3. Konnor #2
“Why didn’t you go straight from high school to uni? A year of travel? Getting to know yourself and the world with a bag on your back?”
“Sorry.” She shrugs. “I’m not that cliché.” Her smile disappears slightly. “My mum was sick. She died a few years ago, and my dad likes to keep me close. It took a lot to get him to allow me to leave. He only did because Erik is here.”
“Damn.” I stop. My hands find both her shoulders before I’ve decided to put them there. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Blesk.”
She shivers, and I glance down to find my thumb moving slowly along her collarbone.
I didn’t tell it to do that. I look back up at her, but don’t move my hands away from her skin because they are exactly where they want to be.
Something shifts in my chest, warm and welcome, but still acute like a fucking heart attack.
She lifts her eyes to meet mine. “How long have you and Pembie been together?”
Fuck.
I let out a slow breath at the mention of my girlfriend.
I’d been trying to enjoy the now and forget all about the girl I’d just left in her bed.
I drop my hands to my sides, but each one mourns Blesk’s skin.
“Pembie and I are…” I pause. I don’t want to admit that she uses me for my apartment, and I use her for her body.
“We’re not together in the traditional sense. ”
Lame.
Her tongue is visible between her teeth again as she beams at me, a knowing glint in her eyes. “I only asked how long you’ve been together, Konnor.” Then she laughs from her belly. I don’t care that it’s at my expense.
In fact, I like it.
“Right.” I chuckle. “About a year, I think.”
We turn the corner. The Grill appears on the left, the only bright light in the dimly lit square.
Erik is standing on the steps.
He isn’t moving. He’s just standing there in the dark, very still, watching us walk towards him. His eyes move to Blesk first, where they stay, burning with a possessiveness that isn’t fucking okay.
Then they move to me.
He walks slowly towards us with a thin smile that doesn’t reach his glazed eyes.
Drunk aggression is usually loud and unruly—looking for anything to break, picking a fight.
This isn’t like that. Nah, this is quieter than that.
Measured. Like a fucking knife being slowly unsheathed in a dark room by your friend.
He stares at her. “Blesk.” Her name in his mouth is not warm, and something about the way he says it makes my skin crawl—like he’s reading aloud all the things he owns.
She goes still beside me.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I ask, trying to keep it light, but not excusing his fucking death stare.
He doesn’t look at me yet, even though I was the one who fucking spoke!
He’s still looking at her, and there is something in that look I can’t fully read, but it makes my teeth clench.
His hand goes to her elbow, taking hold gently but with a kind of territorial dominance as if it never occurred to him that her elbow is not his to touch.
Fuck, I hate that.
“Come on,” he says to her, voice quiet and even. “I’ve been looking for you for over an hour.”
She tries to subtly tug her arm free. “Erik.” Her voice is soft and laced with uncertainty. Part of me wants to step between them, while another part says that this isn’t my business. How would I like some guy getting between me and my sisters? I’d kick his arse.
Then he looks at me. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
I glare down at his hand on her. My blood boils. “Let go of your sister.”
“Stay away from Blesk,” he warns. “She isn’t a trophy for you to win.”
I look at Blesk to see her reaction. God, I hope she knows that’s not what this is. Her face has fallen, that light I’ve been building behind her eyes snuffed out. Erik did that to her—my jaw tightens so hard my teeth ache.
“Don’t look at her!” He draws my attention back to him, snapping my calm. “Look at me.”
“Let go of her arm, Erik.”
“Don’t tell me what to do with Blesk. She isn’t yours. What would Pembie say about you wandering off with other girls in the dark, hey?”
“You’re being a fucking dickhead, Erik.”
He releases her elbow, but Blesk doesn’t respond with relief. She doesn’t back away or move from him. She stays exactly where he left her.
She feels safe with him?
Then why do I feel she isn’t?
He steps towards me, getting up close, our chests almost touching. “So you fuck Pembie all day and then come after my sister when she goes to bed?” He snarls and shoves me backwards.
I catch myself.
Fucker!
Blesk covers her gasp.
I lock my jaw, shaking my head at him, glancing at her, trying not to fucking retaliate, because I want to knock him out cold. My fingers are curling into my palms, ready to do just that, but she shakes her head. ‘Don’t.’
Fuck.
I can't figure out if she means it—or if she's trying to stop me from making it worse for herself later. I've never been in this situation. My insides are roaring to punch him, while she is telling me to do nothing. I'm tearing in two.
I gotta get out of here before I do something fucking stupid. “You’ve had too much to drink, Erik. Walk home. Don’t be an arsehole to your sister.” I shoot Blesk a quick look, fighting the urge to stay, trying to make sure she knows I don’t want to leave her, but have to.
I tear myself away from her.
From him.
From them.
Don’t retaliate…
Fucking Erik.
With Erik’s eyes burning into my spine, I jog across the road towards home, the last five minutes on loop in my mind.
His hand on her elbow. The way he said her name like she was his property.
The way he said, ‘Don’t look at her. Look at me.
’ Not ‘she’s my sister’ or ‘it’s late.’ Nothing a normal brother would say—I know this—nothing I would say about my sisters, Cassidy and Flick.
Just pure… Fuck, I don’t know… Possessiveness?
I knew that fucker hated me at times, but this is unhinged.
Blesk’s face appears in my mind again—her sad expression but the way she stayed close to him—and before I know what I’m doing, my shoe connects with a trash can.
It clangs across the path, garbage spilling everywhere.
Not enough. My fist slams into a tree. A hiss escapes through my clenched teeth as pain rips up my arm.
I shake my hand, blood already trickling between my knuckles, skin split open.
Tree: One.
Konnor: Zero.
The throbbing in my hand drowns out the questions I don’t want to answer.
Like why she didn’t step away from him when he released her arm?
Why she stayed close to him despite clearly being uncomfortable?
Was she uncomfortable? If she were uncomfortable, she would have backed away, right?
What does that closeness mean? That… I don’t know…
It’s like a conditioned response to him.
The way a dog follows an owner even if the owner just kicked him.
Despite the pain in my fist, I welcome the distraction now.
It's better than thinking about Blesk and Erik together or the way he grabbed her elbow.
Better than letting my mind swarm with regret over leaving her with him.
Better than calling this thing inside me what it is. Jealousy. Better than that.
I don’t even know her.