Johnny & I : The Island by Daria Paus (best novels to read txt) 📗

as I tried to make sense of the thoughts dancing in my mind.

“I’m just glad you’re ok,” he whispered.

He closed his eyes, and I took the opportunity to really study him, letting my eyes drift from a bruised body to an even more damaged face.

"How are you feelin'?” I reached out to touch his bruised jaw. "Does it hurt much?"

He flinched as my fingers landed on his skin, but didn’t bother to open his eyes.

"I'm fine."

Yeah. He was always fine. Even if he’d be dying, I was sure he'd still be fine.

"Maybe others fall for such bullshit," I said. "But I don't."

He chuckled softly and grimaced as the motion hurt.

"I'll live," he said. “Been through worse."

21

Drunk Decisions

The last thing on my mind, as I curled up against him on the bed was how lucky we both had been, despite all that had happened.

It could've been worse wasn't really a comfort when you were bleeding and in pain, but the truth was, it could’ve been so much worse.

Sleep came easy. I was too exhausted to care about uncomfortable positions or the aching jaw. I just slept a deep and dreamless sleep.

Something moved against me. Low muffled sounds floating all around, trying to pull me awake. My hands slipped, falling limply to my sides and it felt like I was flying. I groaned, trapped somewhere between sleep and consciousness. My face pressed against something soft and I started to fall deeper into unconsciousness again.

A sharp hiss snapped me back into wakefulness, and I blinked to focus.

Another hiss, followed by a groan, then a, "Fuck".

Dizzy from sleep, I struggled to sit.

“Johnny?"

"Go back to sleep. It's nothing,” he said.

Even with puffy eyes and a barely functioning brain, I recognized the lie easily.

"What's goin' on?"

He gave me a weak smile but even in the dim light, I could tell it wasn't real. I stumbled to my feet, laying my hands on his arms and gazed up at his face.

"I'm sorry,” he hung his head. "I didn't mean to wake you, I just—"

"It's okay, I’m not that tired.” I was certain even Johnny knew I’d been practically half dead minutes ago.

"What's wrong, baby?" The word slipped out before I could stop it, and I silently cursed my stupidity. He was many things, but he was far from my baby. Hell, he wasn't even mine, no matter how hard it was for my heart to accept that fact.

He sighed. "I couldn't sleep, this—” He gestured with a flick of his hand toward his bruised body. “I need something to drink.”

I nodded. "I’ll go get us somethin'?"

"No, I can . . ."

I shook my head, guiding him back to the bed. "You should rest."

I came back in less than five minutes, carrying a bottle of whiskey. I handed him the bottle and he gave me a funny look.

"What?" I asked.

“I thought you didn’t approve of my drinking habits.”

“I don’t, but this is an exception.”

“I see."

I groaned. “I don’t mind your drinking, just—" I sat down next to him. “Just when you use it as a freakin’ euthanizer.”

“A what?”

“Euth—" I cut myself off and sighed. “To put you to sleep.”

He grimaced, then nodded. “Point taken.” He removed the cork and drank from the bottle, and I cringed but clamped my mouth shut as he took several long gulps.

This wasn’t the time to lecture him about his health. I was sure he already knew that excessive drinking was bad for him. He just didn't care, so there was no need for me to point out the obvious, even though I was more than tempted.

I knew before saying it that it was a mistake, but before I could stop myself, I heard the words roll off my tongue. “Hey, save a little for me." There wouldn't be any more sleep for me that night, but it didn't matter anymore.

Hours later, the bottle had gone from full to almost empty, and the tiredness was just a fuzzy memory.

"Feelin' better?" I asked, taking another sip of the spirit, then handing over the bottle to Johnny once more.

“Much," he said with a grin. "Thank you."

"For what? Gettin' you drunk?"

"You probably had more than I had.”

"I did not.” I laughed. "You sure it ain't hurtin'?"

"Oh, it does hurt, I just don't think of it."

"What are you thinkin' of then?"

"Do you really wanna know?" He said it with a wink, and that little gesture sent shivers through my body. I grinned. "Tell me."

He opened his mouth to speak, but then frowned, closing it again.

“I’m not that good with words, drunk or not," he finally said.

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow in feigned shock, but the truth was, I knew.

"Act then, pretend you're . . ." I paused, trying to think of an appropriate character.

"Or I can just show you.”

He reached out, and in one swift movement pulled me toward his body and crushed his lips against mine. He kissed me, long and hard. Little electric impulses rushed through my body as my pulse picked up its speed. This time, the dizziness had nothing to do with the whiskey. When he moved away, I was breathless.

Bottle in hand, he wrapped his arm around my neck, making me shiver as the cold glass touched my back.

His lips found mine again, and all sense of reality faded fast.

Never breaking the kiss, I shifted until I was on his lap and one of my hands reached down, struggling with the button of his jeans as his free hand tugged at my clothing as well. My body pressed against his, pushing him back until his back hit the mattress and my body tumbled down on top of his.

The content of the bottle spilled over my neck and into my face the same moment as his stifled cry reached my ears.

His string of “fucks” made me cringe.

Wiping the whiskey from my face, I started to laugh.

He grimaced. “What the fuck? You’re laughing?”

“I’m sorry,” I gasped. “It’s not funny.” I tried to hold it in, but the laughter burst