Chapter 4
no one hurts you but me
Saige
Iwait by the front door for Nolan, anxiously tapping my foot while my eyes shoot daggers at anyone who dares to stare a second too long.
Yeah, it's me. The girl who got jumped in an alley between the dorm and the parking garage—the one in the sex tape you all watched.
Say something about it; I fucking dare you. I know how to deal with bullies. This isn't my first rodeo—not even close.
Eventually, he walks up the steps, a shopping bag in his left hand. Once he's under the awning, he sets it down and removes his glasses, wiping the rain from them with his sweatshirt before grabbing it and heading toward the door.
"This is my guest," I tell the person at the front desk. "No need to sound the alarm. And, um, sorry my mom got a little unhinged earlier."
The kid barely looks up from his computer and shrugs.
I open the door for Nolan, an involuntary smile stretching across my face. It almost hurts—I don't remember the last time I smiled.
"Hi," I tell him.
"Hey, Saige."
He wraps his free arm around me, pulling me into his chest. I want to hold him, but of course, I don't. I fist the front of his hoodie, inhaling his scent, my eyes welling with tears.
"I missed you so much."
"I missed you, too, Saige," he says against my hair before pressing his lips to the top of my head. "So fucking much, baby. Let's go inside, okay?"
He takes my hand, and we walk to the end of the hall and step inside my room. "What's in the bag?" I ask.
"Sheets." He shakes them out and starts putting them on my bed.
"Oh, my gosh. Thank you. You didn't have to do that. I was going to order some; I just forgot. I've been forgetting a lot lately. They look nice."
"I'm sure they are. Dax bought them for you."
Even his name makes me feel like my insides are being wrung out. He must see it because he adds, "Don't worry. We don't have to talk about him."
"I don't want to get between you two."
"I know that."
"Is he…okay?" I ask hesitantly.
"Do you really want to know the answer to that?"
I don't know. Nolan and I have talked every day since it happened, but I haven't asked about Dax, and he hasn't brought him up.
He certainly doesn't appear to be suffering; I've seen him tagged in photos and videos at bars and parties almost every night.
Even though his texts say differently, as expected, Dax seems fine.
But he didn't look good on the phone earlier.
Although I hate to admit it, a part of me liked it.
I want him to feel something—not because I'm like Elias, but because maybe he won't do it again.
Maybe he'll think twice before stringing the next person along.
Maybe Dax won't leave a permanent mark on someone else who doesn't understand what the fuck they're doing because he made it feel like love.
Because I know from experience that they won't love the scar. It hurts, the cut somehow still festering beneath the surface even after the wound closes. And you feel like an idiot every time you look at it.
Still, a small part of me heard the pain in his voice and recognized it as my own. I wanted to take it away. I wondered if it'd be so bad if I saw him—just for a second, like he said.
But loving Dax is bad for me. And even if it feels good in the moment, I know I'll always end up just like this.
I realize I'm chewing on the inside of my lip and stop. "No. Probably not."
He throws the comforter on top of the sheets and then folds it back before patting the bed. "All right. Come and try them out."
I lie down on my back with my hands behind my head. "Very nice," I tell him. "Can't even tell this same bed was once covered in squirrel guts. Eh, actually, that's still not funny."
"I'm sorry, baby." He stretches out next to me on the bed, propping his head on his elbow.
I sigh. "Yeah, me, too. Elias says he's only sorry for some of it."
"You spoke to him?"
I nod. "A little. I told you he showed up at the house last night. He came into my room right after we talked."
"Jesus. What did he do? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. It actually didn't bother me as much as I thought it would. I think I'm just…numb to him at this point. He said a bunch of weird shit about how he's a sadist, but he's madly in love with me." I scoff, shaking my head. "It just…makes me sick. Nolan, what are we going to do?"
He slips his hand inside my sweats, resting it against my hip. "We're going to be okay."
"But they both—"
"They're not us. They don't get to decide."
"That's a nice thought," I tell him, my gaze fixed on the dark hair against his forehead, just barely touching the top of his glasses.
Not for the first time, I find myself fighting the urge to run my fingers through it.
"You know what? My bed is really small. You don't have to stay here if you don't want to. "
His brow furrows. "Saige, let me tell you what's going to happen.
First of all, I'm not going anywhere. I won't leave you, so you can drop the defensive bullshit now; you don't need it with me.
Secondly…" He pauses, kissing my neck before his hand dips lower, his fingers tracing my slit.
"I'm going to help you relax and stop thinking using any means necessary.
" His lips trace my jawline before pressing against mine.
"And then I'm going to be here when you fall asleep.
I'll be here if you have a bad dream or if you want to fall apart.
And if anyone tries to hurt you, they'll have to go through me first, and I'll fucking rip them apart with my bare hands. "
"Hmm, I feel bad for anyone who tries to hurt me, then."
"Baby, you have no fucking idea."
As he deepens the kiss, two thick digits push into me, and I moan against his lips. "Nolan, I want to ask you something…"
"Mmm…what is it?"
"I don't know when it's okay to touch you and kiss you…and where. I need you to tell me."
"Where do you want to touch me?"
"Your hair."
"My hair?"
I nod. "Yeah…"
"You can touch my hair, Saige."
I hesitate, moving slowly before brushing thick black hair away from his forehead with my fingertips, as I'd wanted to do a thousand times before, and then run my hand down to his neck.
"Is it everything you thought it would be?"
"Honestly? Yes. Maybe even better."
"You might have noticed, but Dax and I kind of…worked out a rating system…for where my head's at."
"Yeah, I have." I don't understand it, but I've heard it. I've heard Dax ask him how he's feeling, and he'd respond with a number.
"I can teach it to you, if you want."
"Okay." I continue combing my fingers through it while he talks.
"Um, so, it's a one-to-ten scale. If I'm ever at a one or a two, you probably won't see me.
I'll probably be spiraling in my room, and I'll call you in a few days.
If I'm at a three or a four, I can probably be around other people, but without any touching.
Five wouldn't really be a good day, either.
I might want to touch you, but you can't touch me.
If I'm a six, you can get me off, but proceed with caution.
Seven is a little bit better. My head's in a better space on those days, but I might need some restraints.
Eight means my head is in a good place, and I can handle a little more kissing and touching, but only on the front of my body—that's how I feel right now; hair counts, too, since you like it so much. "
"I really do."
"Most days, eight is as good as it gets for me. But at nine, I might be okay with touching under my clothes and on the backside of my body. And ten…is for Dax."
I nod. "Okay."
"Does that help?"
"Yeah, it does."
"Now let me ask you something…" He sits up, moving between my legs before working my sweats and underwear over my hips.
"This isn't really asking me something—this is just getting me naked. Not that I'm complaining."
He laughs, tossing my clothes on the floor, and then leans down, running his tongue up my wet center. "Oh, fuck…" I whimper, my back arching against the mattress. His hands find the inside of my thighs, pinning them open while he circles my clit.
I clutch the sheets with both hands, rolling my hips, grinding against his mouth while delicious tension coils tighter at my center.
"You taste so fucking good," he says, tracing my slit with his fingers, taking time to tease my clit before descending along the same route. "You're so fucking wet, baby. You really needed someone to take care of you, didn't you?"
"Please, don't stop."
He pushes two fingers into me, pumping them in and out of my pussy before sucking my clit into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue.
I really…really needed someone to take care of me.
"Oh, fuck," I cry out. "Oh, my god. Oh, my god…"
I squirm between the mattress and his mouth—against those fingers working my pussy. Breath heaving, I tighten my grip on the sheets to keep my hands off him before remembering he said I could touch his hair.
I thread my fingers through his thick dark hair, lightly gripping it near the scalp, and shamelessly roll my hips in circles, riding his tongue while he fucks me with his fingers.
"Yes…just like that…"
It's been so long, and I really needed this. Finally, for the first time in weeks, I'm out of my head, and it feels so fucking good.
I cry out, my toes curling as he brings me over the edge, and I come all over his face.
Nolan moans against my pussy as I give in to my climax, letting it wrack my body, his hands forcing my thighs apart when I clamp them around his head. He licks and sucks me through it, his head moving from side to side while he tries to get every last drop of my orgasm.
"Nolan…" I moan breathlessly as I come down. "It's too much."
"Mmm…but I love it when you squirm."
His deep voice vibrates against me, and I whimper, squirming again while clenching my jaw. Finally, he sits up, his fingers still slowly moving in and out of my drenched pussy while I attempt to catch my breath.