Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Peach
Bottom Of The Deep Blue Sea - MISSIO
" Y our friend, you know he's an asshole, right?"
"Achilles is the worst," I say with a sorry face. "He straight up doesn't give a shit what anyone thinks of him. Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"
The girl shakes her head, dumbfounded by my reaction. "I'm talking about Wren."
"Wren?" I repeat. "Oh, he's all bark, no bite. He seems a bit off-putting sometimes because he's strong -headed. I get it. I don't like his dominant side either. He wouldn't hurt a fly, though."
She hops on one foot as she pulls her boot up her calf, and I sit up on the sofa. That party was a bit wild. I fell asleep on whoever's sofa this is, but apparently, I wasn't the only one who stayed over.
"I don't mind a dominant guy," she says, throwing her red hair over her shoulder. Hers is a little lighter than mine. "Pull my hair all you want, shove my head in the pillow until I can't breathe. Cool."
My eyes widen slightly, but she doesn't seem to notice. She slept with Wren.
He slept with someone.
"But I mind a guy who calls you a different name while he's fucking you from behind. And I mind when he doesn't let me pull away from the pillow because he doesn't want to see I'm not actually whoever the fuck Peach is."
My heart stops.
He slept with someone and called her my name.
"And do you know what I fucking mind?" She huffs as she pulls her hair into a ponytail and fans herself. Yeah, I get the hangover heat too. "That when I corrected him, he kicked me out of the bed. That's not even his bed!"
I pinch my lips, incapable of stopping the onslaught of happiness.
Why the fuck do I care? I don't want Wren. I would hate having sex with Wren.
Right?
…
Right?
I shift on the spot, thinking of what it would feel like to have Wren pull my hair and push my head against a pillow. At least it would be the right name he calls ? —
No.
I'm not into this. And I'm not getting wet purely from this girl describing two sentences of her night with him.
"I need the bathroom," I murmur.
We're just senior high schoolers who showed up at a college party, but I should leave before she realizes I'm the Peach she's mad at.
Mainly, I need to leave so I stop feeling that zap from my lower stomach to my chest.
I'm still wet. I can feel it the second I wake up. Wet from dreaming about the memory of hearing for the first time how Wren likes to have sex.
I blink my eyes open, staring at the ceiling in my bedroom. Or maybe I'm wet because he ruined my life while simultaneously giving me an orgasm yesterday, yet still found a way to reassure me on our way home. Because he messed with my brain in a way that shifted something within me.
He's going to find my parents.
He's going to give me all the answers I've ever wanted to feel whole. All I have to do in exchange is give him all of me.
The man made me kneel at his feet but carried me to the car like I was his most prized possession.
You don't have to worry about anything anymore, Peach. I'm here.
I will keep my promise. My word is everything.
I held on to those like a lifeline.
Sitting up, I bring my wrist to my lap. It’s sore, but the brace doesn't feel necessary, and I'm dying to take it off, but the worst thing would be to make the injury worse. Swinging my legs over the bed, I let out a deep breath. At least with Wren not around, I can think straight again. I don't have to battle wanting to kill him and wanting to stay on my knees in front of him…just to see what else he can do with all the power he now has.
He's taunted me with the idea of us for so long, and I've resisted for so long, that being forced to give in to it has snapped my resistance. I should have never had sex with him. He’s right. That was my first mistake.
I stand up, round the bed, and jump back as my eyes catch a form on the floor.
"What the fuck," I gasp, my hand coming to my chest.
Wren is sleeping in front of my bed. Topless, lying on his belly, his back muscles tensed, like he's not fully relaxed despite being asleep. His breathing is slow, and he used his black button-down from yesterday as a pillow. Because he's resting his cheek on one forearm, his shoulder is flexed. Do his shoulders have to be so big? Do the muscles have to be so defined? He has no right being so hot, not after being such an asshole.
His other hand is by his side, fisting what looks like a piece of paper. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I silently step near him. I'm dying to slide my fingers through his chestnut hair. It looks so soft compared to the rest of him. Instead, I delicately touch his hand, and when it doesn't wake him up, I take the ripped piece of paper out of his sleepy grip.
My jaw drops. It's got blood smeared on it, and two names are written in a black marker.
Hudson
Lane
It's written the exact same way Caleb Mitchel was on the piece of paper I found on his desk yesterday morning.
And he admitted he killed Caleb.
I slowly step away from Wren's sleeping form, my eyes now on his hand. His bloody hand. The knuckles are split open. He beat up someone. Two people, I’m guessing.
Swallowing, I try to keep my cool as I process something. I'm stuck with a man who’s a murderer. Not stuck in this room, not stuck for a few days. I’m stuck with him for life.
Another step back, and I call out his name calmly. He wakes up right away. It seems like I could have whispered it, and he would have still heard my voice in his sleep.
Looking around my room, he looks as confused as I am. So, he didn't expect to wake up here either.
"Peach," he says, his voice hoarse with sleep as he stands up.
He takes a step toward me, but I put a hand up.
"Don't get closer. Why are you sleeping on my floor?"
He stretches his arms above his head, his abs tensing. Fucking hell. I have eyes, I’m human, and there's no way in hell someone can stay sane while watching Wren Hunter topless.
"You said you didn't want me to sleep in your bed," he explains simply.
I look at him, unimpressed. "I kicked you out of the house. You left."
He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. "You know what? I don't want to know how you got back in here. I don't want to know why you're covered in blood. I don't want to know why…why you asked which of those men hit me and now they're on this piece of paper."
"One of them hit you, and I wasn't sure which one," he answers with blunt truth.
I raise my hand higher, pressing the tip of my thumb to all my other fingers, indicating for him to shut up.
"I said I don't want to know ." I drop the piece of paper to the floor. "What I want is for you to pick this up and leave my house. I'm going to go to class and pretend my life is normal."
His head tilts to the side like a confused puppy. "But your life isn’t normal anymore."
"I don't care!" I hiss. "I want to pretend it is. Slow much?"
He shrugs, putting his wrinkled shirt on and buttoning it. "You can pretend all you want. Facts are facts. I'd like you to wear those really cute pink lace underwear with the red hearts under your uniform skirt while you're in class."
"Keep dreaming." I snort. "Wait...how do you know about those?"
His small smile is telling enough. He's been through my stuff. Of course he has. He knows about my letters to my parents.
"See, this is something you're just going to have to get used to, Trouble. My word is law now. So when I tell you to wear something for me, you do it."
I take a step back when he's close enough that I have to crane my neck, but after a few, I'm stuck against the wall. And the fucker won't back down.
"We have a deal, remember? I can make it seem like you have a choice, though. Should we try again?" He brings his palm to my cheek, his skin soft against mine, but his hand smells of the coppery scent of blood.
"Penelope baby, could you wear those pretty underwear for me?" he asks, and his tone could make him sound like Prince Charming.
I swallow thickly, my eyes digging into his as my jaw tightens.
"N—"
His hand gripping my hair stops my denial; it’s so tight, I whimper as he presses me harshly against the wall.
"Peach, don't be like that. Because when you act like a brat, I want to fuck it out of you. And I'm trying really hard to give you the time you need to adapt." He keeps his body flush with mine, and I feel his hard-on against my lower belly. "But since you can't play nice, wear them, and I'll check if you did. Say 'no' again, and you'll be forbidden to wear any underwear for the rest of the day."
I can’t breathe for a few seconds. And for once, it's not because of anger. There's something in the way he holds me, something in the passion in his voice that keeps the oxygen stuck in my lungs. Worse. There's something uncoiling in my lower stomach.
He brings his other hand to my face, holding the pad of his thumb against my lips but not trying to enter my mouth.
"I'm not such a dick that I'll make you say 'yes, sir' when you've barely gotten over last night. But some sort of acknowledgment would be greatly appreciated. So, will you wear them?"
I gulp loudly, my lips only parting slightly when I finally manage to spill out some sound.
"Y—yes," I rasp against his thumb.
"Good girl. Don't work too hard today, please. You're already exhausted."
He kisses my forehead and steps away.
I still can't breathe as he slips the piece of paper in his pocket and goes through my bedroom door. I can only, finally , function again when I hear the front door closing downstairs.
What the fuck is happening to me?