11. Eleven - Rebel

eleven - rebel

. . .

The sudden buzz of my phone has me jumping as if it's the bad guy. Pulling it out, I see Nova's name and answer.

"Hey, girl. Where are you? I've been looking everywhere." Shit , that means she probably questioned Tate about… which means that he also knows I'm missing.

"Nova… dude… cannnn you go into another room? I gots ta tell you something, but don't want the guys to know what I'm about to say, ‘kay?" I murmur into the phone.

The silence on the line is loud between us, her breath picks up slightly before she answers. "Yeah, hold on." I hear her say something to whoever she's with, I'm assuming Gunnar. There's silence for a minute, the voices behind her disappearing. "Okay, what's going on, Rebel? You've got me worried. Wait, are you drunk? Your speech is a little slurred."

"Nah… I's fine. Don't worry about me."

She sighs. "Tell me what's wrong?" She knows better than to ask me stuff when I'm not ready to open up yet.

I clear my throat. "Did you happen to leave the drawers on your desk open when we left today?"

"Um, no?" she says as a question.

"Don't freak out, but…?"

"Rebel… you're really weirding me out. Just tell me what the fuck happened. Where are you? Why did you leave? I thought we were leaving together." She sounds hesitant with her words this time.

"Someone broke in. S'kay, though. I made sure they weren't still here. Had to clean up my room a bit, but s'all good now."

She gasps. "What the fuck? Why are you there? What if they come back?" The questions fly from her tongue like bullets from an automatic gun.

"I'm fine. Not scared if they come back. Got my baseball bat beside me in the living room, good drink in my hand. I'll be all right."

"Shit." I hear her curse, but it's muffled. Her mouth is no longer right next to the speaker any longer. "Don't move. I'm coming home now." I hear her moving around, and then there's a male voice. I can't tell who it is, but I'm hoping it's just Gunnar coming to check on her.

"Let me talk to her," the voice growls, and a shiver tears up my spine. I know that voice. In fact, I got very intimate with that voice earlier tonight.

"No. What the hell, Tate. She won't want to talk to you."

"Don't care. She needs to talk to me whether she wants to or not. I can feel her emotions from here." It sounds like there's a scuffle on the phone, and then I hear his voice. "Tell me what's going on, Rebel."

"Don't worry ‘bout me. You sssshhhoulldn't have to worry. E'rythings good heere," I slur.

"I'm coming over," he demands.

"You're a bastard. Don't need y-you…"

"I can't understand you, Rebel. We're almost there. Are you okay? You made sure he was gone, right?" The phone gets muffled as he probably turns to say something to her. I scoff. There's nothing wrong with me. I can understand myself just fine, so that's on him. Why the hell does he have to be so pretty?

"Now, that I understand. Glad you like the way I look, my little mouse."

My eyes widen, recognizing that I'd just spoke those words out loud. "Bbye." I don't wait for him to respond before hitting the end button and picking up my bottle for another swig. The bottle seems to get heavier the longer I hold it. The best way to fix that is to drink it. So, I take another chug and let my head lean against the back of the couch.

"Why did he have to mark me? He could've just fucked me and moved on. But no… Mr. Big Bad Alpha had to take what he wanted without my consent. So now, I'm sitting here nursing this damn bottle of alcohol. No offense to you, obviously, Mr. Whiskey. You, sir, are currently my best friend. I could feel sorry for myself, and maybe I am. Either way, I don't care."

I dip the bottle up and take another mouthful of whiskey and wince, why does it burn so much when it goes down? Shit, is it hot in here? Phew… I try to fan myself, but it doesn't help. So, I'm trying unsuccessfully to rip this shirt off me. So hot.

Mr. Whiskey is silent, though. Guess he doesn't have an answer for me. That or he's just refusing to give up such secrets. Isn't that why you drink? So you can drown your sorrows in the bottom of the bottle? Kinda like when you're at the bar and you talk the bartender's ear off because you don't know any better. Guess I'm missin' the bartender in this scenario.

I blink before shrugging, as if anyone can see me, and take another shot instead. There's a train of thought running through my mind, but I'm getting too foggy to figure out what it is. My eyes find the bottle in my hand. Well, that's suspiciously lighter than what it should be. I haven't had that much, just a few sips.

"Shit. Fuck. Fuck it - hic - oh. Fucking lovely. - hic - damn - hic - just what I didn't need." Hiccups start their barrage on my body. Just fucking great. The anger gives way to laughter, and before I know it, I'm giggling at absolutely nothing and everything.

I move to take another drink, but the bottle is dry. Well, fuck. I stare at it like it's offending me. And, hell, it is. How is it empty already?

"Of course… I make - hic - one bad decis - hic - ion, and now I'm mated. Damn - hic - it - hic - all to hell." I throw the bottle onto the floor, mad that it let me down. I need another drink, damnit. But the kitchen is so fucking far away from me. It's a daunting task even thinking about getting up right now. The bottle rattles loudly as it meets the end of its movement against a side table. I fling my arm out, waving it off as if it's another person in the room.

"I'm sorry." I find myself apologizing to the bottle for throwing it away haphazardly. Raising an eyebrow suspiciously, I point at it. "You, sir, are not a person, so don't give me those sad eyes. It won't work on me." I wag my finger at it. This is the moment when I become cognizant of the fact that I'm talking to an inanimate object.

I have no idea how long it's been since I talked to Nova, but my eyes are starting to droop. So, I just let them fall closed, pitching me into darkness.

The next thing I know, I'm moving as the room dips in and out of focus around me. It feels like I'm floating on a cloud or on one of those rafts in a lazy river. It's peaceful until the nausea sets in, and my stomach knots. "Fink I'm gonsta be sick…" I whisper.

"Come on, let's get you to bed." A familiar scent hits my nose, and I inhale deeply.

"You smell so yummy…" I sound fucking dreamy over it. "But he does smell so good."

"Wait, is she talking to herself?" The voice of my best friend lingers in the space around us. When did she get here?

"Yep." Mystery guy, no, Tate , responds. He's holding me in his arms.

I curl my fingers into his shirt, craving the comfort of his closeness. I may be mad at him right now, but my omega is content to be taken care of.

Opening my eyes, I take in my surroundings. We're heading down the hallway. "We passed my room."

"I know. What I'm about to do, you aren't going to like very much, but it needs to happen. You don't need alcohol poisoning, and you're way too small for the ungodly amount you drank."

I frown, a furrow planting itself between my brows. "Whaa…" I start to say, but then I'm being set down in front of the toilet. The sudden shift has nausea crawling up my throat again.

His thumb caresses my bottom lip briefly, gently, before he's prying my mouth open and shoving his fingers down my throat.

I gag, trying to fight against him. Everything is foggy. Why is he doing this to me? I question his motives. "I'm trying to help you," he says. Two of his fingers shove down on my tongue, and my stomach contracts automatically, bending to his will. I fall forward with my arms hugging onto the outside of the toilet as I lose the contents of my stomach.

I hate puking. It's my least favorite thing in the world. It just keeps coming. One of his hands is now stroking my back while the other holds back my hair from my face. The vomiting turns into dry heaving, and then I'm slumping over the toilet in exhaustion as one arm wraps around my waist in support.

The room is spinning, so I close my eyes to try and get some sort of peace. A few minutes later, plastic touches my lips. "I need you to take a sip, Rebel. Even if you don't want to. I can't promise you won't have a hell of a hangover in the morning, but this has to be better than nothing."

For a few more minutes, I sit there unmoving, wiling my stomach to chill the fuck out. It's rolling, giving me the urge to puke again, but I just don't want to.

It suddenly occurs to me that this alpha is being demanding but not the domineering one I saw in the woods earlier tonight.

Strong hands slip under my knees and the small of my back before I'm being lifted into his arms once more. He carries me to my room and sits me down on the bed. Suddenly, I'm thankful I had the mind to change the sheets before I started drinking.

"Fuck." He curses, probably seeing the mess of shredded clothing and bedding at the bottom of my bed on the floor.

I concur. Fuck, indeed.

"Tate…" His name comes out in a whisper, almost as if I'm afraid to say it out loud.

He grabs my chin to look up at him even though my eyes keep falling closed. "Sleep, Rebel. You're okay. We can talk about things tomorrow before I bend you over my knee and make that ass red with my hand prints. What you did, staying here tonight, was reckless. The fact that you tried to have Nova lie to us about it was even worse. Whether you fucking like it or not, you are my damn responsibility, and I do not take that lightly. So you will obey me. You will behave. And you will not put yourself in compromising situations like you did tonight. Do you understand?"

"Yes." I grumble.

He grabs my chin, forcing my eyes to find his. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl. Now sleep." My eyes fall closed again, and I'm aware that he's removing my bra and putting another shirt onto me. Then he's pulling off my leggings and slipping my legs under the blankets before pulling those up my body, covering me.

I curl onto my side. The scent of the shirt reminds me of him. Safe. I hear him shuffling around the room before complete silence greets my ears. Time passes by, and I hear the angry voice of my best friend. "Why the fuck did you mark her?"

"Because she's fucking mine."

It's the last thing I remember before darkness greets me once more like an old friend.