Hunted

Chapter 1: Stranger in My Dreams

Warning: This story goes from 0 to 100 real quick in terms of mature language and sexual content.

I downed the next shot, wincing as the tequila burned down my throat. Technically speaking, I really wasn't supposed to be drinking this much with all the medication I was on but I decided to say fuck it for one night, I could suffer the consequences tomorrow. I'd lost count of how many it had been but it was enough I felt unsteady rising from the barstool. I flattened my hot hands against the cool countertop as I stood, blinking slowly, trying to bring the room into focus.

"Kora, come dance!" My friend Annie said, grabbing my arm.

"Dancing is... Sounds challenging," I slurred, stumbling along with her.

"Oh God, you've had too much," Annie giggled, tugging me forward as I started to fall back.

"I am off balance," I admitted, trying to look around the club.

The room only turned in a blur and I couldn't identify somewhere to sit. Annie set me down on a plushy couch and told me to wait. Closing my eyes, I tried to breathe in and out evenly. Sobering up at least a little would be a good idea. I wonder if whoever drove me home would stop for food. My stomach was growling.

Annie returned with water and instructed me to drink it all while she searched for our designated driver. I sipped on the water, keeping my eyes mostly closed. God, I drank way too much tonight. I always did with Les and Annie.

A buzzing in my bra alerted me Evan was trying to get ahold of me again. At least, I guessed it was him. Groaning, I removed my phone from my bra, bringing the screen closer and farther until I finally got it in focus. There were several texts since the last I sent saying I would be home very late.

Jackass: Staying out all night isn't going to help anything between us.

Jackass: You're acting so immature. Just come home so we can talk. Do you have any idea how much trouble you could make for me if someone takes pictures of you out like this? I saw what you were wearing, you're practically begging to have some idiot violate you while you're too drunk to think straight. How would that make me look?

Jackass: We talked about the way you dress in public. It doesn't look good for my fucking wife to be out looking like a slut.

Jackass: I swear to God if you don't answer you're phone we're going to have even bigger problems.

Jackass: Fuck off. I'm done with you. Don't bother coming home.

I sighed, pressing my fingers to my temples. I wished that was the end of his messages but it wasn't. Of course it wasn't. The next ones came a couple hours after those.

Jackass: I'm sorry I said that. I didn't mean it. Please come home and talk to me.

Jackass: Which club are you at? I'll pick you up.

Jackass: God, Koralie, at least watch out for paparazzi while you're there. You can at least do that for me. I just want things to go back to the way they were. I'm sorry for what I said to you, all right? How many times do I have to say it? Why can't we just go back to how it was?

How it was. I scoffed reading the last line. Yeah, sure honey, we can go back to how it was before you cheated on me, treated me like shit, told me I needed plastic surgery to be good enough to stand in the limelight with you. Fucking asshole. Ignoring it, I returned my phone to my bra. I wasn't sure how long I'd been sitting at that couch but I felt a little more stable at least.