20. Chapter 18
Emery
“This arrived while you were sleeping.” Xavier’s rumbly voice fills the quietness of my room the moment my eyelids flutter open.
I stare at the man, a mix of exasperation and annoyance flooding my system at record speed. “Why are you in my room?”
He continues to hold out the gift bag that I refuse to acknowledge until he answers my question.
Those hazel eyes, surrounded by dark lashes, narrow in my direction, and he places the bag onto my bedside table before reclining back in my desk chair until it creaks, arms folding over his broad chest, the black fabric shifting with his movements.
“Do you remember making it to your dorm?”
I scan my memory, but the last real thing I remember is Will and Derek in the hallway of the math department. Medication. And maybe a few steps out of the actual building.
“Derek had to carry you back. You’ve been asleep for five hours.” Each word is pronounced with such precision, they are like tiny nicks of a blade against my skin.
Closing my eyes, I ignore his obvious irritation at me and also try super hard not to think about The Monarch forums and what they are going to say after I was carried across campus by Professor King.
Someone definitely got photo evidence of that.
Shifting so that I’m flat on my back, I only now register the very dull ache in my temple. “Fine. I’m awake now. You can leave.”
“No.”
I’d like to say my eyes fly open at his audacity, but it’s more like a slow glide as I roll my head to look at him. I’d glare, but the headache sends me a warning throb. “No?”
“No.”
Now I ignore the headache and glare at him, but really, am I even surprised? He’s worse than a fucking shadow.
“Whatever,” I snark, and roll over so that my back is to him.
“You need to eat and take more medication,” he states, tension bringing back the sharpness to his tone. “And drink some more water.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I mumble through a sharp stab of pain in my temple, that is followed by my stomach turning. There is absolutely no way I’m putting anything in my stomach right now. “I’m going back to sleep.”
“Emery…”
“Leave me alone, Xavier.” My throat is tight, and the words are more whisper than a strong demand, but I swear to god, if he doesn’t leave my room right now, I’m going to cry. “Please, leave me the hell alone.”
There is silence for a heartbeat, then two, three before the desk chair creaks with relief and his quiet footsteps leave the room. I turn my face into my pillow, the backs of my eyes burning as a deep well of emptiness threatens to swallow me whole.
I should never have picked their stupid red gift box.
I should have listened to Oakley and gone after the easier dates.
The cute ones that would have never amounted to more than a peck on the lips.
I could have rotated through a roster of daddies, could have kept it transactional. My time for their gifts, zero feelings.
Instead, I allowed myself to get swept up, to believe they actually gave two shits about me.
That I meant something to them. I thought they respected me enough to treat me like an equal.
But, no, never an equal. And even if they do care about me, they’ve shown me that, regardless of what I want for myself, they think they can make my decisions for me.
I may only have been legally in charge of myself and the decisions I make for the past few months, but I’m not willing to hand over that power to anyone ever again.
Today was a miscalculation on my part, but being trapped in my bedroom because Xavier has been in the shared area of the dorm every fucking time I have gone out there has been driving me crazy.
I’d needed to get out. Touch grass. See the sun. Breathe fresh fucking air.
I need him to leave.
I can’t handle seeing him, in my space, every single day. It hurts too fucking much. Not to mention, all the sweet and caring little things I keep noticing around the dorm. Like the fact that I haven’t done a load of laundry since I got out of the hospital, but I haven’t run out of clean clothes.
Or that neither Oakley nor I have done any grocery shopping, yet somehow we still have a constant supply of fresh food. The way my room is always clean.
The way I don’t feel quite so alone.
Tears manage to escape and my lungs burn as I fight the sobs.
Why the hell did I let this happen to me?
The bed dips behind me and cool fingertips brush against my temple, smoothing my hair away from my face, before a cloth-wrapped ice pack is gently placed on my temple, immediately bringing me back from the edge.
They shift around until they are the big spoon to my little but remain above the blankets, warmth and weight tucking me deeper into my bed, easing some of the ache that feels like a permanent bruise on my soul.
“I’m not going anywhere, little dove.”
The tears soak my pillow until I tumble back into darkness.