Chapter 19 #2
"Like I said, Saige," Elias whispers, "take extra notes. Trauma bonding is bad, by the way."
I try my best to appear calm, shaking my head and rolling my eyes at Elias like I always do, but as she continues with the lesson, it feels so familiar, I can barely breathe.
I went through a traumatic experience. And then Dax made it worse when he made me blow him in front of my stepbrother. I've tried not to think about that part, and when I do, I try to remind myself that I had a choice—that I've had a choice every time, and that makes me feel better.
But only a little.
"Victims often rely on the abuser for safety, which also complicates the relationship."
It's hot in here. I'm fucking sweating; I'm itchy. I reach into the collar of my sweatshirt and start clawing the shit out of my neck, but I don't want to take it off in case I'm breaking out in fucking hives.
"…Tactics such as love bombing…"
"…Too many overwhelming emotions and difficulty coping with the ongoing trauma or traumatic event may convince the victim they're really in love."
I did this. I convinced myself that Dax loved me—that he was my safe space, and he was taking care of me—to cope with everything that happened that night and everything that happened afterward.
I needed something to latch onto—something that felt good because I was dangerously close to breaking into a million irreparable pieces and ruining my goddamn life, and Dax felt good.
There's no way I can choke down that coffee now.
It's the longest class I've ever sat through, and I feel like I can barely breathe—like I'm having a panic attack—until it's finally over.
"Well, what do you think, Saige?" Elias asks as I pack up my things. "Was that an informative lesson for you?"
I blink back tears. There's no way in hell I'm going to let Elias see me cry. I think what's even worse than spending the last few weeks allowing myself to fall in love with Dax is that Elias, who probably knows him better than almost anyone, got to watch it happen.
He got to laugh about it.
I can't fucking deal with this.
I rush out of the room before Elias even has a chance to put his things away, dropping my manipulative-ass coffee in the garbage on my way out the door.
I need space. I need quiet. And the library is several blocks from here.
I end up ducking into one of the sports complexes and find myself in the middle of a West Pine Wolverines hockey practice.
Typically, they wouldn't use the rec rink, but the practice doesn't seem to be closed. Several students sit in the stands, some with their own skates and sticks, waiting for it to be over, while others work on their laptops.
But it's dark and cold, and kind of perfect. I grab a spot in an isolated corner, lean back in my seat, close my eyes, and breathe, trying to get a fucking grip.
I hear the squeak of the chair unfolding beside me before Elias sits down and grit my teeth. I know it's him—even with my eyes closed—both because I can sense his evil fucking presence at this point and because of the damn smell.
I realize I never turned off location sharing.
"Jesus Christ. Can't you ever just leave me alone?"
"You forgot your charger." I snatch it from his hands and stuff it into my backpack while he says, "You're welcome, by the way."
"No, I'm not thankful," I tell him. "You didn't need to do this; you could have just brought it home with you and left it in my fucking hostage bunker."
He purses his lips before his face twists with confusion. "Hostage bunker?"
"You're tracking my phone, and it's fucking creepy. You need to stop."
"It's for your own safety."
I scoff, crossing my arms and sinking further into my seat. "Yeah. I'm sure you all really care about keeping me safe."
Elias doesn't answer, and I wait a few minutes for him to leave.
I don't want to leave; I like my cold, dark corner, and I was here first. I turn to him, intending to ask him if he has something else he should be doing right now—for instance, showering—but stop myself when I see how intently he watches the practice.
He watches them run through shooting drills with a sense of longing in his green eyes. His face, his entire demeanor, is softer than I've seen in a while.
He looks like the eighteen-year-old boy I almost hit with my car two years ago.
Elias shakes his head, forcing a laugh. "All of their forwards are fucking terrible," he says. "It's embarrassing. I played guys better than this in high school."
I stay quiet, allowing him to have whatever moment he's having. It's a mourning of some kind, and one that I know he blames me for.
But Nolan and Dax say there's nothing wrong with Elias's shoulder.
"Too far left, you dumbass," he mumbles before the guy even connects with the puck. I watch it sail past the net—a few inches too far left, just as Elias predicted.
Maybe he would make a decent coach. But he's always going to look at them just like this.
"You should try out."
He turns to me, scowling. "What the fuck did you just say to me?"
I shrug. "Nothing. I just think that maybe you should try out. You miss it, right? And you said those guys were terrible."
"You, of all people, know exactly why I can't play anymore, Saige. And even if I could, I would never try out for West Pine. These losers are going nowhere. No one watches their fucking games; they haven't had a winning season in years. It'd be a waste of my goddamn time."
"Is it really a waste of time if you enjoy it? I mean, your life is filled with so much joy as it is—"
He raises an eyebrow, his eyes hardening. "You have no idea what brings me joy, Saige. And I don't think you want to find out."
I remember that day on the couch—another memory I've done my best to smother in the back of my mind—and swallow hard. I think I might already know.
"I think this is what you would deem unnecessary communication, isn't it? And that always ends badly for you, isn't that what you said?"
I said it ends badly for both of us. But he followed me here. He follows me everywhere.
He's soft one minute and dangerous the next. And I am so fucking tired of being lied to and manipulated by everyone in my fucking life.
I quickly stand, throwing my bag over my shoulder, and back away from him. "You're doing it to me, too," I say, my voice weak and lacking the conviction I'd hoped for.
He shakes his head and throws his hands up. "Doing what? What are you talking about?"
But while I'm panicking and on the verge of tears, and despite his outward display of confusion, I can see it in his eyes—he's enjoying this. And it pisses me off.
"You know what I think? I don't think there's anything wrong with your fucking arm or shoulder.
I think you know that, and you didn't go to PT because you didn't want to get better.
You wanted an excuse to stop playing because if you tried to go pro, and you didn't make it, you'd have to live with it.
I think you were scared that you weren't good enough, and you were scared to leave home and be somewhere new without your fucking minions.
You're uncomfortable being anything other than a giant asshole fish in a small fucking pond, because you're a fucking pussy. "
He's on me so fast, I don't have time to move. All 6'5" of him looks down at me, forcing me to look up at him with a firm grip on my hair. "I should shove my cock down your throat for talking to me like that."
"Let me go, or I'll scr—"
Before I can say scream, he shoves his fingers into my mouth.
I can't move my head enough to get them out, and just as I decide to bite down, he says, "Don't you dare fucking bite me.
Good girls don't use their teeth, Saige.
And if you bite me, I swear to god, I'll have you on your knees with my dick in your mouth so fast, you won't be able to scream.
And it's dark enough in here that no one will even know I'm fucking your face—not until you leave covered in my cum. "
I freeze, feeling him growing harder as he speaks, and I believe him.
"Elias, please stop," I mumble around his fingers.
"If you want me to stop, then say you're sorry."
I nod and wait for him to remove his fingers, but he doesn't.
"Go ahead," he says.
"I'm sorry."
"Say my name, too."
"I'm sorry, Elias."
And I swear to god, he fucking moans.
"Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" He releases me, and I stumble backward before righting myself and rushing out of the building. I cry all the way to the food court, and when I get to a table, I instantly turn off location sharing with Elias.
I hide out on campus for the rest of the day, and as I walk back, decide that the first chance I get to be alone in the house, I'm going to pack up my things and move back into my room.
There has to be a time when none of them are home. I just have to figure out when it is. And as for Nolan…well…
If he's telling the truth, then he won't leave. He'll stay with me. And if he's lying, it's better that I find out now.
I'm no stranger to pain. I'll get over it. I'll grow a little colder for it, a little safer for next time.
Make it hurt. It's the only way some of us ever learn our lesson.
And since I want to hurt, I take out my phone, close out of the known senders folder, and go through the latest messages from my stalker.
I've received sixteen since Nolan last deleted them.
More photos of dead animals. A couple of pictures of me leaving the house for class this week.
More death threats.
More insults.
"Just do it then!" I scream at the phone in the middle of the crowded quad. "What the hell are you waiting for? Just fucking do it!"
Then, with my hands shaking, I do the one thing I promised Nolan I wouldn't do.
I engage them.
Do it then, you fucking pussy. What are you waiting for? I don't even fucking care anymore. Come and get me.
It takes only seconds to get a reply.
Oh, Saige. I'll definitely be coming…when I get you.
You'll have cum dripping out of every one of your bloody holes…and the new ones I make, too.