Suddenly, Saint’s gaze turns to meet mine and he lifts his chin slightly, as if in acknowledgment. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since he walked me to my dorm late Friday night, and I feel oddly self-conscious. The way he’s staring at me is primal and possessive. More so than any other time he’s looked at me. He’s always claimed ownership over me, but now, after what’s he’s done for me, it feels way more real.
What’s even stranger though is that, instead of revulsion, a strange fluttering starts in the pit of my stomach as I stare back at him.
I tear my eyes away, unnerved by my own fucked-up excitement.
“Are you not eating?” Loni’s asking me just as I spin toward her.
I follow her stare down to my untouched tray, and the sight of the egg white omelet makes my insides roll with nausea. “Stomach’s still a little off.”
Her brow furrows with concern. “Okay, but you should try to eat something today, okay? You can’t just exist on chicken noodle soup.”
I’m not existing on anything, but not because of any stomach virus. I was too stressed and freaked out to even bother with eating.
Even now, I don’t feel hungry. My stomach is too knotted.
Still, I force a smile for Loni and move my head up and down. “All right. I promise I’ll try.”
The rest of my day is a complete blur. I’m so out of it, I feel like I’m wading through mud and surrounded by fog. I barely register people’s taunts today, and I don’t remember anything my teachers say in any of my classes.
By the end of fourth period, I’m tempted just to go back to my room and blow off the rest of my day.
Unfortunately, that’s also the moment Saint decides I matter again.
Lucky me.
“Ellis!” His sharp tone startles me, and I whip around to face him. I’m standing in the hallway, and he’s stalking towards me, irritation tugging at his brow, the lights behind him making his messy hair seem like a halo.
He looks like a fallen angel.
“There’s no need to yell at me,” I slur when he comes to a stop right in front of me.
He tilts his head toward the ceiling and releases an exasperated sigh. “I called your name like five times.”
“You did?” I honestly can’t recall hearing it.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he demands, glaring down at me. “Are you drunk, or—”
His words start to blend together as I space out again, and I just stare up at him like an idiot. I watch his lips move, unable to distinguish the words. He’s got such pretty lips. Full and so soft to the touch—it’s amazing how his kisses can be so harsh and demanding.
His fingers suddenly snap in front of my face.
“What?” I gasp as I’m jerked out of terrifying thoughts that have turned Saint-Fucking-Angelle into the god that all the mean bitches at this school swear he is.
His clenched jaw tells me he’s gone from irritated to furious. “Are you listening to a goddamn thing I’m saying?”
“No, not really.”
At that moment, I’m overwhelmed with dizziness and sway on my feet as the hallway blurs around me. I let out a frightened little cry, but then I’m steadied by strong fingers gripping my shoulders.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Ellis?”
“Lightheaded,” I murmur, grabbing onto his arm for extra support.
His muscles spasm beneath my fingertips and he regards me for several moments, his mouth turned down in a deep frown. “When did you last eat?”
I try to think back over the weekend, but honestly, I can’t recall if I’ve had a proper meal since Friday.
“I-I’m not sure,” I stammer after a few beats.
That really seems to piss him off. “The fuck, Mallory? You trying to starve yourself to death?”
“It’s none of your business.” I try to wiggle out of his hold, but I only succeed in getting him to grasp me tighter, pulling me into his broad, solid chest.
He smells good. Why does he always smell so good?
“Stop fucking struggling, Ellis.” He leans down to whisper at my ear, “I like my possessions to be in working order. If you don’t take care of yourself, I’ll force feed you from my hand. Is that what you want?”
I gulp at the threat and the heat it provokes deep in my belly. Leaning back, Saint stares down at me and then lets out a long exhale that fans my face with a minty scent.
“Come with me,” he grumbles, taking my hand and turning to head back down the hallway. I’m helpless to do anything but follow after him.
He leads me out of the back of the academic building, and we walk across campus toward his dorm. He doesn’t say a word to me as we ride the elevator up to his floor, nor does he offer an explanation for his actions when we reach his room and he practically shoves me inside.
“Sit,” he orders, pointing to his bed.
My brain’s mush, and I can’t think of a witty retort, so I follow his directions and drag my feet across the room. I sink into the mattress and watch as he digs through his fridge. He pulls out something wrapped in brown paper, a tiny bottle of water, and a shiny red apple. Straightening, he makes his way toward me and shoves both items into my hands.
“Eat.”
I glare up at him.
“I’m not a fucking child,” I hiss. “I don’t need you bossing me around.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Clearly you do if you’re letting yourself get into this kind of state. Would you rather pass out on the quad, wide-open and vulnerable for Laurel and her minions to draw dicks on your face with permanent markers?”
I almost let out a burst of laughter at the ridiculous scenario. Laurel wouldn’t draw dicks on my face. That’d be far too common of a prank for her.
I manage not to laugh, but I can’t help my grin. Saint rolls his eyes in return, and then leans down, placing his hands on either side of my hips so that we’re eye-to-eye.
“Eat, Ellis,” he orders in a husky voice. “Before I pin you down and feed you something meatier.”
My breath catches and my cheeks heat, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m so tired and not thinking clearly, but I’m tempted to accept his second offer.
I give myself a mental shake, banishing the thought away.
“Thanks, but I’ll stick to the food.”
Smirking, he stands and moves to lean against his desk with his arms folded. With his gaze locked on me, I know I don’t have the option to toss the food he’s given me. So, even though my stomach turns at the prospect, I take the item in the paper and unwrap it. It’s a chicken salad sandwich, and it actually smells … really good.
My stomach gurgles again, but it’s in hunger.
I glance up at him before I take a bite of the sandwich. The chicken salad is creamy, like the kind from Sophie’s, my favorite diner back in Georgia. My eyes slide shut, and an involuntary moan escapes my lips as I savor the delicious sandwich.
Opening my eyes again, I meet Saint’s stare. His gaze is dark and hot, and my heart begins to race because I can read his desires so clearly.
“Why haven’t you been eating?” he demands when I’m halfway done, his voice rough.
I shrug and take another bite, so I don’t have to answer right away.