Chapter 13 Niko
Niko
Niko, scrolling through comments before sleep, earlier tonight
Username: Dragonfly
At first, I didn’t pick up on it.
But as I scroll through recent comments, I realize that Hercules hasn’t commented in a while.
I liked Hercules.
Liked his comments, at least.
I don’t really care, though, because commenters don’t matter when I have enough going on in my real life with Oliver, now.
Weird to think that.
Since when is my actual life more engaging than my Dragonfly world?
It’s like everything’s become the opposite of what it once was.
Like I’d gotten so used to drowning, but now Oliver’s pulling me back above the surface.
The night Oliver doesn’t show up in my bed is the night I have the first dream.
As I fall asleep, I’m dimly aware of him denying me, even as I drift out of consciousness.
He’s not coming.
Still alone, in this bed.
The dream comes on slowly, and I’m not aware I’ve fallen asleep. I’m in Oliver’s room and he has my phone in hand, showing me the camera app.
“Film me,” he says, taking off all of his clothes, piece by piece. “I want you to post this one.”
“You don’t want these types of videos online. Trust me.”
I started putting my body online and getting attention from creeps and freaks a while ago, but I can’t imagine Oliver having those eyes on him.
I don’t want those eyes on him.
I want my eyes on him.
“Just film me. It’s hot if people see.”
He’s getting on the bed a moment later, on all fours. He spreads for me and looks back at the camera, a lustful look in his eyes.
“Ollie.”
“Take my ass. Film it. They can watch us and be jealous.”
Desire rips through me, a clouded impulse of lust hitting my veins like 140-proof alcohol. I’m so hard from the way he’s presenting himself, offering himself.
“This could ruin you,” I tell him, my voice coming out low and severe.
His eyes smolder as he looks back at me.
“Come. Use me. You’ve already ruined me anyway, Niko.”
I wake with a start from the dream, way too hot under the covers and so hard again already, only an hour after leaving Oliver in real life.
I shove the covers away, cool air hitting my skin.
My heart’s pounding.
I’m in bed alone.
And more than anything, I’m angry.
I’ve wanted to ruin Oliver Ashford for a long time. But the dream was like a spike to the heart, hurtful in a way I didn’t know I could be hurt.
In the dream…
I wanted to protect him more than I wanted to destroy him.
That’s new.
And I have no idea what to do with that feeling.
The second dream is worse.
It happens three nights later, after we’ve already made our “relationship” official on social media.
So far everything has been perfect… on the outside.
Every day, we’ve posted new pictures of us together, doing very coupley things. Holding hands, lounging on a couch together, even a picture of him with his head resting on my shoulder that we asked Weston to take.
But he’s been avoiding me.
And he won’t admit it.
After telling me he’s “busy” again, I head upstairs to my room alone and get lost in the book I have to read for my English Lit class. Hours pass and I drift to sleep on my bed with the book falling against my chest.
That’s when the bad dream starts.
This time we’re already fucking.
Our bodies are hot.
Instead of being on all fours, he’s on his back, facing up toward me so I can see his eyes.
My cock is deep inside him, all the way to the hilt. He’s taking me like he’s made for it, begging for it like the time before, and this time I’m giving in.
I fuck him so hard that tears break off from the corners of his eyes but he still asks me to go harder, to make it hurt even more.
“Not fragile,” he utters. “I can take it.”
“You don’t know how much you can take,” I tell him.
He moans for me.
“And you don’t know how to admit how much you want me. How much you like me. Do you want me for real, Niko? Could you ever actually care about me?”
I hate it.
I hate that he says it, and I hate that it gets a reaction out of me.
I shove my cock in harder, holding back nothing now, knowing it has to hurt. But all Oliver does is moan deeper, enjoying anything I give him.
“You’re letting me hurt you,” I protest, even as I take what I want.
His voice is a low growl. “Hurt me more.”
“You can’t want that. Can’t want me.”
“Have you ever been in love, Niko?”
I feel like something’s splitting open inside me.
“Don’t ask me that.”
“I’ve never felt it. I want to know. What does it feel like to be in love?”
I clasp a hand over his mouth but all he does is shove it away.
Stop fucking saying that word.
I bend over and claim his mouth in a kiss instead to make him shut up. It’s not real. Any of this. As I fuck him I dimly register that this must be a dream. I’ve had lucid dreams before, where I take control, let myself fly, let myself jump from skyscrapers.
And there’s something sick about this one.
I don’t want to stop fucking him. I want his body like it’s a toxic need, want to take his goddamn soul like it’s my possession to keep.
But I can’t let him say things about love.
Don’t.
Fucking.
Say that word.
Not to an empty shell with nothing to offer.
“I have nothing to give you,” I whisper down at his pretty green eyes, pushing in deep and slow, waiting for the disappointment to sink in.
But he looks at me like he knows better.
And I feel his breath as he whispers.
“Liar.”
I wake up with a jump.
I’m hot all over again, and this time more pissed off than before. I shove away my covers and struggle to walk out through the dark hall across to the bathroom.
I shut the bathroom door too hard and don’t even bother turning on the lights as I slump down onto the cold tile, illuminated by the silvery light from the moon that filters through the small window.
I pull out my aching cock and close my fist around it. I make myself come, fast and hard, shame seeping through every bone in my body as I finish in my own hand.
Just a dream.
None of it real.
He would never talk to you about love. Like it exists to fucking begin with.
He doesn't even know the real you.
Doesn’t know what happened just a few months ago.
Ollie doesn’t need to hear about the darkest moment of my life.
When I nearly died, and at the time, I didn’t think I had much to live for, anyway.
“Sevan,” I say as he finally picks up his phone.
“God, it’s good to speak to another human. What’s up, Niko?”
Losing sanity.
Wound up like a rusty spring.
Craving a bullet through my skull just to help me clear my head.
The usual.
I pace back and forth in my room. “Need to do something. You down to come do boring work with me, setting up for a party?”
“I’m not exactly the best bet for physical labor. You realize I won’t be able to use my legs for at least another month?”
“I’m sure they need pairs of hands just as much as pairs of legs. They’re setting up for the winter formal down at Student Hall, and I need to go make an appearance with Oliver.”
It’s sort of the truth.
Oliver actually has no clue that I’m planning to show up to help with the winter formal setup.
It’s now been a full week since we went official.
And it’s unraveling me, bit by bit.
Every day he refuses to go grab lunch or dinner with me at the Kettle when I ask. He claims he’s busy with school and some volunteering he’s been doing with Wes and Roman for the society, but I know for a goddamned fact everyone else is home more than he is now.
My dreams have been driving me crazy. I need to be around real-life Oliver for long enough to get it out of my system.
Sevan lets out an exhale. “I do need to get out of this fucking room. Fine.”
“Beautiful. I’ll come, we can drive over in the Mustang, and I’ll help you in.”
A few minutes later, I’m over at the Double Daggers house, helping Sevan down the stairs. He gets into his wheelchair and I bring him out to the car, getting him into the front seat and folding the chair into the back of the car.
As we make the short drive to the parking lot behind Student Hall, Sevan starts to grill me.
“The pictures have looked good with your guy. How’s that going?”
“It’s fucking awful.”
“Hm? Not all sunshine and roses after your first fake week?”
I grip the steering wheel as I turn into the parking space. “He barely speaks to me, other than to coordinate photos for social media. We need to be seen together in person to make anything believable, but he’s avoiding me.”
Sevan snorts. “That’s the opposite problem of most of your exes.”
“Tell me about it.”
“You end up with obsessive stalkers, yet your current fake boyfriend doesn’t even want to spend time with you?”
“Do me a favor and shut the fuck up, will you?” I say, with only a loving tone in my voice.
“Sorry. It’s just kind of funny.”
“Funny sad. Funny pathetic.”
“Why does it matter? He’s the one who wants the fake boyfriend so badly. Doesn’t really affect you if he’s being cagey.”
I exhale a slow breath, turning the key in the ignition and sliding it out.
“Oliver just… bothers me. He always has. There’s something about him that has always seemed specifically designed to irritate me. Back when we played hockey against each other, I wanted to punch him every time I saw his face.”
“Sounds like you were the obsessive one.”
Sevan is grinning at me.
“If you weren’t already injured, I’d hurt you right now, Sevan.”
“Sorry, sorry.”
“Let’s just get inside.”
I help Sevan onto the chair and we head in.
I push his wheelchair down the long corridor in Student Hall, following the signs that point toward the ballroom.
“I’ve still never been in the main ballroom.”
“It’s one of the best places on the Crimson campus. Part of why I’m so pissed I can’t dance this year at the formal.”
He points toward the end of the hall.
When we arrive, the room is far bigger and grander than I expected.
The ceiling is spectacularly tall carved wood, dotted with chandeliers. It looks like a ballroom out of a fantasy novel, the kind of thing I always hated before I came to Crimson.