Deathless

Chapter 14: Millie

My head is too heavy. And every time I move, I'm rewarded with shock waves of hurt that echo through my brain like a pulse. I keep trying to lift my head, but then the pain defeats me and I settle back down on the pillow. Whimpering, I find my throat raw and gritty. I also have a growing awareness that I'm not in my bed at Roisin's. The mattress is too firm, the sheets too crisp, and the air smells unfamiliar. My heart races and I shoot up suddenly, crying out at the stabbing in my skull.

I glance around the room. It's modern, the walls a shocking white but decorated with monochrome photos and ebony furniture. I'm breathing rapidly when I turn my head, seeing through the gaps in the blinds that I'm high above the city. I lean back into the bed. Each movement finds something else that hurts.

Fear grips me, numbing the pain of the hangover for a moment as I try to process where I am and how I got here. And more importantly, who brought me here?

On the bedside table next to me, I spot a large glass of water and a packet of painkillers. A small post-it note attached to the glass reads 'Drink me.' The cursive handwriting is elegant and old-fashion, like I'm in an Alice in Wonderland-inspired horror story. I'm about to drink when I stop myself. As tempting as the water and painkillers look to my parched throat and throbbing head, it's not a risk worth taking.

Next to the glass is my phone which someone has put on charge. I check it briefly and cringe at message after message from a panicked Roisin. I send her a quick apology text and a promise to explain later. Then I switch off the phone before the inevitable call that would come as soon as she'd read my message.

There was nothing more from Chloe after she sent me the message before they left.

I lie back down in my bed, trying to stop the building panic and my racing heartbeat. How had I got here? Who's flat was this? I fought the temptation just to bolt out of the room and out of the building, but I had no idea who was outside that door. And what they wanted. The thought made my blood turn to ice.

Millie... just breathe.

Slowly, I try to take my mind back, step by step, to piece together what happened last night, putting the broken images together until the full puzzle picture emerged. The club comes back to me, the smells of spilt alcohol, stale aftershave, the sticky dancefloor and the heat of the lights beating down on me. Of Chloe, Marnie and Samira.

They'd left me.

The thought feels like a punch to the gut. It makes me feel small, like my skin is too tight for me, itchy with shame. Then steel eyes slam into my mind. That smile. That potently charming smile. Those dark silky strands falling across his forehead I'd desperately wanted to run my fingers through.

He'd kissed me.

My hand goes automatically to my lips as those sepia-toned memories soften the shards of my fear. His hands gripping my waist, the way his lips pressed against my ear as he spoke to me. I shiver.

Jackson. His name was Jackson, and he'd brought me here.

I remember the sense of being left, of icy wind and alcohol working on me as I sat outside the club. The faint memory of unimpressed-looking bouncers, of feeling ashamed and scared, but those were feelings felt through a vacuum. Like echoes of feelings. Jackson helping me into the car, us stumbling through the loud echoing hallway, his strong arms holding me up. The first boy I'd felt a connection with in forever, and what had I done? I'd got so drunk he'd had to chuck me over his shoulder, fireman style, because I was too messed up to walk.

I bite my lip, hard, hard enough to taste blood. Run my hands through hair that was knotted, the roots greasy. Who was Jackson Mort? As the memories of our talk at the bar return, I think of the contradiction of him. The perfect slick smile, the lies bursting like fireworks in his eyes. But then the mask had slipped. A softer man, a warmer one had cut through. It was this Jackson I'd felt a connection with. It was him I trusted.