by Vera Hollins
I dragged myself back inside and grabbed my phone, squinting through the dark to see better. I placed my phone in my backpack and moved out of the room silently, closing the door behind me.
I heard water running in the bathroom through the half-open door, and I moved over to it to peer inside. Masen was supporting himself against the counter as he hovered over the sink, washing the blood off his face with labored breaths. My breath hitched in my throat at the bruises covering his naked torso. The person or people who had done this to him didn’t hold back.
I should leave. It was none of my business, and he didn’t want me here.
“Fuck this. Fuck me,” I whispered and took a step away. I shouldn’t worry about him. He would be just fine. This was probably like the hundredth time he got into a situation like this, and he’d survived up to now. My concern was pointless.
I reached the front door, but then my legs refused to take me outside. How could I not worry when he was beaten up, and he was in it all alone, too stubborn to accept any help? I knew what it felt like when you needed help, but you shouldered it all on your own because you were too stubborn to let anyone help you. I couldn’t just leave.
“Fuck you, Masen Brown,” I hissed through my teeth and marched over to the bathroom. “From the bottom of my heart, fuck you.” I swung open the door and strode inside, moving around Eli’s commode chair. “Here. I’ll help you clean your face.”
He drew back with a surprised look on his face. “What are you doing?”
I rolled my eyes and opened the medicine cabinet. “Trying hard not to punch you in the face. It’s already been decorated more than enough, so any additional punching would probably require you to get an appointment with a top-notch plastic surgeon. Come on. You can barely stand. Besides, I’ve played nurse to you before. At this point, I’m going to be a master of it.”
I grabbed the first-aid kit and went into his room without waiting for him or his permission to go there. I dropped my backpack to the floor and slumped down on his bed, the images of his naked torso plaguing my mind. The bruises on his skin were glaring evidence of the aggression that defined his world, and phantom pains hit my own abdomen as I imagined how it must have all felt. I grimaced as a sudden urge to protect him reached overwhelming heights.
He entered the room and closed the door behind him. He didn’t move from that spot, his eyes fixed on me.
My breathing quickened. I remembered all too well the last time I’d been here. “What? Do I have a volcanic pimple on my face or something? Come here and stop staring.” I patted the spot next to me on the bed, annoyed by how insecure I felt because of him.
“Why are you wasting your time on a man whore and a bully?” he asked in a bitter tone, repeating my words to him from the car.
I recalled the sadness in his eyes, and his words: “The only time I really want some girl, I can’t get her because she doesn’t want me.”
I wanted to downplay the words, to pretend they had a different meaning, but they were getting louder and louder in my mind, impossible to ignore.
“And why are you wasting your words?” I fired back. “Come here before I puke from how creepy you look with all those injuries.”
“Nobody forced you to come here and look at me.”
“That’s true, but since someone is too stubborn to go see a doctor, I can’t leave with a clear conscience.”
“It looks bad, but it’s not that bad. I’ve been through worse.” He sat on the bed, leaving a lot of space between us.
“I don’t have octopus arms, Barbie. I can’t reach you when you’re so far away.”
He half-smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Then move your ass closer to me.”
I grabbed a gauze roll and swung it at him, but he caught it before it could hit him and flinched in pain from the quick movement.
“Hey! Did you come here to help me or what? I don’t need you to finish what they started.”
They. So, he had been beaten by a few of them. My chest compressed painfully.
Deciding to have mercy on him, I scooted closer. My pulse began to race because we were so close to each other, in his room. The intimacy of the moment didn’t escape me.
“So those same assholes did this?” I applied ointment to a pad and dabbed at one of his cuts.
He hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. “Yes.”
“Because of that infamous race.”
“Yes.”
I moved on to another cut, trying not to look at his lips that kissed so expertly. “And you’re still set on racing in it?”
He met my gaze. “More than ever.”
I sighed.
He followed my every move. “What was that sigh for?”
“You have a death wish,” I muttered.
“You sound like you care.”
“That’s because I do care.”
He parted his lips in silent surprise, his eyes widening a fraction.
“For Eli,” I added quickly. He clamped his mouth shut. “I don’t want Eli worrying for his brother.”
He looked to the side with pursed lips. He didn’t say anything.
I discarded the used pad and applied ointment on a new one, my chest aching because of his obvious dissatisfaction with my answer. “Say, have you ever thought about leaving the gang?”
He met my gaze and studied me quietly until I stopped dabbing at his wounds. I lowered my hand.
“Sometimes,” he said quietly. “Sometimes, I wish I had the choice.”
“You don’t have a choice . . . because of Eli?”
“Especially because of Eli.” He looked away.
I gripped the pad in my hand. I couldn’t tell him to stop doing that to himself since I was the same way. I would’ve done anything for Steven. But I didn’t want Masen to get hurt.
“If you’re such a good driver, why don’t you try legal racing? You’d be able to help your family that way, too.”
“That money wouldn’t even come close to what I’m earning now.” Once more, he locked his gaze with mine, and a shiver danced down my spine.
“What?” I asked.
“Your dark circles are visible from a mile away. Have you not been sleeping well?”
I looked at the bruises covering his stomach, thinking of all the ways to avoid that question. He didn’t need to know about my difficulty sleeping or the memories of Steven that tormented me the moment I closed my eyes.
But instead of hiding it, I blurted out, “I have trouble falling asleep.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Why?”
“I’m a vampire,” I joked half-heartedly, looking at my raw knuckles. I’d punched my bag too hard these last few days without my hand wraps, and now my skin was red and aching.
He followed my gaze and took my hand. I tried to pull it away, but he wouldn’t let me, the warmth from his hand seeping into mine and spreading all throughout me.
“What’s this?” He looked at me with a frown. “Have you been fighting?”
I glanced at our connected hands, touched that he cared enough to ask. At the same time, I was uncomfortable with him looking at my hands, because I had bruised knuckles and nails bitten down to the quick with chipped black polish. My hands looked like a war zone, far from attractive.
“Yep,” I said with a downcast gaze. “I’ve been fighting polar bears and bats.”
He tightened his grip around my hand. “I’m serious.”
“Chill, Barbie. I don’t fight.”
“Then, what is this?”
I groaned. “It’s from my punching bag, okay? I have one in my room.”
“Do you use anything to protect your hands?”
“Yes, but not always.”
His gaze was piercing. “Why not?”
“Because I need the pain. It’s better than the pain inside.” I stopped breathing, realizing only now what I’d just said. His eyes grew fierce, and I flushed.
“Do you miss him?”
The question brought fort
h a wild pain, which sliced me deeply. I yanked my hand away and grabbed a new gauze pad, looking anywhere but at him. It was hard enough for me to deal with the pain on my own, but dealing with it under his all-too-knowing gaze was torture. I continued disinfecting his wounds, my hand shaky.
“And what do you think?” I murmured.
He winced as I pressed against one wound too hard, and he caught my wrist, stilling my hand. “I think you’re dealing with it in a way that’s only going to make everything hurt more. Just like in the attic that day.”
I bit into my lip and looked away. That reminder brought an unavoidable shame. The lines between us and our dynamic had been changing since that day, and he’d seen more of me than anyone else had before. He’d witnessed firsthand how fucked up I was, yet he was still here. He wasn’t running away. If he were smarter, he would be running away, but I guess both of us were stupid enough to stay right where we were.
He brushed his fingers over my bruised knuckles slowly, and I let out a choppy breath. That felt good.
“Hurting yourself is not the answer.”
“That’s how I’ve been dealing with pain my entire life, and I’ve survived just fine,” I replied gruffly.
“But it’s not fine. One day, it’s going to catch up with you. It already is.”
A flare of anger ignited my insides, and I pulled my hand away from his. “Shut up and stop preaching. It’s my life, not yours. And who do you think you are telling me that?”
He recoiled like I’d slapped him. His eyes turned an icy hue of blue. “Right. I’m nobody. Just some man whore and bully, which brings us back to my earlier question you didn’t answer—why are you here? Why are you even wasting your time on my wounds? And don’t tell me it’s because of Eli.”
“It is because of Eli.”
He stood up. “That’s bullshit!”
I jumped up, tossing the pad away. “It’s not bullshit!”
“I could’ve handled this just fine without you, and you know it. So, yes, it is bullshit.”
I spun around and marched over to his desk, staring through his window into the dark night. “Okay, fine! Maybe I was worried about you. Just a tiny bit, so don’t get too excited about it. And, no, I’m not helping you because of Eli. But don’t even ask me why. I have no idea why I want to help you, but—”
He spun me around and grabbed the back of my head, pressing his lips to mine. My heart rate went through the roof, and butterflies filled my belly, but the instinct to push him away clashed with my desire and outgrew it.
I shoved him away. “No! You’re all covered in blood!” I wiped my mouth with a grimace, even though he’d washed all the blood from his face in the bathroom.
“No, I’m not.” He grabbed my face with both hands to kiss me again, but I raised my arms and slammed them down on his elbows, freeing myself.
I stumbled back, my blood pumping with all kinds of wrong. “You can’t kiss me.”
“Why the hell not?” he growled, breathing heavily as he held his side.
“Because I don’t want you to.”
His eyes flashed with spite. “Liar.”
I pressed myself against his desk. How could he look so handsome, even with all those cuts and bruises on his face?
“You wish. That’s just your hurt ego speaking. You think you’re so irresistible? You think every single girl wants you? Too bad, Barbie. It’s time for a reality check.”
What the hell was I saying? Venom was pouring out of me in spades, outweighing reason.
“You’re not that attractive,” I continued. “You’re not even that desirable. And you’ll never, ever have me. You got that? Never. You’re no different from the bastard who destroyed me, forcing your kisses on me.”
He paled under his bruises, hurt unlike anything I’d seen on his face before seeping deep into his features, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t fucking stop myself.
“You think I’d want something that’s forced on me? Something I don’t want? You’re disgusting.”
I felt how wrong I was deep in my heart, mad at him for bringing out the worst in me and at myself for being at my worst with him. I wanted him to kiss me, yet I was spurting out all these lies. I was a liar, and he was my punching bag.
He just stared at me, looking at me as if I was breaking him piece by piece, and I couldn’t stand watching it. I grabbed my backpack and rushed out of his room and house, hating myself.
Steven’s words filled my mind, reminding me how cruel I was, telling me I hadn’t learned anything, and I could feel something swelling in my chest. I’d done it again. I’d pushed away someone who didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t the one who had the problem of being an asshole. Not anymore. I was. I was being cruel and emotionally abusive. I was uncontrollable. Easily led by anger. And it was burning me from the inside until it started to suffocate me.
I banged my fist against the roof of my car. “Fuck!”
I had to admit it to myself. I’d started liking Masen, but now I was hurting him because I couldn’t deal with my feelings. Because I couldn’t trust him. I didn’t want to trust him.
But this didn’t feel right. This didn’t feel right at all.
I don’t want to leave him like that.
“Damn it all.” I spun on my heel and rushed back inside. “Dammit!”
I strode into his room, surprised to see him standing in the same spot he’d been in when I’d left.
He turned around and frowned. “What are—”
“Shut up.” I dropped my backpack and grabbed his face. “This means nothing.”
I pressed my lips against his and leaned into him, feeling like the ground was shaking under me. I was absolutely terrified, totally out of control.
This is bad. This is a bad idea. So bad, my mind whispered to me frantically, but then he responded to me, thrusting his tongue deep into my mouth, and desire stronger than any fear or revulsion exploded within me. I moved my body against his like I was starving for him, hoping he knew this was my way of saying how sorry I was.
“You’re infuriating,” he said and grabbed a handful of my hair, kissing me hard.
“Likewise,” I said between kisses, digging my fingers into his shoulders. He angled my head and left a line of open-mouthed kisses over my jaw and neck. I shivered.
“Sometimes—no, a lot of times, I just want to strangle you.” He ran his lips up my neck, and I moaned.
“I want to strangle you all the time,” I breathed out, fisting my hand against his shoulder. “I hate you.”
He smiled against my lips, backing me up to his bed. “I hate you, too.”
“I hate you so much.” We fell onto his bed together. He covered me with his body and grimaced with pain from the movement, but he didn’t let out a sound, supporting most of his weight with his one arm and leg so that he wasn’t crushing me.
“I hate you even more,” he said and claimed my mouth again, sending a strong current of pleasure straight to my core. His kiss started hard, but then it turned soft and slow, erasing all my erratic thoughts one by one. My heart fluttered with need.
His tongue stroked mine skillfully, sending me to a place where I wanted to stay forever, and I clung to him in a silent plea for more. As if reading my mind, he moved his hand down my waist and slid it under my T-shirt, and I arched my back at the searing contact. I moaned, gripping his hair hard.
I’d never felt this way before. I’d never felt these addictive things that bound me to him. It was beyond thrilling, and I was falling, falling . . . More.
“If only you could see yourself right now,” he said hoarsely.
He returned his lips to mine and moved his hand to my breast, cupping it over my bra, and a memory taunted me almost instantly.
“You make me so hard, sugarpie,” he groaned into my ear. His hand was squeezing my breast too hard over my shirt. “This is going to be so good.”
No.
My body turned cold. No.
I broke our kiss and clamped
my hand around his wrist, shoving his hand away from my breast. “Don’t.”
He frowned with concern. “What’s wrong?”
I fought not to hyperventilate, feeling too hot for a completely different reason this time. “I don’t want this. So, move.” My voice was trembling, revealing all my fear.
“I’m not going to force you if that’s what you’re afraid of. I’m not like that shitface. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
His body above mine was becoming too oppressive. “Then move off me.”
With a deeper frown, he pulled away and gave me the distance I needed. I gulped for air, scooting as far away from him as I could as I willed myself to push through the fear.
“What happened? Did I do something wrong?”
“No, it’s just . . . I can’t,” I choked out, avoiding his gaze. ”It’s too much for me.”
“Because of what he did to you?” It was a question, but it sounded more like a statement.
I swallowed with difficulty. My first instinct was to snarl at him and say it was none of his business, but there was something in his expression—something genuine—that didn’t let me do it.
“Yes. No. I don’t know. There’s also the fact that I’m just one of many for you. I don’t want to be one of many.”
My chest throbbed with shame. I was revealing too much, and I was balancing on the edge of vulnerability, especially looking at that expression he now wore, which was creating an enormous need to bolt the hell out of there. He looked as if he didn’t know how to answer that, which was answer enough.
I cursed internally for letting myself lose control. I’d known kissing him was a bad idea. But I had to go ahead and kiss him. I had to be that stupid. This was all on me.
He was a womanizer. He broke hearts. He didn’t mend them.
I have to get out right now. Before this embarrassment becomes bigger than the universe.
Before he could say anything, I grabbed my backpack and said, “This was a mistake, and you can bet it won’t happen again. So, we can forget all about it and go back to hating each other.”
I strode out of his room, but not before I caught his words, which lodged themselves deep within me.