Mika

 

 

The strobe lights flash above me, and I groan as my headache gets worse, not even the alcohol I’ve consumed capable of stopping the relentless pounding that’s made worse by the lights and heavy beat in the club.

Sitting back on the couch up in the VIP area, I try not to notice that I’m the only one of my group that hasn’t moved in the last hour. They’re all down on the floor, dancing and having a whale of a time, while it’s all I can do to keep my ass on the couch and not leave for home, where I want to be.

I hate feeling this way when just weeks ago I was living it up and doing the single life with zest. I was oblivious to care, on a roll with the hot guys, and loving my life.

Now, I’m just tired all the time and it’s all I can do to pretend that I care when I’m with Leila and the Wylders. Lately, I just feel…blah. My friend April finally had a shit fit after I begged off for the third time in as many weeks, not feeling the club scene or even wanting to go to dinner with her and her boy toy Terry.

I know her, and I just know she’ll surprise me with some ‘perfect guy’ she thought would be great for me. I don’t want to date, and one-night stands lost their appeal a few months back when I woke up in a strange bed and realized I don’t know this guy.

I’m not slutty or anything like that, so don’t get all hot under the collar. I just enjoy meeting a hot guy every once in a while and going for it. It’s not a crime, okay, and besides, who doesn’t want to see that hot guy across the room and bang his brains out?

I did, and I did it with relish, because if I was having fun and living free, then I was fulfilling the promise I made when I tried to deal with God to let me live eight years ago.

Now I just don’t care. About anything. Because I am tired and bored and I have a goddamn headache that won’t quit. April bounces up and plops down beside me with a grin, glugging on her G ‘n’ T as if it’s the water of life.

“You’re being a total drag, Mika!” she yells over the music, if that’s what people call this stuff nowadays, and grimaces when I give her the finger.

“I’m fine here, April. I told you when you called that I was tired, but you wouldn’t let up until I said I’d meet you guys. Well, I am tired, so you can suck it up and accept that I’m not in for dancing and drinking until my liver cries blood,” I snarl, sipping at my drink with a shudder when my stomach rolls.

“But it’s ladies’ night! The drinks are half price, and the hot guys have made an appearance. Come on, Mika. Live a little,” she yells, making me smile through the pounding in my head when she whoops and shimmies her boobs at me.

I love April. I do, but the woman is wild sometimes, and I just don’t have the energy to tolerate her happy attitude tonight. I want to go home and sleep all night on this Friday party night and not care that I wake up at twelve and stay in my pajamas until seven.

I want to veg out and not think about why I’m so tired or why the drink I’ve been nursing for three hours is making my stomach turn. Most of all, I want to forget that I feel like crap and I rolled out of bed this morning feeling dizzy.

Because if I can forget all the signs I’ve been trying to ignore lately, then none of it’s real and I won’t have to deal with it.

“I am living!” I yell back, giving her pause because she’s the only friend I kept after college who knows what saying that means to me.

“Oh, Mika, are you okay, honey?”

Oh brother, here comes the maybe we should get you to the doctor speech, the one I hear from everyone if I so much as show signs of a fever. I hate that speech, and honestly, I don’t need it right now.

“I’m fine, asshole! Just tired after working all day. Listen, I’m gonna go get another drink and go to the ladies’ room while I’m at it. You go dance with Terry. Oooooh I see a hot blonde moving his way,” I taunt, giggling when her spine goes stiff and she leaps up.

“She’d better hope those extensions aren’t expensive.”

She’s storming off down the stairs just like I intended, and I rest back with a moan, swallowing the nausea that hits me again. Only this time I feel like my heads going fuzzy from the fatigue.

Stumbling up, I cling to the railing and make it downstairs, gasping because the heat between the writhing bodies is enough to steal my breath.

It takes me forever to make it outside, and when I do, I am so light-headed from the shot of cooler air I fall back into the brick wall and try to breathe my way out of what feels like a faint.

I probably look drunk. No, I definitely look drunk when I manage to fall into the alley between the club and another building and hurl all over the wall, the force of the stomach contractions so hard I feel puke hit my shoes.

I feel terrible, so weak and out of it I almost collapse before hands grab me and pull me into a hard chest. My instinct is to fight, but I stop immediately when I’m turned and look up to see light-blue eyes glaring down at me.

“What the hell are you doing out here alone?!”

Hawk looks pissed at me, and I would totally kick him in the bag and enjoy his pain but I’m unable to do anything but moan and flop my face onto his chest, not caring that I smell like puke and I’m wiping my lips all over his clean shirt.

I’m not drunk. Like I said, I had one drink for three hours, and I didn’t even finish the thing.

“Not drunk,” I mumble, groaning when he shoves an arm beneath my knees and lifts me up, cradling me to his chest as my head flops around on his shoulder.

“Yeah, and the sky ain’t blue,” he growls, snarling at a passer-by who gets in his way as he carries me down a ways and juggles me while opening his truck door.

“Not. Not drunk,” I try to tell him again, this time swallowing because he’s pulling away from the curb and the movement of the car is making my stomach pitch.

“Mika, don’t try that shit with me, okay? I just saw you fall into an alley and puke your ass off. You’ve been clubbing for what…it’s one in the morning, so that’s at least four solid hours of drinking,” he accuses, making me want to hit him.

I’ve seen Hawk around a lot when he’s in town, trolling the clubs for ass with those hot friends of his, drinking and having a good time. He has no place judging me for doing exactly what he is. Especially if it’s not true at the moment.

“Hawk.”

He looks over at me, and I try not to hurl when I see two of him, my aching head slamming so hard it feels like by brain is two sizes too big for my skull. He finally notices my face and grimaces, rifling in the glove box while keeping one eye on the road.

“Here.”

I’m not at all surprised when the boy scout pulls a paper bag out and shoves it at me, but what does throw me is the way he gently strokes my head as I close my eyes and try not to embarrass myself by hurling in his truck.

“You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” I mutter weakly, fumbling to open the window because I feel like I’m burning up and I need air.

Hawk growls at me to stop, and I moan when he turns on the air-conditioning and points the vent directly at me. The coolness has a twofold effect on me. I feel my skin chill in that heavenly way that all drunk people get from faceplanting on the bathroom floor, but it also makes me so nauseous I retch and shove the bag in front of my mouth.

“It’ll pass soon. Just keep breathing, babe.”

Breathing? I feel so terrible I could almost wish I was dead, I think sourly, doing as he says and sighing when it passes.

“I’m not drunk,” I say when I can manage to speak.

He gives me a look, and I want to brain him, but I also get that I’m not exactly winning any Oscars for sober person of the year either.

“I really am not drunk. I nursed one drink, and I didn’t finish it. I had a headache before I came out tonight, and it got worse fast.”

Hawk narrows his eyes at me, and I gasp when he shoves out a hand and puts the back of it up to my face.

“You’re burning up, Mika!”

He sounds so concerned I want to laugh, but all I can do is moan and shove him away because the man runs hotter than a furnace and I can’t handle the heat anywhere near me right now.

“It’s the headache.”

“We should—”

“Don’t. Don’t say it, okay? I don’t need to go to the hospital or anything like that. It’s just a headache that turned into a migraine. I’ll take something at home and sleep it off.”

Hawk grunts, and I’m starting to think it’s all he’s capable of when the truck stops and he turns off the headlights. My eyes are still closed, and I don’t move until the door beside me opens and arms lift me.

“I can walk.”

“No, you really can’t,” he replies, juggling me while unlocking the door.

I don’t register that fact, or that he shouldn’t have my keys, until I open my eyes and see the darkened living room with the sky-blue walls. I am not at home. Nope, this is his place.

“What…?”

“Shut up, Mika, and don’t argue with me, okay? You’re sleeping in the guest room tonight so I can check on you. Here.”

A soft bed meets my back, stealing my protests when I feel cool sheets all down my back. It feels good and so comfortable I moan, rolling to shove my face in the pillow.

My dress is short, so I guess Hawk can probably see my ass, but I can’t find the energy to care or cover myself because I just feel awful. I hear him sigh and walk away before he’s shaking me and helping me up, my snarls at having to sit up going ignored while he shoves two pills at me and tips a glass of water at my lips.

They go down easy, and why not since I’ve been taking the shit for years, and the water washes the acrid taste of bile from my tongue.

“Lay back.”

I obey, only moving when I feel his hands on my dress, pushing it up past my panties.

“Hey!”

“Shut up, woman. Let me undress you so you can get comfortable. Come on, Mika. I don’t care about your underwear, babe. You got nothing I haven’t seen a thousand times before.”

Oh brother, I think, acquiescing with a grumble because I do not like hearing that Hawk is a hound dog with a bedpost filled with notches. I prefer to think of him as a eunuch with little to no sex appeal for other women.

So sue me, okay? So what if I have this tiny, almost non-existent crush on my arch nemesis? I didn’t once say I survived the big C with all my brain cells intact.

The dress comes off easily, making me aware that he’s really comfortable with undressing women, and I peel an eyelid to see him pulling my shoes off, his eyes firmly fixed away from my boobs and panties.

Nope, no bra, but I won’t feel embarrassed, because he insisted on undressing me and, ya know, I got good boobs. They’re the one thing on me that didn’t shrink or suffer from chemo or radiation, and I really like them.

Guys do too, and I see this when he finally glances at me and swallows.

“Panties on or off?”

Oooh, I feel like hell. I do, and if he even thinks of touching me in an untoward way, I will hurl all over him. I just know I will, but I still have a mean streak a mile long, so I huff and tell him off.

Hawk grunts and pulls them away, tossing them to the floor before whipping the sheet up to cover my nudity. This is the part where I expect him to leave and maybe keep checking on me every so often, but he shocks me by removing his shoes and shirt and then getting up onto the bed beside me, staying on top of the covers.

“Hawk?”

“Hush, Mika. Just go to sleep and let me keep an eye on you. You’re safe with me. I promise.”

He never truly speaks to a person, more like growls and grunts and uses this commanding tone, just as he’s doing now, but I feel warmth spread through me because under all that gruff I hear a man who is concerned and maybe cares a little.

I don’t feel great hearing him assure me that I am safe from his advances, not lying here naked after he saw my all. I mean, I am a girl, female, you know, that species of beings who likes to know men find them irresistible even when they smell bad and look like shit.

I don’t respond to him, just turn my back to him and snuggle down, praying to God that what I am feeling is a headache because I know this feeling and I am terrified that it’s something I can’t face. Not again.

“Hey, Meek?”

“Yeah?” I mumble, closing my eyes and hoping those pills start working before the top of my head comes off.

“I’m sorry I was rude to you about being drunk.”

The apology is so unexpected I find myself turning, slowly, so as not to slip the sheet and flash him and also because my head feels like a lead weight dangling off the spaghetti that is my neck.

“It’s okay. I wasn’t exactly convincing.”

“You feeling okay?”

This concern isn’t like him, and I don’t really know that I can deal with it, but I feel a little better, if fuzzy, when the throbbing in my brain starts lessening.

I feel good enough that for once I don’t feel defensive, even if he is being weird and reminding me of Leila and her understanding concern. I hate it, but I get that right now he’s just trying to be nice.

“No,” I whisper, closing my eyes when I see his head turn and his eyes pin on me.

“Talk to me, babe.”

I don’t want to though. I want to go to sleep and pretend and not think. I want to lay here in a bed, naked and knowing that I don’t have to perform, because he doesn’t expect anything from me. Mostly I just want to stop thinking.

But this is Hawk, and I have to face facts. If not tonight then tomorrow he’ll be up my ass about tonight.

“I just feel…blah. I don’t care about partying and going out with my friends, and all I want to do is go home and not do anything. Have you ever felt like just existing for a while and not having to be what other people need?” I ask.

“A lot, if you want me to be honest,” he answers after a while of companionable silence.

“Really? You?”

“Yeah, me,” he mumbles sourly. “What do you think, Meek, that I just don’t give a shit? That’s not true. I do. But sometimes, after a long job in some hellhole, I just want to come home and not be with anyone.”

I snort, and the bed shakes when he chuckles because I know with Rain Wylder as a mother that is not happening.

“Your mom.”

“Yep. The only ones going out regularly now are me and Lyon, and he’s taken a leave of absence to help Leila with the wedding, so when I do get home, she’s on me like the plague. Yesterday she brought me three casseroles and tried to clean my house,” he mutters.

I’d laugh but I feel awful, and I don’t find it funny anyway because it’s shocking to have to look at this man and think that he feels the same way I do sometimes.

“Sometimes having family sucks.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Hey, Hawk?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever just wanna run away and live out in the middle of nowhere?”

I do. Sometimes when Mom or Dad or even Leila call me twice a day and Al is trying to check my temperature at the office and Lynx won’t let me step a foot out of the air-conditioned office, I want to run and not look back.

It sounds pathetic, and I get that my maudlin thoughts are tragic, but I’m not feeling so great right now, and I have the right to throw a little pity party every once in a while.

“No.”

“Never?”

“Nope, because I just usually tell people to fuck off if I don’t feel like socializing,” he mumbles, making me giggle with a groan of pain.

“Your mom?”

He snorts at the teasing and rolls to look up at the ceiling.

“Sometimes I don’t answer the phone. You should try it, Mika.”

I huff and roll my eyes even though it hurts and he can’t see me.

“Dude, I’d have the fire department breaking the door down and EMTs checking me over in an hour flat if I did that.”

Hawk snarls at the despondent tone of my voice and takes my hand, squeezing it once before letting me go.

“It must suck a lot. I know I complain to myself about having Mom coddle my grown ass, but having so many people up your ass all the time must be exhausting. I know I want to go nuts when Mom comes at me motherly instincts blazing.”

I feel like we’re the same, sorta, and that alikeness makes me feel less like killing him, because I get it. We may not be friends in the strictest sense, but it feels nice to talk to someone who understands.

“Maybe you could hide out with me sometimes. You know, just shut the world out and be co-conspirators,” I mumble. “You could ignore me, and I’ll ignore you, and we’d ignore the world together.”

He grunts, not really answering, but I manage to get a head pat for my efforts.

“Go to sleep, Mika.”

I do, smiling when I feel him stroke my hair just before I drop off. Maybe we can be friends, I think just before sweet oblivion hits me.