “Yes,” I say. “Yes, I am.”

  I’m not convinced he believes me, bu
t he doesn’t argue it. Instead he goes back into the kitchen. “So I suppose you want some breakfast then?”

  And that’s how I end up spending the whole of my day with Marcus. He cooks me some breakfast and then we switch on Netflix and watch an episode of Friends, and then another one starts almost immediately and we watch that one too…and then another, and another. It’s easy and it’s relaxed, and when it’s time for him to go to work and for me to leave, I find I don’t want to. I find I could listen to Marcus’s laidback chat, easy-going attitude, and dry sense of humour for the rest of the night.

  Of course when I try to follow him back to the bar, he tells me to get lost, but he says it with a smile on his face. I get the idea that if I turn up again in another couple of days, he wouldn’t hate it.

  “Where were you last night?” Ethan is right there as soon as I walk through the door.

  I cut him a look and head straight for the stairs. His voice is far too loud for my head to deal with.

  He grabs my arm and pulls me back, stopping me from moving past him. “Where. Were. You?”

  I pull my arm out of his grasp. “It’s none of your business.”

  “None of my business?” he scoffs. “Are you being serious? My twin arrives in town, doesn’t show up at school, and then isn’t at home when I get back after school? And then when I ring her—TWENTY TIMES—she doesn’t answer and doesn’t show up until the next day?”

  I step back from him. “My phone died, okay? It’s not a big deal.”

  The look on his face tells me he does think it’s a big deal. He definitely looks pissed at me, but there’s something else there too—something like worry.

  “Where the hell were you? I can smell the alcohol on you from here.” He takes an unnecessarily large sniff of the air. “Is that smoke? Do you smoke now?”

  I bristle at this. There’s no doubt I’m in desperate need of a shower, but I did brush my teeth at Marcus’s house. Ethan has no right to comment on my appearance, and he certainly has no right to have an opinion on me smoking.

  He’s getting more pissed off at my silence. “Where were you?” I roll my eyes and turn to walk away, but he steps in front of me again, blocking me. “I was worried. All you had to do was answer the phone.”