Oliver
Inearly lost control.
Static buzzes under my skin. The itch to hurt, to break, coils in my chest like smoke.
For the first time in a year, it scares me.
I’d rather die than see genuine fear in her eyes.
Not the kind that comes tangled with lust. I pushed too far the first time.
It wasn't a sense of hurting her. No, it was the need to never let her go.
I can’t stay away. I need her more than oxygen—no, deeper than that.
It’s cellular. She’s wired into me, stitched into every breath.
My obsession isn’t romantic. It isn’t sane.
It’s raw, unfiltered, devouring me from the inside out.
I crave her skin, her voice, the way my name sounds coming out of her sweet lips.
But the line is razor-thin. One slip, one moment where I forget myself, and I could lose her.
Or worse, I could destroy her. It’s why I stepped back because I needed to breathe.
The sensations coursing through my body are new and foreign.
I feel lost.
When she learns the truth, when she sees all of me, will she still stay?
My face must scream stay the fuck back because no one gets close as I head straight to my car. Sliding inside, I peel out of the parking lot straight to Willow Reads.
“Honey, are you okay? You seem agitated.” These are the first words from Willow as I burst through her entrance.
Agitated.
Is that what I feel? This crawling under my skin.
“Yes,” I bite out, then take a breath to school my expression. “I’m fine, need to look for something.”
“Where’s Lyra? You haven’t come alone since you brought her. Not that I don’t love seeing you, but she’s a darling.”
Yes. She is. “Back at the dorm,” I answer.
I walk past her, down the rows of books, until I come across the section I’m looking for. I scan quickly before pulling out the required books.
By the time I've walked back to the front, my emotions are once again in check. It used to be easier before Lyra stepped into my life. Or more like ran through it.
“I won’t ask questions,” Willow says gently. “This one’s on the house.” I don’t like the way Willow’s looking at me, then at the book. I glance down at it, seeing that it is, in fact, the one I wanted.
Sex, Power, and Control
I look back up and nod. “Thanks, Willow.”
When I get back to my room, I change into sweats and a hoodie before lying on my bed. I flip open the book and read every word. Every line. When I finish, I do it again.
What is wrong with me? I've never wanted to be different. I’ve accepted who and what I was. But right now, all I feel like is what my father told me for all those years.
A waste of space.
Useless.
Defective.