Was I Ever Here: A Dark Romance Read online

  I stagger down the short hall to the bathroom. My shoulder bouncing off the wall, trying to find my balance. Maybe a shower will help. The dream has left my senses with a feeling close to a hangover.

  In the bathroom, I lean over the small sink to stare at my reflection. I peer at my own face like I’m studying a stranger. Long auburn hair, freckles spattered across my upturned nose, my skin white but sun-kissed, hazel almond eyes, my cheeks a little hollow.

  I know something isn’t right with me. And I hate it. But I can’t seem to control it. I’m untethered. This recurring dream always seems to worsen the feeling. Every time, it rockets me back into consciousness, making me land in my body at an awkward angle.

  Breaking out of my self-induced trance I turn on the shower, letting the steam rise before getting in. I sit down in the tub, too weak to stand any longer and close my eyes, the mist of the water washing over my face as I lean back and let out a heavy sigh.

  It’s not the first time I’ve felt this disconnected. Won’t be the last. Even my life feels foreign to me sometimes. Like this too is all but a dream. A sick joke on repeat. And I wonder if I’ll ever feel at home here—wherever here is.

  For the past year it’s been Noxport, California, specifically chosen for its proximity to the ocean. It’s also conveniently far away from my hometown back in Vermont. It’s a bustling metropolis with the beaches well-kept and beautiful—and where I spend most of my time.

  But even Noxport will eventually run its course. I’ll grow bored and move on. A hopeless attempt to distract myself from the widening hole in my chest for just a little while longer.

  I sink even deeper into the tub, letting the water trickle down my skin, a heavy groan trapped in my lungs.

  It’s times like these I miss River the most. She’d know what to do. How to pull me out of the depth that I can’t ever seem to escape.

  In a final attempt to recenter myself, I focus on how the spray feels on my body, like raindrops on the skin. It’s not helping much but at least it’s preventing me from slipping further into the nothingness of not feeling.

  Even now, I’m an outsider looking in, often feeling like I’m locked outside of my own body. A sob ripples through me as salty tears mix with the water trailing down my face.

  Fuck. I feel…homesick?

  Maybe.

  But ironically, I haven’t had a home worth the feeling in a long time. If ever. Still, I feel lost. Like a ghost haunting the walls of my own body.

  Unwilling to look at my confusing emotions for even a second longer, I force myself to snap out of it and stand up, turning off the shower.

  I need a fucking distraction.

  And by the time I wrap a towel around my body I know exactly where to find it.

  Chapter 2

  Sunny

  I eye-fuck Hunter from across the bar while he plays indie rock covers for the crowd, preening on stage. It’s a small unimpressive platform, the type you find in every Irish bar designed with cover bands in mind. Still, it's a stage and I can’t look away.

  In the past month, he’s become my favorite pastime. It’s becoming a thing, this game between him and I. And oftentimes between sets, he comes and leans next to me at the bar. While I pretend to be casual—cool.

  We flirt, clinking our shot glasses together, lust dripping like honey from our lips. A shot of whiskey as foreplay. A promise of more.

  And something about the look in his blue eyes tonight tells me he's finally ready to take the dive. I can sense it in the air, like an electric charge rippling across the empty space between us.

  When he finishes his final set, he saunters over and orders a beer next to me, his leg brushing against mine. His thin lips pull into a smirk while looking at me sideways, dirty blond curls falling on his forehead. The lights are low. The candles lined all around the bar are the only real source of light in this place, creating shadows along his features. I play coy, pretending like I can’t see how his gaze is telling me he’s dying to fuck me.

  After a few more shots elbow to elbow, he leans even closer and stares straight into my eyes.

  “Do you like me?”

  I laugh. Cute. Bashful. “Maybe,” I reply simply.

  He grins at me, his smile now a devious curl of his lip that makes my mouth water in anticipation. “Wanna follow me?”

  I lick my lips and swallow hard, my heart skipping a beat inside my chest. Fuck, this is it.

  “Lead the way,” I say, my tone laced with seduction.

  The excitement rises quickly through my chest and into my lungs as he takes my hand in his. I follow him down into the musty pub basement, leading me through a small, winding corridor lined high with kegs and empty cardboard boxes on either side. It’s a tight fit, but we squeeze through like two crooks in the night, high on the very act of sneaking around.

  When we reach the bathroom he was leading us too, I slip in, followed by Hunter locking the door behind us.

  God, I crave this. Always have.

  The thrill of the chase, men or women—I don’t care—as long as it leaves me high and sated.

  I’m addicted to the crackling static before the first kiss. The first touch of our parting lips. Where lust and fantasy meets reality like a moth to a flame.

  Hunter hastily takes my shirt off before our lips even touch, his fingers traveling up my waist and then down to my hips. He lifts me up and sits me on the sink behind me.

  I lean over and catch his lips with my own. His mouth parts open for my hungry tongue as I hurriedly unbutton his shirt. I'll yield under his hands as long as he continues to touch me.

  He pulls away then, lips wet and wanting. With a jerk he brings me back down on my feet and flips me over to bend me over the sink. I hear the sound of his zipper as he pulls my leggings and thong down my legs. The tell-tale crinkle of a condom foil triggers a low kind of adrenaline to course through my body.

  “You ready for me, baby?” he asks, and with barely a graze of his fingers to see if I am ready, he unceremoniously pushes into me. I gasp as he growls, kneading my ass with his hands. My cheek presses against the mirror, my breath staining the glass with his every thrust.

  “Fuck you feel so good. You like that?” he groans.

  I swallow hard and roll my eyes but don’t answer. The anticipation is gone and now I feel…nothing.

  I half-heartedly let out a small moan so as not to bruise his fragile ego. But he’s clearly unbothered, continuing to grunt behind me, the fantasy of him that I’ve so eagerly perfected evaporating with every throaty sound.

  Now I’m just bored. So—while he pounds into me—I take stock of my surroundings.

  A dirty bathroom in an even dirtier bar. The once white wall tiles now grimy and cracked. A single lightbulb buzzing above us. I hate to admit it but this is definitely not the first time I’ve been bent over a dirty bathroom sink.

  I feel myself drift while his hips slap against my ass, almost like I’m watching myself get railed from above. Having half a mind not to dissociate completely, I focus my attention on Hunter through the mirror instead. A lone curly lock of hair bounces up and down on his forehead as he slaps my ass and I pretend to like it.

  I roll my eyes again. Does he think I’m into it? Why did I even like this guy in the first place?

  No reason really.

  He isn’t even particularly attractive except for his blue eyes. And I’m pretty sure he’s shorter than my 5’11”. But anytime he’s on stage, I romanticize everything about him and become mesmerized.

  I’m such an idiot. It was all part of the fantasy though wasn’t it? But this, this is real life. Shitty fucks to make the time go by. But I’m addicted to every part of the thrill except the actual sex itself.

  When he finally comes with a throaty sigh, I’m just glad it’s over. Glad I don’t have to touch or look at him ever again.

  As soon as he pulls his limp dick out, I quickly tug my leggings back up, fling my shirt over my chest and run out the door before he can catch his breath.

  When I reach the top floor, I squeeze myself through the crowd hoping no one can pick up the scent of the mediocre sex I just had. By the time I stumble outside, I’m already actively trying to forget this whole hook-up ever even happened.

  I walk home under the drizzle of a rainy night sky, attempting to escape my gloomy thoughts with every soggy step I take.

  I can’t do this anymore. I’m so sick of this. My twenties are chock full of one-night stands I can barely remember. And for what? For once in a while orgasms and empty promises? Now that I’m twenty-seven, it’s getting real old, real fast.

  “Aren’t you tired of this?” River’s voice echoes in my ear, so clear it feels like she’s standing right next to me. I squeeze my eyes shut trying to chase away the gnawing feelings her words evoke and remind myself I’m alone. It’s only a figment of my imagination.

  It’s not real. She isn’t here.

  When I arrive home, I fling myself into the shower, barely removing my clothes in time before the hot water scolds my skin. I scrub myself clean from Hunter’s touch, the monumental let down of tonight only heightening the shame of what I just did.

  When I finally crawl into bed, my eyes droop immediately, the alcohol still coursing through my veins wrapping itself nice and warm around me, lulling me into what is thankfully a dreamless sleep.

  “I fucked that guitarist last night,” I admit reluctantly.

  Lenix rolls over on her beach towel, her golden brown skin glimmering with suntan oil, and almost launches herself at me. “You did not!” she squawks, her face fixed into a half shocked and half curious expression. “Spill, right this second,” she says, poking me in the shoulder.

  The public beach is crowded this time of day and the couple camped
out beside us glances curiously our way while Lenix makes an unnecessary raucous.

  I lay my arm over my face and groan into my elbow. “Be quiet, will you?” I whine. Why did I even bring it up? I would rather forget that I’ve even added Hunter to my body count. “It was…disappointing, to say the least,” I finally say, hiding behind my sunglasses trying to evade Lenix's inquisitive stare.

  “Let me guess,” she says, playfully tapping her finger on her chin, lips in a pout seemingly deep in thought. “You made him into something he wasn’t and you were crushed when he didn’t meet the romanticized version of himself you spent weeks perfecting?”

  Ouch.

  “I wouldn’t say crushed…” I grumble.

  “Classic Sunny,” she replies, giving me a small patronizing pat on the thigh.

  “Wow. I really hate you, did you know that?” I say, glaring back at her, raising myself on my elbows to better give her the stink eye.

  Lenix snickers and sends me a kiss with her glossy lips. “It’s actually the exact reason why you love me babes,” she answers as she finds the bottle of suntan oil and gives herself another generous lather, her black hair almost blue under the sun’s rays.

  Lenix is one of the first friends I made when I moved to Noxport over a year ago. We both work at Sammies, me as a bartender and her as a waitress.

  Our relationship might have started as a flirty fling but it didn’t take us long to realize we were better off as friends. Minus the benefits.

  Besides, she is notoriously single and avoids commitment like the plague. We have that in common unfortunately.

  Our past history has created a comfortable intimacy between us and she’s become the most important person in my life and the only one I trust in Noxport—or anywhere else really.

  “So, are we going to have to find a new bar to drink at now that you’ll start avoiding yet another lackluster hookup?” she teases, smirking at me and I resist the urge to pinch her.

  I hate how she knows me so well.

  I roll my eyes. “I mean…maybe just for a few months. What’s the big deal?” I mumble, yet smiling at how ridiculous I sound and Lenix laughs, settling on her back, her knees raised up.

  The afternoon sun is beating hard on us as I lay back down, sweat trickling down my stomach. I consider going in for a dip but lack the energy and decide to continue getting roasted by the rays like a heat-seeking lizard instead.

  We fall silent after a while, taking in the relaxing afternoon until I feel my phone vibrate near my shoulder. I turn my head to take a peek at who’s bothering to text me.

  “Gary just texted me,” I sigh dramatically.

  “What does he want?”

  “He needs me to cover for Julie tonight.” I lay back down with a huff, my mood souring, having planned to do absolutely nothing this evening.

  “I mean, you don’t need to say yes. You can just say you’re busy,” she adds.

  “I know…but I need the money anyway.”

  “Plus—” Lenix reaches over, her eyes still closed behind her giant sunglasses and squeezes my arm. “You’ll be working with yours truly.”

  “Thank god for that,” I say. She's the only reason I haven’t quit yet. I’ve been sick of Gary’s shit for months now. He doesn’t know how to run a bar to save his life. “That place is such a shitshow.”

  Lenix sits up, her nose slightly pink from the sun and pulls her sunglasses up on her head, revealing her deep brown eyes.

  “I don’t know, I kind of like the chaos,” she says with a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.

  I laugh. “I know you do.”

  Lenix starts to gather her stuff and stands up, pulling her summer dress over her light pink bikini.

  “Come on, let’s go then. We can get ready at my place and have a few sneaky drinks before our shift later tonight,” she says as she brandishes her hand for me to take. I place my hand in hers and she pulls me to my feet.

  After stuffing our beach bags in the trunk, we climb into Lenix’s car. Pop music blares through the speakers as she drives us to her place while I mentally prepare for yet another boring night at Sammies.

  Chapter 3

  Byzantine

  “And then I came so hard, I forgot my own name, I swear to god!” Connor barks out a laugh and takes a sip of his beer, raking a hand through his slicked back hair. We’re hanging by the pool at his place like usual, sprawled on the long chairs, my eyes squinting behind my shades against the sun.

  I don’t even bother acknowledging what he says. He’s been giving me a play by play of his night—against my will—for the last twenty fucking minutes. And I’d rather tear my own fingernails off than to listen to any more of it.

  “You finished?” I ask.

  “Oh, I definitely finished,” he replies, giving me one of his quintessential cocky looks before laying back down in his chair, pleased with himself.

  “You’re so boring to talk to sometimes,” he complains.

  “Maybe you just tell boring stories,” I retort, running my hand over my shaved head and then taking a long swig of my beer.

  “Fucker,” he mutters. “Remind me why I keep you around?”

  He flashes a smile and I grin back at him. Our banter is cut short when Bastian storms out from the kitchen with a victorious look on his face.

  “We got him!” he says, brandishing a stack of crumpled papers in his hand, heading our way. “I finally found the motherfucker.”

  Bastian doesn’t need to elaborate who the motherfucker in question is—I know it’s Davis. The traitor who slashed my throat and left me to die in a dark alley. The scar on my neck itches with the promise of revenge at the thought. We’ve been looking for the fucker for the past five years, nothing but cold leads and empty results leaving us hungry for retribution. Especially me.

  I spent weeks in the hospital after the assault, learning to reuse my vocal cords, nerves so damaged it made my smile permanently lop-sided. Days spent trying to speak, when I couldn’t even find the words to explain my near-death experience even if I wanted to. I was left uncomfortable in my own skin. My body feeling almost too heavy, awkward even, after the weightlessness of what I had undergone.

  And what about Gabriel? How could I make sense of the visceral knowledge that I had been Anthony in another life and in love?

  And it didn’t end there. I had seen a multitude of faces—and lovers. Deaths. Secrets. Love. An innumerable amount of lives. Different bodies. Different genders, personalities. But always the same soul.

  It was so vivid when I first woke up and still is now five years later, the feelings lingering like a nostalgic perfume.

  I never told anyone, even Connor, but it didn’t stop me from wondering. The question with no answer.

  Was I destined to find them in this lifetime?

  Him? Her?

  Considering my current sexual orientation, I was hoping for the latter.

  Hell I didn’t fucking know.

  It’s not as if I had instructions given to me when I came back from the dead. I’ve been trying to make sense of it ever since. When I was finally released from the hospital I even bought a book about reincarnation.

  I must have looked so out of place in the small crystal shop, grunting about past lives and looking like a thug with my scowl, scars, and tattoos. I got the fuck out of there as soon as the clerk handed me back my change. Half embarrassed, and the other half secretly hoping I could finally find some goddamn answers.

  I didn’t.

  Not for the questions I had anyway. All this metaphysical bullshit was confusing. All I knew is what I had seen and what my gut was telling me.

  Bastian’s voice pulls me back from my drifting thoughts. “He did a fine fucking job erasing his identity, I’ll give him that much. But he’s not as good as me,” he boasts, rare for him, his eyes twinkling. “Goes by Gary now.”