12. Abigail
ABIGAIL
My eyes flutter open as I try to get my bearings.
Something feels wrong.
I feel wrong.
Oh my God. What happened to me?
I blink, scanning the familiar room. Certain, I must be seeing things. Because there’s no way…
Except, I feel him. Hard and hot behind me. His hand curled possessively over my hip like I belong here.
In Elliot’s bed.
My stomach roils and I inhale a thin breath, trying not to wake him. Trying desperately to remember how I ended up here.
The last thing I remember is drinking shots. Lots and lots of shots. The rest is blurry. Some man trying to dance with me. The girls shouting. Vomiting all over myself.
Oh God.
I gingerly lift the soft sheets and glance down, relieved that I’m wearing what appears to be a clean t-shirt and not the vomit covered dress I must have come back in.
Did Elliot shower me? Clean me up and dress me in one of his Saints rugby shirts?
Why does the idea of him taking care of me make my heart flutter?
Foolish little thing.
It doesn’t mean anything beyond his need to look out for me. The girls probably called him to pick us up.
To rescue me.
How embarrassing.
I start to slide his arm off my hip, but Elliot’s grip tightens on me and he pulls me closer until there’s only a sliver of space left between us.
My breath catches at his proximity.
I’ve imagined this scenario so many times. Imagined what it would be like to fall asleep in his arms every night and wake up beside him every morning.
And although this isn’t the first time I’ve ended up in his bed, it feels different.
Bittersweet.
Bile rushes up my throat as his betrayal replays in my mind.
How could he be so cold and vicious that night? How could he let his brother humiliate me like that and do nothing?
I know there’s probably more to it than meets the eye—Elliot told me as much when he said we needed to keep our relationship a secret. But something broke in me that night and I’m terrified that if I give him a chance to explain, I’ll relent. And if I relent, when he hurts me again, I won’t survive it.
Because I realise now that there’s no happy ending for us.
There never was.
“I’ve missed you.” His raspy voice sends a shiver racing down my spine.
“What am I doing here, Elliot?”
“You don’t remember?”
“I remember bits. Not how I ended up in your bed wearing your rugby shirt.”
“You were sick again. I had to clean us both up before we got into bed.”
Probably explains why I can taste the lingering hint of mint from the mouthwash.
He did take care of me.
But instead of leaving me to sleep it off, he got into bed with me.
I’m not sure how to feel about that.
“You’re angry,” he whispers.
“I’m confused. I thought we agreed?—”
Elliot rolls me onto my back and hovers above me, his eyes a glacial storm that burns right through me. “Let’s get one thing clear, Red. You might have walked away from me but I’ll never walk away from you.”
The air crackles between us, so charged I want to run. But I can’t move. Elliot has me pinned and not just in a physical sense.
His words, the weight to them—the truth in them—almost makes me want to take it all back.
But how can I trust him after what he did?
The answer is, I can’t.
Even if I want to choose him and ignore everything else that’s happened.
“Fuck, Abi. Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” My voice cracks.
“Like I won’t ever change your mind.”
“You won’t.”
“You sure about that, Red.” He leans down, brushing his nose along the curve of my jaw. My heart stutters. Once. Twice. Before taking off at warp speed.
“Elliot.” I press my hands against his chest, trying to gain the upper hand. But a low groan rumbles in his chest, vibrating through me.
He doesn’t stop, ghosting his lips over the corner of my mouth and back over my jaw and along the curve of my throat.
A whimper slips free as my body stirs to life.
This.
This is what he can give me.
A temporary reprieve from the dark thoughts circling my mind.
But I shouldn’t take it, shouldn’t be that girl.
I only let him touch me before because I care about him, because I thought?—
No.
I refuse to go there.
This doesn’t have to be anything more than a simple transaction.
I trust Elliot enough to make me feel good, even if I don’t trust him with my heart.
“Your body still wants me,” he whispers against my heated skin, “even if you hate me now.”
Making the decision, I clutch his shoulder and arch my neck.
“Thank fuck,” he murmurs, licking a path along my collarbone before sucking the sensitive skin underneath my ear, dragging another whimper from deep inside me.
“You like that?” he asks.
But I refuse to answer.
We don’t need to talk to do this.
Elliot doesn’t push but he does let his hand dip underneath his shirt. His fingers splay on my stomach, brushing upwards, mapping every dip and curve along the way.
My skin vibrates at his touch, comes alive in a way that scares me. But right now, I’d rather burn than hide in the dark, cold abyss alone.
I arch into his touch, silently seeking more. Elliot smirks against my cheek, slowly sliding his mouth to mine. I duck my head, not ready to be kissed by him. To give him the satisfaction of thinking he’s won.
He hasn’t.
But I can’t deny that his touch soothes me. Settles and calms me.
“Look at me, Red.” His hand comes to my jaw, guiding my face back to his. “There she is.”
Something softens in his gaze as he rests his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Elliot, I?—”
He kisses me and I realise my error as soon as he lips brush mine.
Kissing Elliot is like waking up from a lonely, dreamless sleep. He invades every crack and fissure in my heart, stitching them together and making them whole.
His hand is in my hair, his body a comforting weight above me. He rolls over me fully and my legs fall open to accommodate him.
This is dangerous territory. For my heart.
And my sanity.
But I can’t seem to stop myself.
I can’t seem to tell him no.
Maybe we can pretend for a little while longer.
“I want you, Abi, I want you so fucking much,” he whispers so quietly I can’t be one percent certain I heard him right. Because I’m me… and he’s Elliot Eaton.
He can have any girl he wants.
Girls like Lauren Winrow.
Beautiful. Strong. Rich.
His kiss turns harder. Possessive and desperate in a way that makes my toes curl. I’m lost in him, the thrill of having him so close.
He rolls his hips into me, letting me feel exactly how much he wants me and I suppress another whimper.
“Use me,” he urges, tangling his fingers in my hair. “Get off on me. Take whatever you need.”
“T-touch me,” I say. “I want you to touch me.”
Something flares in his eyes and for a second, I think he might deny me.
“You sure?” He searches my face and I nod, too scared to give him my words.
Elliot exhales a soft sigh as he pushes his hand between us, finding my centre wet and wanting.
“Fuck, Red, you’re soaked,” he croons, hooking my underwear to the side to slide a finger into me. And another.
“Okay?” he asks, and I nod, letting my head drop back as I give over to him.
There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing myself, no cynical dark thoughts.
Everything just melts away, my awareness narrowed onto only one thing—Elliot touching me. His fingers curling deep inside me as his thumb rubs circles over my clit, making me shiver and moan.
I’m soaring. Climbing higher and higher, chasing that moment of sheer bliss that I know will follow.
Nothing else feels this good. Not the sharp edge of a blade slicing into my skin. Not the poison running through my veins as I danced wild and free last night.
Nothing—nothing feels this good.
My body trembles beneath him as I race towards the edge.
“That’s it, Red. Come for me. Come all over my hand.”
Elliot kisses me through it, stroking his tongue into my mouth as I shatter.
“Oh God,” I cry, clutching his bedsheets.
It’s too much.
Too intense and consuming.
I could lose myself in this.
In him.
“S-stop.” I push him away, panic saturating every inch of me.
What have I done?
“Abi, what the fuck?” Elliot leaps out of bed at the same time I do, staring at me as I wrap my arms around myself and sway on my feet.
“Fuck.” He rushes over to me and catches me just before I fall.
“I… I-I don’t know what happened.” I blink up at him, confused and light-headed.
Disappointment clouds his expression, but it’s gone in an instant. “Come on,” he says. “Sit down and I’ll get you some water.”
Elliot helps me back to bed and fluffs up his pillows so I can sit up.
“I’ll be back,” he says, hesitating.
“Elliot, I?—”
“Don’t, yeah.” Defeat coats his voice and in that second, I hate myself.
I crossed a line this morning.
I gave him hope that things could go back to how they were.
I took something for myself and in turn, I hurt him.
I’m a mess.
And the worst part is, I want him to fix it.
I want Elliot to fix me.
He finally leaves me alone, and the silence has never felt more deafening.
I thought I could hide from him.
I thought I could ignore him and pretend he didn’t exist.
But one thing is clearer than ever, so long as we’re both still at All Hallows’ I’ll never be able to escape Elliot Eaton.
Or my feelings for him.