Magic or Madness (The Wreck Me Duet #1)

FALLON

Every day, I wake up wondering if today is the day someone will recognize me. My cover will be blown, and I’ll have to move away out of pure shame .

I didn’t ask for this, but I know I’ll be blamed. I didn’t say no either, and that’s where the lines blur between coerced and willing.

Was I willing to do whatever it took to help my mother? Yes.

Was I forced into compromising positions? Also, yes.

My mother was an alcoholic in its ugliest form. Whenever she didn’t have a drink, her whole body would shake, and she’d vomit relentlessly.

Somedays I’d have the money, and the old man at the corner store would let me buy a bottle of vodka.

On other days, in the darker times, I’d have to beg my stepfather for help. He didn’t care that she drank herself into sickness or try to help her in any way. They fought constantly, and when he began cheating on her, the drinking became worse until she physically couldn’t live without a drink.

He didn’t love her. He was there to say he had a roof over his head. An address for the disability checks to be delivered to. That’s all she was to him.

But me? I was worth a lot more, and he took advantage. The first few times I’d ask to borrow money, he coughed it up, but with a promise that I’d repay him.

I was fifteen . I wanted my mom to feel better, and I would’ve promised the devil himself that I’d pay him back if that meant I could buy her a 30-pack of beer or a bottle of vodka. Anything to keep the sickness away for twenty-four hours.

What I didn’t realize, was that he intended to collect his debt, and my body was my only valuable asset.

The first few times, I stayed fully clothed, maybe showing off a hint of cleavage, but his curiosity grew, and my bills were hefty.

By the time I ran away at nineteen, three days after putting my mother in the ground, there were nearly two thousand images of me on the internet.

He spent his days organizing my photos, giving the perverts of the world a catalog of images to choose from, depending on their pleasure. He was rolling in cash, profiting off my desperation, and relishing in the fact that we were his lifeline.

Once she died, I knew it was only a matter of time until he took more drastic measures, whether it be selling me directly for sex or pawning me off to someone else – my days were numbered. Lord knows the connections he made with the perverts who enjoyed my photos, and I was accustomed to fearing the worst.

Four years. That’s how long I tried to keep her alive. I did everything in my power to keep the liquor flowing, and it came crashing down in one fell swoop.

Three hours. That’s how long it took me to realize she’d choked on her own vomit. I was running errands, buying the day's fix, and by the time I came home – she was gone .

Just like that, I was no longer confined to the daunting task of being her savior. I was free, but I hated myself for what I let happen to me in the name of saving her. I was disgusted with myself when the relief washed over me – when I finally knew I didn’t have to get naked and sell my body to help her. I compromised my morals, future, and mental health for years, but she was my mom.

I couldn’t let her die.

I made my choice, and it was time to escape.

So, I said my goodbyes to Mom, promising her I’d make something of my life, and ran for the fucking hills. I had no idea where I was going or what I’d do once I got there, but I knew one thing: how to survive.

It’s been one year, four months, and fourteen days, and I’m still alive.

I’m still fighting, but I’m still looking over my shoulder, praying he doesn’t find me and that nobody recognizes me.

I don’t have much, but I don’t live with a predator anymore. I have a few friends, a guy who thinks he might love me, and a place to call home. I made a life here in a quiet place where I could rebuild myself.

Instead of laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, dwelling on the things I cannot change, I choose to get dressed and join my roommates for brunch.

I’m working on my makeup when my phone rings.

“Hey, pretty lady.” I wince at the bland pet name given to me by Bryce, my boyfriend.

“Hi, what’s up?” I counter, listening as he describes his plans for the day.

“Don’t get wasted at brunch, okay? I want to check out the new diner tonight,” he commands, and I roll my eyes.

“Yeah, sure, that sounds fine. I have to go. I’ll see you tonight.” I rush him off the phone, not in the mood for his slight control issues.

Bryce means well, and he’s a nice kid, but his suggestions have begun to drive me insane. It’s always the small things, like asking me to wear a different top when we go out, or micro-managing who I hang out with.

I’m a natural people pleaser and easy to manipulate, making me a target for a control-freak to hold their thumb over. At least I can recognize the flaws within myself, unlike most people.

Once my makeup is finished, I fluff my lilac-purple hair one last time, watching it shine in the mirror, and turn on my heel to exit the bathroom. I quickly dress in jeans and a navy blue blouse, opting for white sandals instead of heels.

“Fal, are you ready?” Mick calls out, as I race to join them in the living room.

“Ready!” I smile, taking in her outfit.

Michaela, or Mick as we call her, radiates in a long pink maxi dress, and her butt-length blonde hair flows down her back. She’s drop-dead gorgeous, and she knows it.

Our other roommate, Rae, is a tomboy and rarely dresses up for the occasion. Her hair is fixed in its usual bun, and her jeans and t-shirt combo are as plain as mine. We let Mick turn heads in our trio and are all content with our roles.

“I’ll drive. You two can drink,” Rae says, holding the door open for us.

“Thank you, Rae,” Mick coos, twirling in her dress as we walk down the hallway.

The restaurant is across town, and once we finally get there, we waste no time ordering two pitchers of mimosas – one for each of us.

Screw Bryce, it’s Sunday, and I want to drink.

Mick forgoes a glass, chugging straight from the pitcher with a straw; before long, she’s drunk, singing along with the music playing through the restaurant's speakers.

All eyes are on our table, and Mick thrives off the attention. I can’t help but laugh as she stumbles around with her pitcher, making us look like crazies.

Rae hates the spotlight, so she rushes to pay our tab, practically dragging Mick outside by her hair. I stay a few strides behind, enjoying the slight buzz from my personal pitcher.

Brunch never goes as expected with the three of us, and today is no different. Rae is lecturing Mick, begging her to behave as we walk to the car. Mick rarely does what she’s asked, embracing the role of the rebel and taking the opportunity to run ahead of us. Just as we think she’s out of sight, she stops, lifting her dress and flashing her ass at us.

“Mick, get in that car right now! You can’t flash people in the fucking daylight!” Rae yells, unlocking the car and squeezing her eyes shut at the chaos.

I’m the quiet one of our group, letting Rae and Mick’s personalities do the clashing and dominating. I’m just here for a good time, and I don’t mind the craziness that ensues around me daily.

“Mick, you’re in the back. I can’t drive with your crazy ass next to me,” Rae says sternly, climbing in the driver’s seat.

“But Rae, I want music,” Mick whines, but that idea is shot down quickly.

“I’ll pick a song, Mick. Something subtle because Rae is blind as a bat, and we need her focused on the road, okay?” I offer, sticking myself in the middle of their tiff.

“Fine, Fal. You pick songs,” Mick slurs, settling down in her seat.

Rae silently thanks me as we drive toward our apartment, and once we get home, Bryce’s car is parked in our visitor's spot, waiting for me. We never set a time for plans, so I’m a little frustrated that he’s already here. Instantly, his presence hinders my ability to breathe freely, and I don’t like how that makes me feel.

Constricted.

“ Did you know Bryce was coming over?” Rae asks suspiciously, her eyebrows knitted together with worry.

“We have plans, but I didn't know he’d be waiting for us,” I sigh, turning around to see Mick passed out across the backseat.

My mood shifts and I feel my attitude growing by the second. None of what’s happening right now is in my control, and I have to refrain from slipping into an abyss, reeling in the memories of the days when I didn’t have a say in what happened to me.

Rae shakes me out of my head, bringing me back into the moment, and we work together to wrangle Mick up the stairs, dropping her into bed to sober up.

Bryce let himself in while we were handling Mick, and he waits for me in the kitchen with his arms crossed against his chest.

“I thought I asked you not to drink?” He questions, his tone of voice frustrated, yet delivered in a hushed tone.

“That’s not what you said, and I’m my own person who makes my own choices, Bryce. I drank, but I’m not drunk like Mick, so don’t assume you know anything.” I back away from him, leaning against the counter.

“Can we just go out now?” He rolls his eyes, and I can’t stop the urge to fight back, to push his buttons just as he’s doing to me.

“Can you adjust your attitude?” I answer him with a question, something that drives him crazy.

“Fallon, are we going to spend the afternoon arguing, or can we just grab some food?” He sighs, stepping close to me and brushing the stray hair out of my face, smiling sweetly.

It doesn’t feel genuine, though, it’s just another manipulation tactic he uses to get what he wants, and frankly, I hate that I can read him so well. There’s no intrigue, no mystery, just two people who seem like they’d rather be anywhere else.

“Fine, Bryce. Let’s go.” I motion toward the door, and he takes my hand, leading the way.

His demeanor is different now that he’s gotten his way, and the arrogance radiating off him makes my stomach turn.

Sometimes, I ask myself why I’m even with Bryce. His looks are average, and I fear that if he was lined up with a row of frat boys, I wouldn’t be able to differentiate between him and the rest.

He’s mediocre in bed, so much so, that I’ve faked my way through it to get him off me more times than I can count.

He does things that drive me insane, as if nobody house-trained him. He always keeps his shoes on, never cleans up after himself, and when he sleeps, he snores louder than a foghorn.

Other times, though, I catch him smiling at me when I’m not looking, and my heart flutters, or he randomly shows up with flowers, making my day a little brighter.

It’s not enough to stay with someone, but he was the first guy to show me attention, and I jumped at that opportunity.

“I didn’t tell you how pretty you looked today, Fallon.” He smiles, rubbing my thigh as we park at the new restaurant.

He opens my door for me, holding my hand as we walk inside. This place is all he’s been talking about for weeks, and now that we’re finally here, it’s underwhelming.

The decor is bland, ripped out of an eighties movie. The walls are splashed with neon pink paint, completely contrasting the bright blue tables and chairs. The tiled floor is a pattern of black and white, making my head spin, while the records plastered along the walls seem tacky, and desperate.

This place is trying hard to be nostalgic, but in my opinion, it’s missed the mark. The eighties should stay exactly where it was left, and the crowd is making it very unappealing for me to feel comfortable.

The customers are loud and rambunctious, attempting to talk over the music playing from a jukebox, and it feels like I’m in a club, rather than a diner.

Bryce wraps his arm around my shoulder, almost as if he’s claiming me in this public setting, and I want to jump out of my skin.

I don’t belong to anyone.

Finally, the hostess brings us to a booth, dropping menus on our table, then taking our drink orders. Bryce reaches for my hand across the table, and I fake a smile, intertwining my fingers with his.

I look around the diner, taking it all in, when I lock eyes with a man a few tables away.

Instantly, my breath hitches, and I feel a sense of calm as his gaze lingers on me.

His hair is dark, shoulder-length, curly, and makes him look like he belongs in the ocean. I’m drawn into him by his eyes, the smoldering gaze sending bursts of lava raining over my skin from halfway across the room. His skin is tanned, and he’s sporting grown out facial hair, not too long where it’s a beard, but enough where the scruff only enhances his merman look. Just when I think I’m being creepy, he winks at me, biting his lip simultaneously.

The group he’s with doesn’t seem to notice that he’s staring at me, and Bryce is oblivious to the fact that I’m not paying attention to him.

Something shifts inside me, and all I want is to know the mysterious man across the diner. He’s captivated my attention, and it’s almost as if we have a connection without speaking a word to each other.

“Did you hear me, Fal?” Bryce asks, breaking me out of my trance.

I struggle to take my eyes off the long-haired guy, his presence like a blackhole, and it's as if he read my mind because right before I look away he smiles, slightly nodding his head toward the restrooms.

I attempt to hide the curiosity that has engulfed my mind, and I do everything in my power not to follow the path he takes with my eyes, but I’m almost missing how he’s been watching me, which only cements how insane I feel.

“Sorry, what did you say?” I ask, redirecting my attention back to Bryce.

“I said, what looks good?” He repeats, and I realize I haven’t touched my menu.

“Oh, I’m not sure. Actually, I need to run to the little girls' room, excuse me.” I shock myself, the words leaving my mouth before I even thought about it for an extra second.

I break my hands apart from Bryce, who couldn’t care less as he pulls out his phone, mindlessly scrolling before I’ve even taken a step away from the table.

Now that I’m up, my belly is on fire with butterflies, and anxiousness fills my chest.

What if I’m being a weirdo? Maybe he wasn’t staring at me or showing me where he was going with a subtle motion. I’m a lunatic – following a stranger to the fucking bathrooms in a public place – that’s all I can think of to rationalize what I’m doing.

All the self-doubt flies out of me when I round the corner and see him leaning against the wall. He’s so tall, undoubtedly over six feet, and I feel tiny as I muster up the confidence to approach him.

I play it cool, standing a few feet away from him but leaning on the same wall, looking up into his dark brown eyes.

“That your boyfriend?” He clears his throat, his deep voice sending a shudder through me as he closes the gap between us.

“Uh, yeah. He’s my boyfriend,” I say quietly, noticing how his eyes never leave mine as I speak.

“What a shame. He clearly has no idea what to do with a woman like you.”

I’m speechless .

I don’t even know what that means, let alone what to say. Is he flirting or stating something he seems to believe is the obvious? Do I exude an energy that makes it seem like I don’t belong with Bryce? So many questions swirl around my brain, but my body is on fire, and I feel tingly all over, like I could crumble at the slightest touch.

This mystery man is fucking gorgeous, almost something straight from a movie screen, and he’s saying things that are weirdly turning me on, yet I don’t have an ounce of fear inside me.

Normally, I’d run in the opposite direction from an encounter like this, but I’m firmly in place right now. The allure of him keeping me here.

“And you do?” I ask, leveling the playing field, tossing the ball in his court.

“ I’d wreck you, Bambi. ” He lazily runs his fingers through his curls, and that slight move sends heat flooding through me.

“ Bambi ?”

He finally breaks his gaze from my eyes, looking me up and down slowly. It’s as if I’m on display for him, and strangely, I’ve never felt more beautiful than when his eyes are on me.

“You should get back before he wonders where you went,” he whispers, as if he doesn’t want to say the words aloud.

“I don’t care what he wonders,” I say firmly, crossing my arms and taking one step closer to him.

Whatever is happening right now, I can’t walk away from it. There’s something magnetic about him that’s keeping me in this hallway, inches away from him.

“Can I kiss you? Just once. I need to know what you taste like,” he breathes, placing a hand on my cheek, almost daring me to look into his eyes.

The breath has been stolen from my lungs, as I’m left to wonder if I’m dreaming. This kind of thing only happens in my head, those times where sleep refuses to come and I create fake scenarios to lull me under. That has to be what this is, a very realistic version of my imagination conjuring up the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, and proving that it’d take dumb luck for him to be interested.

I should run in the opposite direction, tell the entire restaurant about the creepy dude begging to kiss me in the dark hallway, or politely decline and return to the table where my boyfriend is waiting for me. Instead, something snaps inside me as darkness takes over all control, and I don’t answer him with words. I raise the stakes, wrapping my hands around his neck and never breaking eye contact.

“Oh, Bambi ,” he groans, pulling me by the hips until our bodies are touching.

“Kiss me,” I whisper, and he doesn’t hesitate.

His lips crash into mine as his hands rake through my hair. When I part my lips, he slips his tongue into my mouth, and tips my head back slightly while pressing his hardness against my thigh.

I moan against his lips, and his fist releases my hair, but the same hand is wrapping around my throat, pushing me against the wall.

This kiss feels like it's lasted a lifetime, and I’m so into this that I forget he’s not my boyfriend. I don’t even know his fucking name, yet here we are, making out like horny teenagers, or as if we’ve known each other for years.

When he pulls his lips off mine, I feel empty, like we barely had a moment together. Selfishly, I want more time with him, to know everything about him.

“Champagne and vanilla,” he whispers, his kiss-bruised lips hovering above mine.

His hand is still firmly wrapped around my throat, and I swallow against his palm, which seems to bring a devilish grin across his face.

“What?” I shake my head, my mind foggy from that earth-shattering kiss.

“You taste like champagne and vanilla. Fucking delicious,” he says, finally releasing his grip on me, and I suck in a deep breath.

I should walk away after cheating on Bryce with a total stranger in a random diner, but after one kiss I’m addicted, afraid that if I walk away the fantasy will end and I’ll be left wishing it could happen just one more time.

“What’s your name?” I ask, reaching for his hand, and he instantly laces his fingers into mine, gently squeezing while never breaking eye contact.

“Ozzy,” he breathes, and my eyes flutter shut, inhaling the pure lust radiating off the man standing before me.

I realize that I can’t stay here forever, so I pull my hand away, turn my back to him, and walk toward the restaurant. If I don’t leave right this second, I don’t think I ever could.

“Hey, you gonna tell me your name?” He calls out, and I stop in my tracks, an idea forming as a little test of his faith.

“If you want to see me again, you’ll have to figure it out,” I tease, winking at him before strutting back into view of the entire diner.

My sandals shuffle against the tile floor, and my heart is thudding so hard against my chest I’m afraid I might pass out, but every second was worth it.

Whatever just happened back there altered my universe, and I can guarantee that I’ll be thinking of Ozzy every second of the day, hoping he does track me down.

I race to fix my hair, adjust my shirt, and plaster the most bored look on my face that I can manage, but I have a feeling that one kiss will fuck me up forever .

When I reach the table, I immediately notice how visibly annoyed Bryce looks, and I roll my eyes without giving a fuck if he sees me. My mind begs the question, why am I back here with him?

“What the fuck, Fal? Where have you been?” He asks, barely looking up from his phone while I slide back into my seat.

“Uh, Mick called. She wondered where I was,” I lie, my cheeks burning with guilt.

If he looked at me right now, could he see what I just did? I feel ripped open and vulnerable in a way I’m not used to, but he never pays that much attention to my body language anyway, and suddenly, I don’t care if he knows. Five minutes with a stranger in a dark hallway has me completely reevaluating my relationship and my attitude. I don’t have to be perfect for a man to notice me.

‘Well, I ordered for you while you left me here … alone,” he quips, and I fight the urge to smack him, or run away from this table.

I swear, for the next ten minutes I try to focus on Bryce, even making small talk, but my eyes wander to the table where he’s sitting. I catch him stealing glimpses at me, smirking like we share a secret, and in a way, we do .

Nobody else in this diner knows what we just did, what we felt, and it makes me even hotter for him.

I want to keep him like a dirty little secret.

After a few minutes, his group stands up to leave. Before he exits my line of sight, he winks at me one last time, and a part of me is absolutely gutted seeing him go.

We shared a stolen moment, something I know I’ll never be able to forget, but I have an ominous feeling that this won’t be the end of our encounters.

I should be terrified of him, his boldness, and how reckless he made me behave.

But I’m not.

I feel more exhilarated than I have in my entire life, like I’m a freaking virgin who’s just been touched for the very first time.

.