cigarette ends | ✎

xix.

My lusting mind cleared at the sound of my father's voice. Even dead, leave it to him to ruin every perfect moment.

I sat up too quickly, gripping my head in an attempt to steady the dizziness. When it didn't work, I slid off the rock and wrapped the white, thin coverup tighter around myself before finding my way on a log in front of the fire.

Stupid, fucking whore.

How do you feel with two men's mouths all over your body? the voice sneered. Do you feel better? Satisfied? Or do you need to fuck them to find your content?

I gripped the sides of my head. It was my father's voice. Make it stop, I begged my mind.

The chuckle that followed resonated in every part of my mind. You'll never escape me, Emilia. You may have killed me physically, but I will always be here. Watching.

I stood, grabbed a bottle, and excused myself to take a small walk. And it was only after I had hidden behind some of those tall rocks and taken a couple swigs of the tequila that the voices ceased.

Finally able to breathe, I took in my surroundings. I'd wandered my way into a small alley created by the dark stones, which encased me on either side.

At the end of the small walkway, the ocean lapped against the damp sand and the sunset painted the water a shade between orange and pink.

"Hey."

The voice startled me, and I turned around quickly only to be faced with those grey fucking eyes.

"Oh." I sighed. "It's you."

His smirk brought back my light-headedness. "Don't sound too disappointed."

I tried to smile, but it came out more of a grimace as I took another chug of the tequila.

"Woah," he said, taking the bottle. "How many drinks of this have you had?"

I shrugged. "A few."

"Fuck," he muttered, grabbing the bottle and slamming on the lid then throwing it somewhere behind us. Then he grabbed onto my shoulders, and if I wasn't mistaken, the emotion in his eyes almost resembled worry.

"How many drinks, exactly? I need you to remember for me," he said, desperation coating his voice.

I thought for a moment. "That was my third." I held up four fingers, looked at them, then laughed. I raised my other hand to lower my pinky so that I was only holding up three fingers, then nodded.

"For fucks sake, Emilia," he murmured. "You're drunk."

"I am not drunk," I argued, pouting.

He cracked a smile. "You are too." He raised one hand to cradle my face. "I've never seen you pout. You are 100% drunk."

"I pout all the time," I said, but my voice came out as a whisper because I couldn't fucking focus. All I felt were his hands on my face and his mouth on my body earlier, and all rational thoughts left my mind.

I watched Augustus swallow. "Don't look at me like that," he muttered. His voice was deeper than before – more anguished.

"Like what?" I asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

He dragged his eyes from my lips to meet my gaze. "You're drunk. This is wrong."

"You were always such a rule-follower," I whispered, leaning closer.

"You're not yourself," he said.

"Who are you trying to convince? Me, or yourself?"

We were inches away. Centimeters.