The Secrets She Kept

The Secrets She Kept - Chapter 21

There was no logical decision to how the night progressed – or rather, how it regressed.

There wasn't really a decision at all. One drink had led to another which had led to another. Eventually, I had lost all count of the number of units I had consumed. However, I was all too aware of the warm buzz in my veins and how relaxed my body was. Alcohol was powerful like that.

It was good.

What did it matter if I barely remembered my own name and why I had been drinking in the first place? Everything was lighter and brighter than it had been in days, even if my arms were heavy and clumsy.

The world was a distant blur as Richie escorted me down the steps to my flat, his grip firmly around my arm as he propped me upright. My mourning clothes were decidedly worse for wear, the top button of my dress lost somewhere in the pub. The fabric was damp against my skin and smelled strongly of beer. I glanced down and wrinkled my nose as I tugged it away from my chest. It returned to its position just as quickly.

Even my hair had come loose from its tie and hung in crunchy thick tendrils around my face.

I swayed on my feet as I fumbled with my bag to find my keys.

"Do you need help?"

Blinking, I glanced up at Richie before holding my bag open to him. Within a second or two, he had my keys in his hand. His free arm reached past me, the keys jingling loudly as he inserted them into the lock.

It was like déjà vu. Him. Me. The smallest of gaps between us. The scent of his much more pleasant aftershave surrounding me like a comforting blanket. I drew in a deep breath, grateful that it overwhelmed the stench of stale beer. This was nice. He's nice.

My gaze drifted up to his face. With the heat of his body so close to mine, the memory of the last time we had been in this position flashed to the forefront of my mind. My breath hitched.

Richie glanced down at me, a furrow between his eyebrows. He swallowed. The expression on his face was easy to read. He was thinking about the same thing as me. Our almost kiss.

Except, I'm sure his mind wasn't torturing him with the shame and embarrassment. That was all for me.

I turned my head away and broke his gaze. He pushed the door to my little flat open. It creaked loudly in the quiet of the night.

"Are you going to be okay?"

I shrugged even as I slurred, "I'm always okay."

"I'm worried about you."

Hah.

He placed his hands on my shoulders to hold me steady. He ducked so his face met mine. "I'm serious."

I frowned. Did I say that out loud? I must have. I shook my head and shrugged off his hold. My body swayed back and forth as he stepped back.

"Just go home, Richie." 

"I don't think you should be alone." He replied, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "You've had a lot to drink and you've been going through a lot. I could sleep on the sofa so I'm there if you need me."

I stepped in front of him, leaning heavily on the doorframe in a poor attempt to hide how drunk I was. My hand scrabbled to hold on to the doorframe as I swayed on my feet. My body barely blocked his path but the intentions were clear.

Despite how fuzzy my head was, I tilted my chin up and met his stare straight on. "I don't want you to come in." I attempted to sound firm but, with the slur to my words, it lost some of its effectiveness. "I don't need you. I will handle this alone like I always do."