Manic: A Dark Bully Romance

by Rose, Savannah

  “Does he? He seems to have a no-excuses perspective about people like me.” I hadn’t realized before then just how raw and almost vulnerable that argument with her dad had left me feeling. I ground my hands against the steering wheel and chose a new direction. There wasn’t a whole lot of wilderness within driving distance, but there was one place I knew that was calling to me.

  “He does, on the surface,” she said. “He has to. It’s how he’s so good at his job, I think. His black and white way of thinking. He has a bare minimum standard of acceptable behavior in his head, and anybody who falls below that, he feels needs to be held accountable. But he doesn’t judge people for not having money or things—he’s not that shallow.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not the money or things,” I said. “It’s the access to power. He has it, you have it—I don’t. I think that’s what’s going to make up his mind, no matter what he thinks of my ability to argue. Which brings me to the question—how much do you value your dad’s opinion?”

  “Very much,” she said so quickly it was almost automatic. “He’s very smart and wise and he loves me. His opinion is very important to me.”

  I ground my teeth. That was what I was afraid of. I reached the next stop light and turned around, heading back the way we’d come. I knew better than to fight a losing battle, and I already knew that Tristan Drake wasn’t the kind of person who lost.

  “Where are we going?” Arlena asked.

  “I’m taking you home,” I said. “Your dad’s never going to approve of me and you value his opinion. It’s only a matter of time before you see what he sees, then it’s going to be over anyway.”

  Her eyes were wide and shining with hurt. I winced. I hadn’t wanted to hurt her. I was just calling it as I saw it. “Look, you’ve had enough rough shit happen to you lately, princess. You don’t need to add fighting with your dad to that list.”

  “Stop the car,” she said. Her voice was hard and cold, the way her dad’s voice had been in court. I pulled into a parking lot, put it in park, and looked at her expectantly. I’d already resigned myself to the eventual outcome and made peace with the fact that she might need to break up with me herself for her own emotional reasons.

  “Listen to me, Blayze. You are the only reason I haven’t walked off a bridge or took a nap on the train tracks over the last couple of months. My dad’s opinion means a lot to me because he’s my dad. That doesn’t mean I always think he’s right, and it doesn’t mean I always cave to him. It just means that if he tells me the sky is green, I’m going to look up to see for myself before I argue with him.”

  I nodded slowly. She wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. “Exactly. So if he tells you that I’m just a broke punk kid from the ghetto who’s going to inevitably lead you into a ruined life, you’re going to listen to him.”

  She sighed sharply. “I would hear him out. I would listen to his reasons. Then I would decide for myself whether he’s wrong or not. Spoiler alert, I already know that hypothetical evil dad is wrong, because I know you. I’ve seen you juggle Eddie’s parties and needy girlfriends and your brother’s court stuff and couch surfing and still get high grades. I know how hard you work when you care about something.”

  She put her hand on my tense shoulder. It relaxed where she touched it, the traitorous thing. “And I know you care about me,” she said softly. “I don’t expect you to buy me expensive things or build the kind of fortune my dad has. I don’t care about that stuff, not really. Living down here has shown me what’s on the other side of the coin, and even though it sucks right now, it hasn’t always been the horror show everybody in my dad’s circle seems to think it is.”

  A hundred new insecurities flashed through my head, but she shrugged and settled back in her seat, flashing me a grin. “Besides,” she said. “I’m planning to have my own career. I haven’t decided what it’ll be yet, but it’ll be something fulfilling. I’m not planning to rely on you or my dad or anyone else for the life I want—especially since I haven’t decided what that looks like yet.”

  I grinned at her. “It probably doesn’t look like an eight-by-ten room over Eddie’s drug-filled party house,” I said.

  “Hell no,” she said, laughing. “But that’s the good thing about having Tristan Drake for a father. I already know that he’s going to help me get situated when I’m ready to move out on my own. He’s got a whole Arlena fund set aside for whatever I want to do, whether that’s get married right away, go to college, move right into the job sector, travel the world—whatever I want to do. All I have to do is graduate high school and my options are virtually limitless.”

  “I can’t even imagine having that kind of security,” I said, not mentioning the fact that she was wrong. One way or another, she’d be relying on her father. “But I’m looking at it from your dad’s perspective, Arlena. He’s got this bright, friendly, gorgeous daughter with infinite possible futures laid out in front of her, and he’s got the money to make any of those things happen. He’s going to see me as a liability. A black hole in the field, sucking those possibilities away with my shady connections and iffy background.”

  “And he will air those concerns to me,” she said firmly, taking my hand in hers. She kissed my thumb and tipped her chin up defiantly. “And I’ll tell him that you’re wonderful and intelligent and if you’d had even one lucky break in your whole life you’d be in a much better place.”

  “You think so?” I asked. I’d always thought the same, deep down somewhere, but I never indulged those thoughts. It’s a slippery slope from that mindset to the one where nothing can possibly be my fault and the world is out to get me, and that’s a deep hole to climb out of.

  “I do,” she said firmly. “I really do. Now, where were we headed before you decided that I was going to give up on you?”

  I grinned, half-ashamed of myself, then pointed toward the steep foothill which stuck out into the mess of steel in the industrial district. “Up there,” I said. “There’s a ‘scenic overlook’ or whatever they call it up at the top. Nobody uses it because factories aren’t really scenic. I like to go there sometimes to think.”

  “It’s a good day for thinking,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  So I turned the truck around again and set out for the hill.

  “Has something like that happened before?” she asked.

  “Something like what?”

  “You know—you had a friend or a girlfriend and their parent decided that you weren’t good enough to hang around with them.”

  I hesitated for a moment. “What makes you ask that?” I asked carefully.

  She chuckled softly. “Come on, Blayze, that was a huge reaction. And he didn’t even say that he disapproved of you, you jumped to that conclusion.”

  I blew out a breath as memories flooded my mind, squeezing my chest. “It’s happened,” I said.

  She put her hand on my thigh, more comforting than erotic. “I’m sorry.”

  I shrugged. “Eh, it happens. Some of my friends’ mothers knew my mom or my dad, or had heard of them, and didn’t want us playing anymore. Later, they knew of my brother, or they knew that my mom was a stripper, or something like that. There was a girl I liked once—until I found out her dad was a cop. That was my call to end it, though. Damon was getting into some shit, and I needed to protect him.”

  “How old were you?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Thirteen, fourteen maybe. Right before Sam and I started dating the first time.”

  “That explains a lot,” Arlena said thoughtfully.

  “Like what?”

  “Well—” she chewed her lip for a moment, and I braced myself. “Well, Sam seems to feel that way about herself, too. Like she isn’t allowed to have anything good. So if you were both subconsciously punishing yourselves for things that weren’t even your fault, it explains why you kept getting back together even though you’re bad for each other.”

  I shot her a sharp look. We were
at the base of the hill now and civilization was beginning to melt away behind us. “I won’t get back together with her,” I promised. “I’m with you.”

  “Yeah,” she said with a little smile. “And you almost blew that up for no reason.”

  I huffed out a laugh. “Okay, maybe you have a point.”

  “You know you deserve to be loved, right?”

  I don’t know why, but her words seared my soul like a flaming knife. I actually winced, curling around the pain.

  “Sure,” I choked out. She made a little noise, something appalled or sympathetic or some combination of the two, and I focused harder than I needed to on the road in front of us.

  “Where’d you get your psyche degree, anyway?” I asked after a moment. It came out sounding harsher than I’d intended, but I didn’t take any of it back.

  She didn’t seem to mind. “My mother,” she said, and I could hear the grin in her voice. “She’s a psychologist. It’s her passion, so it sort of spills out of her whenever she forgets to hold it in, kind of the same way my dad will cross-examine anybody who gives him an opening. They both taught me a lot without really meaning to—not the things I needed to know this year, but still.”

  “Huh,” I said. “So your dad’s passionate about his work, your mom’s passionate about hers—no wonder you can’t decide what to do after high school.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked. It was her turn to sound defensive.

  “Well,” I said, softening my tone with a smile. “What are you passionate about?”

  She opened her mouth and closed it again, frowning. “Nobody’s ever asked me that before,” she said after a moment.

  “What? I thought that was the first thing they asked in upper-class counselor’s offices.”

  She shook her head. “The counselors at my last school are really just there to make sure you get all your credits and don’t burn the school down in a fit of entitlement. By the time kids hit high school most of them already have a life direction picked out for them. I didn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because my parents thought if they exposed me to enough things, something would trigger an obsession or a passion or something. They both feel very strongly about passion as a career driver. So they bought me all the classes and supplies I could ask for, drowned every passing interest in endless funds and overwhelming support—but nothing really stuck.”

  “Nothing?”

  She shook her head. “I like to do a lot of things. I’ll never be short of hobbies. My retirement is going to be lit, I can tell you that much. But I don’t know what I want to do with myself in the meantime.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe passion is too strong a word. What do you do when you’re procrastinating?”

  “Text people. Screw around on the internet. Read, sometimes. Nothing that screams ‘career path,’ if that’s what you were thinking.”

  “I guess not,” I said. It was my turn to pat her thigh, though I don’t know if I pulled off the comforting thing very well. “You’ll figure it out, I know you will. You’re smart enough to.”

  “And you’re smart enough to get into law school,” she returned with a sassy little edge to her voice.

  I pulled into the scenic overlook and parked, then narrowed my eyes at her. “How’d this get back on me?” I asked.

  She shrugged, grinning happily. “Facts don’t care who’s turn it is for a pep talk,” she said. “And the fact is, you’re smart enough to be a lawyer.”

  I wrapped an arm around her waist and jerked her across the seat to me, making her squeak. “Yeah? And what do the facts say about money, smarty pants?”

  She dropped her voice to a husky whisper and leaned close to my ear. “They say your girlfriend’s loaded.”

  I closed my eyes, reveling in the feel of her breath on my neck. “My girlfriend’s dad is, maybe.”

  “Oh no, darling. Didn’t I tell you? My trust fund matures the day I graduate high school. I might not know what I want to do with my life—but I feel like you do. What’s the point of me traveling the world or trying on degrees, wasting all that money trying to find a direction, when you already have one?”

  My heart beat fast as a glimmer of possibility shone through my future like a beacon. Growling, I slammed the door on it. I pushed her away from me gently and glared into her eyes. “No,” I said. “That’s your money to get your life started. If you don’t use it, you’ll be dependent on someone—your dad, me, some other guy—and you deserve better than that.”

  Her soft gaze burned my soul. “And you deserve the whole world, Blayze. Let me help you get it.”

  I grinned and kissed her, then pulled away. “You forgot one very important thing,” I said.

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “You are my world.”

  “Damn it, Blay—”

  I cut her off with a kiss. She melted into my arms, her body responding to my touch. Her gasps and groans were so utterly un-staged and authentic that touching her made me feel naked even with all of my clothes on. She hit her elbow on the steering wheel and swore against my mouth, making me laugh.

  “Not the best place for this,” I said, my voice already husky. She had that effect on me.

  She pouted, sending tremors of protectiveness and lust through my body. I grinned and winked at her, then opened the door and stepped out into the cool night. She followed hesitantly as I walked around the back of the truck and opened the hatch on my bedcover.

  “There’s a lot more room in here,” I explained, touching her face. God, those eyes—like they could see right through me, and find something to love in every dark corner. I pulled her to me, kissing her hard until she shivered in my arms, then boosted her into the back of the truck. I’d planned ahead, though I didn’t really want her to think I had. I hadn’t planned on doing this tonight specifically—but I’d wanted to be ready for anything.

  She paused, kneeling in the bed of the truck. “The truck bed’s colder than the dirt outside,” she said with nervous little chuckle.

  “Never fear, Blayze is here,” I said, posing like a crouched superhero. I flashed a grin at her and untied the bedroll that I’d secured to the back of the cab. It sprang out, layers of foam and wool and cotton, filling most of the space with a soft ready-made bed.

  She raised her eyebrows at me and my heart sank at the tension in her shoulders. “You do this often?” She asked, the casual tone of her voice sounding forced.

  I crawled to her and touched her cheek, brushing her hair away from her face. “No,” I told her gently. “It’s good to have a place to sleep sometimes. But—” I said quickly, as I saw the guilty embarrassment sweep over her face. “—I was thinking of you when I set this up.” I gestured to the permanent toolbox welded to the side of the bed.

  She cocked her head at me curiously and I flicked the lid open. The old refrigerator light I’d rigged to the inside flickered on, illuminating my stash. In the soft light, I saw her mouth quirk in amusement. “Safety first,” she said, running her fingers over the glossy, unopened box. “Hygiene second.”

  The condoms were tucked in beside a first aid kit, a water-free hygiene pack, and an emergency roadside kit. She examined it all with interest, and I could tell that she’d noticed the hygiene and first-aid kit had been used more than once. She took the flashlight out of the roadside kit and shined it around. My duffel bag, with spare clothes and shoes. The extra pillows and blankets, tied together with twine.

  “How often do you sleep here?” she asked softly.

  “As little as I possibly can,” I said lightly. “It’s all right for a night or two if it’s not too cold outside, but it’s not comfortable for much longer than that.”

  She gave me a very serious look. “Never again,” she said, touching my face. “You deserve better.”

  I grinned and scooped her into my arms with a jerk that made the flashlight roll away. “Ah, life isn’t about what you deserve, lover—it’s about what you can get.”
>
  She stuck her tongue out at me and I caught it in my mouth, turning her sassy gesture into a deep, searching kiss. She pressed her body against me, playfully dominating, and straddled me as I fell to the floor. I could feel her concern, her love, her need—and just a touch of anger as her nimble fingers unfastened my clothes from collar to zip.

  I caught her wrists and held her still so I could look into her eyes. “Let it go, love.”

  She bit her lip. “You should have been taken care of. You should have had someone to protect you.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “But I’m a grown man now. I survived, and now I can make my life better if I want to.”

  “Do you want to?”

  I should have expected the question, but it startled me. I hesitated for a beat, then let my hands move over her arms to her waist. “I already have,” I whispered. “I’m with you.”

  That was enough for her. Her touch softened, losing that angry edge, though her need had grown. We stripped each other, kissing and rolling, gently testing the suspension until she straddled my hips with her hands on my chest. I could feel her sudden wave of anxiety, the same as I’d felt back in her bedroom that first time.

  I put my hands firmly on her shoulders and ran them over her curves, comforting her as much as I was reveling in her soft, smooth, warm skin. Her breath steadied as I held her hips. I grabbed the protection that I’d set aside, and reached around her as I put it on, burying my face between her breasts. She held my head against her, her heartbeat thundering against my cheek. I kissed her, letting my tongue linger on her erect nipples.

  “You feel so good baby,” I whispered as I guided her down over me. She trembled, her movements stiff and uncertain. I let her find her pace, holding her firmly but not too tight, as she explored and settled. She felt so fucking good. All I wanted to do was drive into her, meet her beat for beat, but I held back. She wasn’t ready for that, not yet.

  I groaned when she finally caught her flow. She moved like a dancer or a cowgirl, rocking over me. The sound encouraged her and she moved more confidently, pushing my concerns for her away with every heated breath. Her warmth rushed over and through me, her nails dragging across my chest as she cried out, pulsing around me, straining my self-control.