Tortured Sinner by Tessa James

Claire - 15

The aroma of coffee greets me when I wake. My head throbs, and I can think of nothing better than an oil-drum sized cup of coffee. Only, I live alone, and there’s no reason that smell should be wafting into my room.

Without opening my eyes, I feel around the bed I’m in, noticing these sheets feel nothing like mine.

A familiar scent lingers, and I realize I’m not at my place at all.

I pry open my eyes and take in my surroundings, confirming my suspicions.

Shit, shit, shit.

I sit up abruptly and the blanket falls down, revealing my barely clothed body.

Panic intensifies my already aching skull. “No, oh God, no.”

I spot my pants a few feet from the foot of the bed in a pile on the floor. I crane my neck to glance down the hall before committing to getting up. When I don’t see anyone, I jump out of Johnny’s bed, hugging the comforter around my chest and making a beeline toward my bottoms.

What was I thinking? What was he thinking?

I’m stepping into them when the sound of footsteps approaches.

“Oh, crap,” his voice calls out. “Sorry.” He immediately covers his eyes.

Not exactly the reaction I’d expect after having slept with someone. I guess chivalry isn’t dead?

He holds a cup in my direction. “Here, uh, do you want this?”

“Where’s my shirt?”

Still concealed, he points behind him. “You dropped it in the hall.”

I rush around him and snatch it up, throwing it over my head and relaxing a tiny bit once I’m not almost naked.

“You decent?” He keeps his hand up to block his vision.

I fold my arms across myself. “Yeah.”

Johnny turns and extends the drink again. “Coffee?” He has total bedhead, and his face is still swollen from the other night.

There’s this strange urge to run my fingers through his hair, but I shove the desire away.

I glance from him to the cup, then back to him.

“I didn’t poison it, if that’s what you’re wondering.” He takes a sip and holds it out. “See.”

I guess I’m sort of in shock. Johnny and I have been in this cat and mouse game of avoiding each other, to have him so matter-of-factly offering me a drink is mind-blowing.

And honestly, this is the longest conversation we’ve had while both of us were conscious.

“Claire.”

The way he says my name makes my heart skip a beat.

“Um, thanks.” I take the mug from him, our hands grazing in the process. I ignore the things that stir in my chest. “Do you know where my phone is?”

“Best guess, it’s somewhere in here.” He pulls back the blanket, exposing the corner of my cell case. He grabs hold of it and gives it to me.

“And my keys?” I lift my shoulders a bit helplessly.

“Now that one, I can’t help you with. You didn’t have them when I obtained you.”

I check my pockets again but they’re not there. I must have lost them at some point last night. I’ll have to retrace my steps. I tap the screen on my phone, but it doesn’t light up.

“Charger?” Johnny seems to read my mind.

I bite at my lip. “Yeah.”

He points out the door. “There’s one in the kitchen.”

I follow him out and down the hall. It’s a strange sort of walk of shame not remembering what happened between us. “Thanks.” I plug my phone in and wait for it to boot up. I stand there awkwardly wishing time would speed up a little.

He twists the tip of his sock-covered foot into the tile floor. "Claire, so—"

I cut him off. “Did we hook up last night?”

His eyes go wide, and he frantically shakes his head. “No, God no. Seriously?”

“Thank God.” I bring my hand to my chest then narrow my eyes at him. “Wait, why is that such a bad thing?”

“You were stupid drunk. I’m not that bad of a guy.” He seems offended by my questioning, like I should assume he wouldn’t take advantage of some intoxicated girl.

He’s an asshole, but apparently, he has some kind of moral code of conduct.

“Why were you so relieved?”

Is it really not that obvious? “Because I’m not really into having sex with random guys…”

“Right. Yeah. Makes sense.”

I finally take a drink of the coffee he gave me. It's pretty decent for home-brewed, but I don't tell him that. It'd be even better with a little cinnamon.

“Listen, Claire.” His serious tone pulls all of my attention. “I don’t really know how to say this.”

“Just say it.” Instantly, a million things cross my mind. “Did I snore or something?”

“No.” His emerald gaze meets mine. “You did have a nightmare though.”

My cheeks redden with embarrassment. That’s much worse.

“Oh.” I take another drink while I try to come up with something else to say.

He breaks the uncomfortable silence I create. “We can’t be friends.”

His declaration strangely kicks me in the gut.

“What?” I set my cup on the counter and face him.

My phone buzzes, alerting me that it's charged enough to turn on. It continues to vibrate with the incoming text messages that were never delivered while it was shut off.

We both glance at it and then at each other.

“I’m sorry.” Johnny’s expression remains grave.

I unplug my cell and shove it into my pocket, not bothering to check the notifications. I look around and locate my shoes, sliding into them while Johnny’s gaze follows me.

“Say something.” He reaches out and grabs onto my wrist.

There’s this soundless pleading with the way his stare bores into me. I don’t bother trying to figure out what it means.

I pull my arm away. “I saved you, you saved me, we’re even. That’s it. There’s nothing else to talk about.”

“Claire, wait—”

I rush out of his place, shutting the door behind me and jogging down the stairs. I clench my jaw to distract myself from the overwhelming emotions pouring through me. I refuse to let something so stupid bother me.

Of course we aren’t friends. He’s made that clear from the very moment we crossed paths. But there’s something about the finality of hearing it come from his lips that unexpectedly pulls the rug out from under me.

I leave the confines of the complex and go in the direction of the bar we were at last night. That’s the last place I remember having them. I have a vague recollection of kicking them off the pool table during my dance number.

Yet another embarrassing moment to add to my growing list.

I squint to shield my eyes from the brightly shining sun and continue on my journey to freedom. I pass a closed-up food cart and a memory pops into my head.

I stop, bringing my hand to my chin. I had pizza sauce on my face, and he wiped it away. I sigh heavily. Could I have done anything else to make a fool of myself?

I keep walking, not bothering to sight-see any more on my trek to the bar.

The closed sign in the window sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Shit,” I mutter.

I knock anyway. Maybe someone’s inside. That’s not totally unreasonable, right? Businesses have to clean and prepare their staff at some point.

The clanking of the door unlocking is heaven to my ears.

I step back and a petite woman greets me.

“Can I help you?” She scans me up and down.

“Um, hi. I think I lost my keys here last night. I was wondering if you could check the lost and found for me? Pretty please.”

The lady pulls the door open to grant me access. “Sure. Come on in.”

I follow her over to the dimly lit bar.

She goes behind the counter and pulls out a basket. “Have at it.”

A wave of relief hits me when I spot mine sitting right on top of the mound. I snatch them off and hug them. “Thank you so much.”

“Yep.” She puts the container back in its place.

I let myself out and thank her again for helping me, feeling a crap ton better than I did when I went in there.

My throbbing head reminds me that I could really go for a cup of coffee. I detour past my building and into the one reliable thing I’ve found since I’ve been here.

Bram’s.

His smile is the first thing I see when I go into the café. “Claire.”

“Hey.” I wave while maneuvering myself around a small group of people to claim a spot at the counter.

I should have probably gone home first, taken a proper shower, and prepared for being in public. But given how stupid I was last night, having breakfast with yesterday's clothes on is the least of my worries.

Bram pours me a cup of coffee without asking and sets the shaker of cinnamon next to it. “Hungry?”

“Famished.” I glance at the board behind him. “I’ll have the blueberry pancakes and an order of bacon.”

He leans toward the opening leading to the kitchen. “Blue stack and a side of b.”

“Thanks.” I stir the contents of the mug and set the spoon aside, breathing in the delicious aroma. The first sip is hot, nearly melting my damn tastebuds off, but it’s well worth it.

I pull the vibrating phone from my pocket and skim the notifications. The low battery signal alerts me, and I swipe it away.

Cora: HELLO?!? ARE YOU ALIVE?

Along with a bunch of other messages from her, Griffin, and Rosie.

Me: Yeah, sorry, phone died. I’m good.

Immediate dots.

Cora: Jesus, Lord, I thought that guy kidnapped you!

Me: LOL. Pretty sure if he did, I’d be dead by now. Good lookin’ out.

Cora: Hey now, he was pretty hot. I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

Cora: Plus, you were all **swoon** JOHNNY.

Me: I was not!

Cora: Totally, I mean, I don’t blame you. He’s got those bad-boy vibes and all.

Me: Don’t EVER let me drink that much again.

Cora: Same time tonight?

Me: I’m rolling my eyes right now, just so you know.

Cora: See you at ten.

I click out of her message and onto Rosie’s screen. There are a few in all caps, mentioning Griffin and a lot of exclamation points. I focus on the last one.

Rosie: Are you okay? I’m freaking out. Text me back or better yet, ANSWER YOUR DAMN PHONE.

Me: Hey, I’m fine. Seriously. Went out with those friends I was telling you about and got a little wasted. Forgot to charge my cell when I got home.

I leave out the part about being pretty much black-out drunk and waking up at a random guy's house.

Rosie: Girl, you had me ready to book a flight and form a search party.

Me: Sorry!!! Love me still?

Rosie: Obvs.

Dots form again so I wait for her to keep typing. They disappear but then come right back. The percent bar drops to one.

Rosie: But hey, we saw Griffin again last night...

The conversation I had with Griffin pops up in my memory. Shit. I finally stood up to him. And I was super intoxicated. Regardless, it doesn’t make anything I said or did any less true. I’m actually grateful for the liquid courage.

Me: It’s fine. We broke up, let him do what he wants.

Rosie: YOU WHAT?!

Rosie: I mean, I’m happy for you, I think? Am I supposed to be happy? No wait, I’m sad. Are you sad? ARE YOU OKAY?

Me: lol, I’m better than okay!

Rosie: Thank God!

Me: My phone’s about to die again. I ran down the street to get breakfast. I’ll get ahold of you in a little bit.

Rosie: Ugh, fine. But I’m holding you to it!

The screen goes black at the same time Bram slides a plate in front of me. The timing couldn’t have worked out any better.

“Here you go.” He sets a napkin folded silver set down, too.

“Thanks.” I unwrap it and reach for the syrup.

I’m halfway through my pancakes when Bram comes over.

“You ever get that news you were waiting on?” He tops off my cup of coffee.

It takes me a second to recall what he’s referring to. Finally, it dawns on me, so I nod, swallowing the bite in my mouth. “Yep.”

“Hopefully it was what you were hoping for.”

I shrug. “I mean, it could have been much worse.” Johnny could have been dead, rotting away in his tub where I had left him. “What about you?”

“The same, actually.” Bram’s attention shifts to the ringing of the bell on the door, alerting him to a new customer. He grabs an empty to-go cup and fills it to the top with coffee and sprinkles cinnamon on top.

For a second, I think he’s about to hand it to me, but he extends it across the counter to the person who just walked in.

“Thanks, Bram.” His voice cuts through me.

I keep my eyes trained on my food, not bothering to turn and face him. After all, we aren’t friends.

“Sure thing, Johnny. You hungry?” Bram points to the open spot next to me. “There’s a seat here if you want to dine in.”

Without looking, I sense Johnny’s gaze fall on me.

“No,” he says abruptly. “Thanks though. I have a thing. I’ll take a donut to go.”

I slowly reach for my mug, bringing it to my lips and giving myself something else to focus on other than this awkward interaction.

“Just one?” Bram strolls to the glass cabinet where his bakery items are stored. He snags a blueberry old-fashioned and plops it into a white bag stamped with his logo.

“Yeah.”

Bram glances down at me. “Claire, this is Johnny. Johnny, this is Claire. You two go to the same school.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Johnny extend his arm like he’s totally going along with Bram’s introduction.

A few days ago, I would have been much more friendly. I would have attempted to make small talk with this good-looking guy. But Johnny has shown me time and time again that he wants nothing to do with me, other than to be an asshole.

I’d rather ignore him and pretend he doesn’t exist, but since Bram is standing here, I have to do something.

I swivel the seat toward Johnny and shake his hand. My gaze trails up to his and our eyes lock, his still red and swollen from his beating the other night.

“Nice to meet you,” he lies.

“You, too.”

We stay that way for an awkward moment, clasped onto each other.

Another customer walks in and the chiming of the doorbell snaps us out of our trance.

Johnny fishes into his pocket and pulls out a twenty. “For hers, too.” He turns and walks out without saying another word.

I watch him the whole time, completely confused by every single thing he does. He’s so hot and cold, it’s like I’ll never figure him out.

I shake my head and go back to my food. When I glance up, Bram is grinning.

“Don’t even think about it,” I tell him.

He throws up his hands and laughs. “I’ve been known to be a pretty good matchmaker in my day.”

“Nope, not with that one.” I bite off a piece of the bacon.

“Ah, he’s not so terrible, is he?”

“He’s got bad boy written all over him.” Not to mention, he’s treated me mostly like shit since the second our paths crossed. I can’t exactly tell Bram that, considering he thinks Johnny and I just met as of sixty seconds ago.

"That's a cover up. There's a lot more to him than what meets the eye." Bram seems genuine in his defense of Johnny. "I've known him since he was this tall." He holds his hand somewhere close to the floor where I can't see behind the counter.

Maybe Bram does have a different insight into him than I do, but that still doesn't excuse his behavior toward me. Plus, the whole, we can’t be friends thing.

“You should give him a chance. Maybe consider it, at the very least.” Bram grabs onto the towel from the counter and slings it over his shoulder. “He could use someone like you in his life.”

His last statement sits with me long after he walks away to tend to the other customers.

What does he mean, someone like me?