4. Chapter 1
W atching the love of my life dancing around the room, between girls, boys, and anyone else who shows him attention, is not the college experience I was hoping for. Eyeing his big arms pumping in the air or wrapping around another body–a body that isn’t mine–makes me want to drink ridiculous amounts of alcohol.
Banks and I, we’re… Well, I don’t know what the fuck we are, but I know I love him. And I know he loves me too. He just won't admit it to himself, or me.
We both have our fair share of baggage. Both of our mothers are dead. I grew up under the thumb of my father and surrogate uncles, Creed Hemlock and Nile Rossi. I’ve lived with Creed the longest, and my dad is his negotiator. Most people react better to my dad giving them a visit over Creed. I never had the opportunity to know my mom since she died giving birth to me. Banks, though, lost his mom almost two years ago, and he’s taken it pretty hard.
Despite all of our shit, I shouldn’t give him such grace. He’s an asshole who needs to figure his shit out and stop treating me like I’m expendable, or I might just go find someone else. The only problem is when I think about being with anyone else, it makes me physically ill.
It’s my curse.
I can’t help loving him. It’s toxic and cruel. I’m only punishing myself.
Sometimes I wish my brain would just turn off so I could enjoy sex with no strings, or without feeling guilty. Despite Banks’s insistence that he can’t be with me, I know it would kill off what's left of his heart if I were with someone else.
Banks disappears into the crowd, and I make my way to the kitchen here on the third floor of Hammonds Hall, trying not to look like this is the last place I want to be.
Pouring myself a large cup of vodka and mixing it with orange juice, I chug it down, gulp after greedy gulp. Guzzling the burning liquid until the cup runs dry, and my head starts to feel fuzzy. I should hate him. I should tell him to fuck off and never speak to him again.
I just… can’t.
My dad keeps telling me that until Banks comes to terms with his demons, he’ll never have room in his heart for me. I know he’s right, and even though the thought makes me want to cry, I won’t. Not here, and definitely not when we get back to our dorm where Banks and I share space. So I just shove it down and ignore it.
I should have asked to bunk with Toby. At least then, I’d have peace, somewhat anyway. Banks would be in a separate room, and I wouldn’t care about what or who he’s doing when he isn’t with me.
The problem is, when he is with me, he’s everything. He’s the rhythm in my feet, the whisper in my ear, the thump in my heart, and the fucking air in my lungs. I can’t get away from him, and even though I know I deserve better, the masochist in me doesn’t care.
Because he’s the man–deep down, under all that pain and anger–that I know and love. When morning comes, though, he’s lost to his demons, and I’m just a weight anchoring him to them.
“Are you going to sulk all night?” His voice sends a shiver down my spine, and I spin to find Banks smiling down at me. His dark copper hair is cropped close to his scalp, and his eyes… God, his gray eyes reel me in any time I find them on me.
“I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t slobbering over everyone,” the words escape my fuzzy mind before my mouth can filter them.
“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Fancy.” He laughs, and I can tell he’s high. Most likely on something to make him feel less like himself and more like the unattached person he tries to convince himself he is.
I scoff, unwilling to be baited into this game again. He knows it’s no longer jealousy. It’s heartbreak and suffering.
“Don’t call me that, Banks.”
He laughs and wraps his arms around my waist, pinching the extra bit of weight I’ve gained since working for Candy and Fern. “What about Doughboy, then?”
I sigh and push out of his arms, “You’re high, and I don’t want to play your game anymore.”
He follows me, pushing me against the closest wall and caging me in with his thick arms. Leaning down into my space, he licks the column of my neck and hums a soft, “Salty.”
“Banks, stop,” I can’t do this tonight, I shouldn’t be doing it at all.
“I love it when you pretend you don’t want me. It’s like that kinky shit you like to read, what do they call it…” he pauses as if he’s going to come up with the words he’s looking for.
“Consensual non-consent,” I supply, knowing he most likely won’t remember this conversation tomorrow.
“That,” he nibbles on my ear, trailing kisses down my jaw. I turn my face before he can get to my lips. He pulls back just enough so his eyes are trained on mine, “I need you, Henry.”
Tears burn my nose and pool in my lower lashes, “you need something to fuck, Banks, that’s not the same as needing me .”
He moves one arm, placing his long fingers around my jaw to stop my shaking head. “And I know you want me to.”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from letting the tears fall as I stare at him and say, “I love you, Banks.”
His eyes, with pupils blown wide, narrow on me, and he shoves my head to the side. “Fuck you, Henry.”
Watching him walk away feels like my heart is fracturing into pieces. I know in a few hours when he finds his way back to our dorm, he’ll be sweet and put band-aids over those pieces, hoping that will suffice and I’ll forgive him.
And I will, just like I always do.