Ten #2
I try and fail to shrug him off – try to keep the shrill desperation out of my tone, and fail at that too. ‘I need to go back inside.’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘I left my phone in there.’
‘Y’know, when you commit murder, you probably shouldn’t record it.’
Actually, I was thinking something more along the lines of trawling the internet until I find a witch to curse the ever-loving fuck out of my ex. Mostly, though, I just want to get my stuff and go home. ‘Let me go.’
He does – physically, at least. That big body, however, remains a fucking roadblock, preventing my every escape attempt. ‘Dani, baby, you would not do well in prison.’
I huff indignantly. ‘Yeah, well, you would do worse.’
‘It’s not a competition, honey.’ Daring to back up a whole inch, Heath snags me by the wrists, squinting at the knuckles that I barely notice are throbbing until he pulls a face at them. ‘Are you okay?’
Just like that, with one little question, I’m not. The anger or adrenaline or whatever it was that was keeping me upright, fueling my fight, suddenly rushes out of me in a flood.
The stench of humiliation, however, remains perfectly intact.
I can’t believe Ben did that. I can’t believe that, after everything he’s already done to me, I still find myself surprised by the levels he’ll stoop to.
But what he just did, what he said, how he said it, how he twisted it .
. . fuck. If I wasn’t already so sure that I never meant anything to him at all, that he never loved me, that he never so much as respected me, I sure am now.
‘I need to get out of here.’
Heath nods frantically, a little desperately, looking like he’s about to click his damn heels together in the hopes it’ll teleport us somewhere else.
He takes out his phone, probably to text someone about bringing out mine, but I steal it away, slip it back in his pocket.
I can live without it for a night – besides, the only person likely to text me is standing in front of me.
Nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other, hesitating for a moment, mumbling a quiet ‘fuck it’ before throwing an arm around me, holding me tight. ‘I got you.’
‘You can stay,’ I offer weakly, not really meaning it at all. I can’t remember a single time in my recent life when I didn’t rejoice at the prospect of being left alone, yet, right now, it makes me shiver.
And it must be really, really obvious, because Heath doesn’t even entertain the idea. He just tucks me closer, kisses me on the temple, and mumbles that if he goes back inside, he might be the one committing murder.
And that’s when I change my mind – I think that’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.
I’m not sure why Heath bothers holding a finger to his lips as he ushers me inside his quiet, dark house – I haven’t said a word since we left the bar.
I haven’t so much as looked at him. Haven’t done anything but walk two paces behind him as he leads the way, my arms wrapped tightly around my middle, mortification wrapped tightly around the rest of me.
I should’ve just gone home. I could’ve. I don’t think Heath would’ve stopped me. But I didn’t. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Didn’t want to feel any more alone than I already do, and that rarity caught me so off-guard, I went with it without question.
Question. Questions. I can sense them brewing. I know Heath has them, but he doesn’t let them spill. He leaves me alone – that is, until we’re in his kitchen.
‘C’mon, Million Dollar Baby.’ He raps his knuckles against the countertop, reminding me of the ache in mine. ‘Hop up.’
I start to obey – I must take too long, because Heath decides to hoist me up himself. My ass hits the laminated wood, but he doesn’t retreat, he doesn’t let me go, his hands linger on my hips, the rest of him between my spread thighs.
He murmurs my name, a clear request to meet his gaze that I deny. He shifts, stooping, searching for it himself only to stop all of a sudden – only for it to get caught elsewhere.
On the ever-darkening bruise half-hidden by the neckline of my dress.
‘Sorry.’ He clears his throat, backing away, only gone for the few quick moments it takes him to dip into the freezer, and then he’s back, pressing a bag of frozen peas to my knuckles, soothing the pain with the cold and my little protesting hiss with another quiet apology. ‘Got a little carried away.’
‘Did you?’ I rasp. ‘Barely noticed.’
‘Careful, Dani. I love a challenge.’
I cringe at his tone, at the suave sensuality in it that I just can’t stomach right now. Shaking off his touch, I rearrange my dress until the mottled skin is hidden. ‘It’s fine. Least of my worries.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You didn’t do anything.’
‘Exactly.’ Frustrated regret sharpens his features. ‘He always talk to you like that?’
‘No. It’s a new development.’
He doesn’t quite look like he believes me. ‘How new?’
‘I know you guys have been rivals since birth or whatever, but he was really nice to me when I first moved here. He was my first friend. My only friend. He got me. Knew when to leave me alone, was okay with leaving me alone, and then he just . . . I don’t know. Got fed up. Bored.’
‘You’re the least boring person I know.’
I don’t know why a sentiment that should be so sweet has my ex’s accusations ringing in my ears, but it does. ‘What he said—’
‘It’s none of my business.’
‘I didn’t . . . I didn’t do anything. I asked once if . . . if we could try some stuff. He said no, I said okay, and I never brought it up again. But he did. He thought it was funny. Used to make jokes and send me fucking domme porn.’
‘He’s an immature piece of shit.’
I stare at my hands, spinning my ring until the skin beneath burns. ‘I just wanted to try something different. I thought it might . . . fix things.’
‘What do you think is broken, Dani?’
Whatever part of my brain is responsible for my fickle libido. Me, in general. My brain, clearly, because . . . ‘I don’t know why I’m talking to you about this.’
‘Because I’m incredibly kind and approachable.’ Heath flashes a soft grin. ‘It’s not a big deal. You think you’re the only college student who wants to experiment a little?’
‘I feel like I’m the only college student who doesn’t really care about sex.’
‘I can guarantee that you’re not. Dani—’
‘I’m tired.’ I can’t talk about this anymore
A long, harsh sigh ruffles my hair. A second later, gentle fingers smooth over it, twirling around the messy ends.
‘Okay,’ he says, but when I try to hop down, he doesn’t let me.
He mumbles, ‘One more thing,’ before beginning a slow approach, and when I don’t move, he carefully wraps his arms around me.
Hugs me. Whispers, ‘There’s nothing wrong with you, Daniela. Not a single thing.’
Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I exhale properly for what feels like the first time in hours.
Slowly, as my body leaches the warmth from his, the stiffness in my muscles recedes.
Inch by inch, my shoulders slacken. The weight sitting heavy on my chest lightens bit by bit until I can breathe, until I can actually feel Heath pressed against me, feel his heart thumping, steady and soothing, and by the time my body completely lets go and slumps into him, his heartbeat is a perfect match to my own.
‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbles after a while. ‘But I gotta make sure you know that if I’m ever making you uncomfortable, you can tell me, okay? I’m not gonna get mad at you.’
Briefly, I think about earlier. Before we were interrupted, before Heath pulled away. I felt lots of things. I feel lots of things when I’m around Heath. Disconcerting, unfamiliar, confusing things, but uncomfortable is never one of them. ‘You don’t.’
He pulls away, hand rising to stroke a thumb across my forehead, like he senses the frown there before he even sees it. ‘Then why the face?’
Because you don’t, I answer only in my head, not brave enough to speak it aloud. And I don’t get why. ‘What’s wrong with my face?’
‘Too pretty. Hurts to look at sometimes. Like staring at the sun.’
‘My face causes physical pain. Great.’