Ruin (Rhodes #1) by Rina Kent

                             “Say something, Syd.” I plead.

                             “Are you sure it’s not another manifestation of your Nyctophobia?” she asks in her calmest voice, the one meant for business.

                             “No, it’s not about that.”

                             “Then have you seen the one following you?”

                             “Not really.” I revert my eyes to the rear-view mirror. It’s become a nasty habit. “But I can feel his attention on me all the time.”

                             Should I tell her about that night?

                             But how can I without mentioning the strange sensation that coursed through me? The one where I wasn’t the least scared but mostly fascinated? Better not. She would deem me nuts.

                             Sydney hums. “That’s the exhibition and contest’s stress talking, Mae. Your mind is escaping your anxiousness in the form of this twisted paranoia. You have that habit in your art, don’t you?”

                             “It’s different,” I say as we pull in the club’s parking lot. “This type of darkness isn’t like anything I’ve experienced before. It’s much more terrifying. I’m scared to draw anything anymore. For the first time in my life, I don’t want to hold the brush because I’ve no idea what it’ll do on the canvas.”

                             She opens her mouth when Owen taps on Sydney’s window and waves.

                             Sydney offers me a reassuring smile. “I’m sure it’s paranoia, but we’ll talk about it later.” She grabs her sparkling handbag, grinning wide. “Tonight is for fun, okay?”

                             I nod, smiling back. “For fun.”



                             . . . . .



                             I go all out.

                             Channelling my inner diva, I drink and dance with the guys.

                             My friends are dead serious about partying. Countless shots end up in our systems. One after the other, like crazed addicts. The downside being that my tolerance level is the worst amongst us.

                             I stop paying attention to my surroundings, swaying to the energetic music, barely feeling my legs.

                             Owen spins me in circles, and my alcohol-induced daze almost lands me on the floor, head first. Owen catches me at the last second.

                             “All right, party girl!” he calls over the pulsing music. “You need to rest.”

                             I stumble on the way to our VIP bench on the second floor. Once more, Owen’s arms are there to catch me.

                             “You’re my guardian angel!” I slur as he takes my hand in his and guides me as if I’m a little girl.

                             Owen smiles and hands me a glass of water. “Take this. You’re drunk.”

                             What’s so wrong about being drunk? It’s light, empty, and liberating. For once, I needn’t plague my mind with unwanted thoughts about the stalker phantom or the upcoming contest.