Exiled (Unlucky 13, #11)

by Jessie Walker

For those who were overlooked. Who slipped through the cracks. Who are screaming from behind glass.

And my parents…well, they tried everything. I’ll give them that. Everything but what I actually needed: Them.

After all, most addicts you meet struggle with mental illness.

addiction has a way of stacking years on you,

“It’s not about how long it takes,” I tell her. “Sooner you accept that, the easier it’ll be.” I swallow thickly. “Day by day. Moment by moment, really. All we can do is…keep trying. Get back up. Don’t let the fuck-ups from yesterday determine your tomorrow.”

Detox might’ve been a breeze this time around—hardly any shakes or nausea. What I did to end up back here, though…in rehab… Well, withdrawal’s got nothing on guilt. Nothing on the agony of knowing nothing will ever be the same again. Nothing on the heartbreak of losing my daughter all because I slipped.

That’s all anyone ever does. They only see themselves. They see the truth they want to believe in. Or… They look away.

He’s still looking right at me, even when I get all flustered and have to look away. He’s still listening to me, even when he clearly doesn’t want to be. And he’s…nice. Ish. Okay, so he’s not mean.

I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not like him. It was a mistake. I just need to explain.

Everything’s too much. Too loud.

I am stronger than I was, stronger than these storms that plague me, and I will not let this place break me. I will not let stupid, sexy, grumpy men who speak cruel, ignorant words be another thing that tears me down He doesn’t know me. They don’t know me. No one does. I survived death, and I can survive this too.

By the desperate sort of shock in his eyes, I get the impression this isn’t the first time he’s revealing this…but the first time someone’s actually taking him seriously, and he’s trying not to get overwhelmed.

I heard you, Skyler. Fuck, I heard you. Please hear me too. Please listen…

All I can do is trust him… This stranger. This kid. This boy who just needed someone to believe him. It has to be enough.

No one’s ever been…angry on my behalf before.

Just once I wish someone would see me for me, beyond all my issues. Beyond my age. I just want someone to take me seriously.

There’s nothing worse than feeling unwanted with no other alternative. Even if it’s not personal…it feels personal.

It’s okay, he’s saying. But it’s not. It’s not. I’m not.

I’ll revisit this entire clusterfuck later when I know he’s safe and I’m back in the privacy of my own villa, and I’m no longer sporting an erection for another man, one who’s almost half my age. It’s confused. My dick’s confused. That’s all this is. Confusion and friction and…and… Jesus fucking Christ, he’s barely eighteen. What’s wrong with me?

Not that I really thought he was lying—okay, so I did at first—but pushing his buttons is…well, it’s fun. But I also feel like he needs it? Needs someone to give him shit and spur him on.

And all I could think was No. Don’t hide from me. Hell if I could explain it.

“See?” he calls out, smiling breathlessly. Beautifully. Fuck me, he’s… he’s beautiful. “It’s fine. And look.” He turns just his head, pointing to what he did earlier. “Our cove.” My chest constricts. Throat squeezing. Our cove.

A roar fills my ears, and all I see is him. Him. This sad, pretty boy I wanted nothing to do with. A boy who was just smiling and laughing a second ago, who is now looking back at me, begging me to save him, his mouth open in a silent scream.

Thunder explodes, bouncing off the rocks. Rain soaks me down to the bone, and Skyler is… Gone. Just like that… He’s gone.

I don’t want to die. Not now. Not yet, not yet… I haven’t even gotten a chance to live. It’s ironic, considering how I got in this mess in the first place. But that was before…

I wish I got to kiss him. Wish I got to know what it was like to be loved.

Stars dance across my vision, and I think of the tattoo on Nolan’s shoulder. The night sky. If there’s a heaven, I hope that’s where it is. Embedded in his skin.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “It’s over now. You’re safe, sweetheart, you’re safe.”

The thin fabric resists parting with him, and I don’t blame it. I kind of wish I had more time to fully appreciate the way it molded to his skin.

Does he even realize what he’s doing? The effect he’s having on me?

Nolan saved my life. Literally. Not only did he rescue me from drowning, but he breathed me back to life. How is that not terribly romantic?

“No. No, you told me yours, so I should tell you mine. That’s how it works, yeah?” “No, not if you’re not comfortable.”

“Take what you need. Whatever you want,” he mumbles as I suck at his skin, gnawing at him, right over the firm swell of his pec. “Kill me for all I care.”

stomach…I feel him watching me, devouring me with those wild, fierce green eyes. I moan to the heavens, and I pray… Pray that he never looks away.

What happens to me is strictly internal, as if my brain is a computer that’s overheated, and every sound and texture and emotion being perceived is being amplified to the nth degree. Grating against every single nerve in my body. Sensory overload. Sensory overwhelm. Meltdowns.

You hear about it all the time. People make light of it, use it as an excuse to get out of shit, tack it on as a personality trait. They don’t get it. No one fucking gets how bad it can be until you’ve lived it.

No. One. Understands. Unless they’ve lived it.

Well, fuck me and have mercy on my soul. I never stood a chance.

“Do you know what the name Abigail means?” he says out of nowhere. I shake my head, a buzzing replacing the waves in my ear. But none of it is loud enough to drown out his next words. “It means a father’s joy, Nolan.” I stare at him. And stare at him some more. “You’re not the villain you make yourself out to be either,”

“Next time you feel the need to dive into a body of water to escape your feelings,” I tell him in a rough, restrained voice, “just…find me instead. I’d much rather you throw sand in my face than worry I’m going to find your dead body washed up on the beach.”

“I don’t want to burden⁠—” “Not a burden. Use me.” He stills. “U-use you?”

“When it gets all loud and you feel itchy, like you’re crawling out of your skin, and you feel like you might do something stupid…” I glance over my shoulder. “Find me.”

“You never told me the second condition?” Dragging my lip between my teeth, I slow down and cut him a sideways glance, eyeing him up and down as we walk. “The second you no longer feel comfortable with this, say the word and we stop.”

“Don’t regret this when it’s over,” he whispers. “No matter what. I want this to be a good thing, Nolan. Please don’t… ruin it.”

Groaning, I turn away, and all but drag him to my room. “Keep up, or I won’t hesitate to throw you over my shoulder.” He huffs. “You wouldn’t.” I cut him a pointed look. “Bet.”

This whole confident, take-charge, give-no-shits thing he’s got going on? Yeah, it really does it for me.

Like he sees me—the real me—and he’s telling me it’s okay. It’s safe to come out now.

“I wonder…” he murmurs, lowering to his knees. “Do you taste like the ocean everywhere?”

I gape at the sight. This big, strong, rugged man down on his knees, face inches from my cock. Shoulders bunched tight with muscles. Tattoos on full display.

All that matters is the man stalking toward me. Pouncing on me. Owning me… Six weeks. I’m all his and he’s all mine for six weeks.

If I had any doubt before that I was bisexual, I don’t anymore. How could I after what we just did? How could I when I lay here, staring at his sexy body, and all I want to do is taste every inch of him?