Chapter 7 #11
"Because the way you looked at me during the last meeting was totally platonic. Accidental eye contact, my ass."
"I literally looked at you the same way I look at traffic lights. Impatient and waiting to leave."
"Oh my God," Lorenzo groans. "Just have sex already and let me out of this threesome of denial, PLEASE."
Okay. Cool. Time to shut the fuck up.
I can’t keep doing this. I’m too shit at pretending. Sure, I can flirt, joke, snap back and act like I don’t give a fuck.
But inside? Inside I’m screaming. Constantly.
So yeah.
No more. No more fake fights. No more sharp comments just to get a rise out of him.
I’m done. I’ll accept my fate like a goddamn mature adult.
I won’t have him. I won’t get to have him.
And I have to live with that. Sit with it. Let it rot in my ribs.
So I shut up. I drive.
I’ll cry later if I have to. Alone. Like always.
He’ll never be mine, and I have to stop acting like there’s even a fucking chance.
Lorenzo leans up between the seats. "Rava, if you don’t find anyone at the club tonight, don’t stress. We can always make out."
I’m going to strangle my own cousin.
He’s doing this on purpose.
He knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s throwing himself at Rava just to watch me lose it. It’s insane. He’s manifesting images in my head I don’t need.
"Sure," Rava says calmly. "Sounds fun."
My phone lights up against my thigh.
I glance down.
It’s Lorenzo. I tilt the screen away from Rava.
LORENZO:
-if that made you uncomfortable, make your goddamn move. bc what I just said as a joke? someone else could say it to him tomorrow, for real this time. They won’t give a shit about your ass.
Fuck. The thought makes me want to throw up. Because if some random guy touches him first, kisses him first, gets him first while I sit here pretending I don’t care, that’ll break me.
And I’ll have no one to blame but myself.
…
We squeeze into the entrance through all these bodies. Music punches through my ribs. The place is a massive open-roof fever dream.
Blue lights, red lights, silhouettes grinding on each other.
One word.
Horny. It looks horny. It feels horny.
Like we walked into someone’s wet dream by mistake. I put my hand on Rava’s back and push him forward through the crowd, and because I’m not trying to get murdered later, I do the same to Lorenzo.
Equal opportunity touching.
Can’t have Rava saying I only put my hands on him.
Even though I did.
And I wanted to.
I’ll probably do it again because my brain is not my friend.
Rava’s still pissed. He doesn’t even look at me.
Great. Amazing night ahead.
Him with that angry face and me acting like a starving hawk circling his head. I know exactly how many people are going to look at him tonight and think, ‘goddamn, who’s that pretty boy with the attitude?’
And my delusional brain is absolutely not ready to see him pressed up against someone else.
I said I’d get over him. I said I’d try.
But I’m not made of steel?!
My fist, though? My fist could feel like steel hitting the jaw of whoever touches him.
No. No. I shouldn’t think like that. That’s wrong. That’s sick.
I need a drink. One drink. Just one.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lorenzo making out with a girl, then immediately turning to kiss the dude next to her.
Spain, man. Fucking Spain.
Rava grabs me fast and pulls me around to face him.
"What do you wanna drink?" he asks, louder than the beat.
"What?" I shout back. He rolls his eyes and grabs me by the collar, drags my face down to his, closer than I’ve had him since… I don’t even fucking know.
Too close. Close enough that for half a second I swear he’s gonna kiss me.
My heart nearly throws itself out of my chest.
"What. Do. You. Want. To. Drink," he yells, but my heartbeat is screaming louder because the way he pulled me is lethal.
What I want to drink isn’t served in this club, baby.
At least not in a bottle.
I lean in closer, right into his neck on purpose. "Surprise me."
He nods, but his eyes drop to my neck. His hands come up again and he fixes the collar he just destroyed, slowly, focused, tilting his head.
"There," he says, looking at me.
Amazing. He broke it, then fixed it better than it was before.
Story of my life.
I thought my collar looked perfect.
Turns out he can make anything better with his touch.
"Back in five," he says and walks off.
Why the hell is he even updating me?
Why is he getting me a drink?
Why is he making everything so goddamn complicated?
I push my hair back with both hands, trying to hold my head together.
I can’t keep doing this.
If I keep going like this, Rava is actually going to put me in a psychiatric ward.
He’s going to make me sick. The nerd I used to make fun of is now the reason I need therapy.
Me. The guy everyone used to fall over for. Now I’m the one ready to drop to my knees and beg him, throw my pride out the window, tell him he fucking wins.
He comes back.
My walking disaster returns holding two identical drinks and hands me one.
"What’s this?" I yell into his neck.
"Drink," he says. "It’s not poison, Gio."
I lift the glass while looking at him, take a sip, taste it, and lean into his neck again.
He got rum.
"I thought you hated rum."
Rava grabs my shoulder and pulls me closer so he can speak directly into my ear.
"I love it now," he says. "I could drink rum all day."
Perfect.
Before, I wanted to be a collar.
Now I want to be a bottle of rum.
I’m not well. I’m genuinely not well.
Rava takes another sip, eyes on me, moving with the beat of “Secrets” by Tiesto in that slow, hypnotic way, barely trying and still ruining my life.
I’m terrified my head is actually swaying with him, like my body synced itself to his movements without asking.
Everything about him is a dream.
The way he stands. The way he looks. The way he moves.
He hypnotizes me against my will.
Cancels every coping strategy I’ve tried to build.
I take another sip and let the burn scrape down my throat.
If I wasn’t driving, I’d be drunk already. But I’m honestly scared that even that wouldn’t help, it would probably make me think about him even more.
Someone tries to pass behind him and Rava collapses into me. Our drinks are the only things keeping our chests from locking together.
He’s so close I’m inhaling his hair.
Thank God for the loud music, because if it were quieter he’d hear my heart exploding.
It’s embarrassing. Humiliating, even.
He looks to the side.
Please don’t turn your face toward me. Don’t look at me.
I admit it, you have made me weak, but don’t make it worse. Don’t kill me here, in public.
I lift my hand and place it on his chest, gently, just enough to move him back one step.
He laughs, downs his whole drink in one go, sets his glass down, and steps back farther, far enough that I can’t reach him.
Instantly, a girl grabs him like he’s fresh merchandise.
Her hand goes to his neck, twirls him around, circles him like she is out shopping for men, and chose him.
Her fingers are running over his shoulders.
Rava doesn’t give her a second of eye contact.
Not one. He is just letting her orbit him.
She leans into his ear and whispers something.
Christ, I want to rip her hair out.
Then Rava reaches up, touches her hair, pushes it behind her ear, whispers back.
The girl covers her mouth, laughs and disappears instantly.
He stays there.
I look away before I combust.
No. Not tonight. Tonight is not the night I lose my mind.
I need to get a grip.
It’s normal for people to hit on him.
He doesn’t belong to anyone.
The weird thing would be if they didn’t try.
He doesn’t have a threatening aura.
He has a hypnotic aura. A pull. A quiet magnetism. Of course they all drift toward him. One look, one fucking movement from him is enough to reel them in.
He moves out of my line of sight, and this time a guy grabs his hand out of nowhere.
The second I lose Rava from my eyes, I feel like passing out.
I don’t want to feel like this, but my first instinct is to grab the guy by the head and slam it against the wall.
That’s not normal. That’s not even close to sane.
I feel threatened over something that doesn’t belong to me at all. I throw back the rest of my drink and shove into the crowd, pushing people aside.
Pride gone. Dignity gone.
No one is touching him tonight. Not while I’m breathing.
Not ever, honestly.
I spot them again, grab Rava by the arm.
The guy looks thrilled, Rava looks calm.
"Lorenzo wants us," I shout. "Come on." I don’t let him say goodbye.
I keep my hand on his back, pushing him forward. I’m keeping him in front of me so I never lose sight of him again.
"What does Lorenzo want?" he yells.
"Us to leave," I shout. "Come on."
"What? Why?"
"Just move, please."
No explanation, for now.
He doesn’t argue. He follows.
Behind us, Lorenzo laughs, waving the Bacardi, pulling away from the two people he is practically eating alive.
"Go on without me! Duty calls!" He winks at us, throwing an arm both the girl and the guy.
Rava doesn’t fight back. Not yet.
I know I’m being insane. But I’d rather be insane than watch someone else put their hands on my problem.
I swear, this is karma. Actual, personalized, karma.
I like him. I actually like him.
And of course the universe is laughing, because once I used to tease him, call him soft. Call him everything except what he really was.
Now the universe is saying: remember when you were an asshole to him?
Cute. Let’s make you… obsessed this time.
Rava
We step into the room.
The door clicks shut behind us, but Gio doesn’t say a word. He just tosses the car keys on the table and starts pulling off his shirt like nothing happened.
"I’m taking a shower," he mutters, already heading toward the bathroom.
That’s it. No explanation. No look. Just cold.
I sit on the edge of the bed.
What the hell was that back there? One second he’s grabbing me like he can’t stand the idea of anyone else touching me, the next, nothing.
Silence. Avoidance.