It’s strange he didn’t.
I keep wiggling over to the side, then swing my legs off the bed. I sit up, careful to move at a snail’s pace so the mattress doesn’t shift beneath my weight.
I wait a few seconds. He’s still breathing soft and slow, his wide lips still parted. They were soft against my skin. Even when he used his teeth. When I think about it, I want to dive back under the covers.
Curl up next to him. Wrap my arms around him.
That’s why I’ve got to get out of here. I feel my face flush with embarrassment for my fucking self.
I push those thoughts away, slide off the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor. My ankle doesn’t hurt, so I guess I didn’t really twist it. Small not-quite mercies. The pain would’ve kept my mind off the hunger.
I might have to leave my boots. I’m not stumbling around in the dark looking for them.
I glance down, thankful I’m still in my dress. I must’ve taken my jacket off in the night because I’m not wearing it now. I’ll have to leave it, but it’s North Carolina. Winter isn’t that cold here. In Berkeley, West Virginia where I was born, there’d be snow on the ground the whole season.
I’ll have to hitch a ride home, but it won’t be the first time I’ve ever done that.
I take one step on the hardwood, holding my breath, waiting for the floor to creak. Or my stomach to growl.
I need a goddamn job so I can buy Mom and I food, but I haven’t found one since our last move, despite my applications.
There might be ramen somewhere in the cabinet at home.
Maybe I’ll steal some food from this guy’s house. Natalie said it belonged to Atlas and his friends, and I guess Maverick is his friend.
This place is like a compound. He’s probably got more than enough food to spare, just not out on display for the party.
I take another step.
And another.
I start scoping out the door, gauging just how loud it might be when I open it.
But then I hear a voice at my back, groggy with sleep. “Going somewhere?”
I freeze.
I know I can leave. I know he can’t keep me here. I know that, despite the fact he indulged me in helping me get my mom’s screams out of my head last night, he’s not going to tie me to the bed and make me stay here.
But maybe I want him to.
I close my eyes. Think back to brushing out the horses Tuesday at The Ark. Letting go. That’s what Marnie, my therapist, tried to help me with then. Letting go.
I let the thought go. “Yeah,” I say quietly in the dark, “I’m leaving.”
“It’s three a.m.”
That’s surprises me, but I say nothing. It’s only been a few hours. I guess it might be harder to get a ride at this time of night. Not without paying for it. But I could make some money that way, too.
Not from the sex.
From the stealing.
Or begging.
“Go back to sleep.” I don’t bother being quiet now. I grab the doorknob.
But he’s fast. As I fiddle with the lock, he comes up behind me, slapping his hand against the door.
“You’re not leaving at three in the morning.”
I twist around to glare at him, his arm still on the door, beside my head. I don’t say a word. I am leaving. There’s no use wasting words on it. I didn’t come here for a sleepover. He wouldn’t want me to stay anyway, if he really knew me.
I can’t see him clearly in the dark, but I can practically hear him smirking. “Come back to bed with me, Ella.”
I frown in the dark, crossing my arms. Something about his tone...I don’t like it, because…I do.
I say nothing.
He sighs, and his hand trails from the door to the side of my throat. “Does your face hurt?”
I don’t say anything to that either. I don’t want him to feel bad about it. I like it. He’s not the first to do it. My mom was the first. In bed, an ex was. When I taunted him about someone else while we were fucking, he hit me so hard I saw stars.
I hadn’t been able to speak for a few moments.
Then I told him to do it again.
It made me the center of attention.
Just like Shane did, although he didn’t hit me. In some ways, though, he was worse.
Just like Mom’s blows. But those feel different. She doesn’t hit me because she wants to own me. She does it because she hates me. One feels like love. The other…well, she feels like disgust.
Maverick’s thumb brushes my lip and I flinch. It’s sore.
He must’ve felt the movement because he moves his hand to the back of my head and pulls me in close, against his bare chest. “I’m sorry, Ella, I—”
I jerk away and slap him. Just like I did a few hours ago. The sound is quick and loud in the quiet room, and he flinches, then shoves me against the door at the same time he steps away from me.
“You fucking bitch,” he snarls, his hand going to his face, one still against my chest, pinning me to the door. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I’m leaving.” I try to twist out of his grip, toward the door, but he drops his hand from his face, threads his fingers through my hair and yanks, hard.
“No you’re not. You wanna hit me again? I’ll hit you back, Ella. I’ve never done that with a girl before. Not one I didn’t want to kill.” His mouth is against my ear as he drags me toward him. “But I fucking liked it.”
Warmth pools in my low belly, the little hairs on my arm standing on end. I know I should shove away from him. Scream. Yell. Make a scene. But I’ve never been good at those kinds of things. Not in moments like these.
He presses me against the door, and I feel his erection against my stomach. My lips part and when his hand moves from my hair to my shoulder, down over my arm, I close my eyes.
Try to let go.
Let go.
Letting go of one thought, drifting to the next, it’s a way to control the anger. Move past it. Become detached from that emotion. Reach for a different one.
But that can mean a lot of things, Marnie. Especially for a girl like me. Anger, arousal, attention. They’re all the same for me.
No. I’ve got to leave. I already don’t like how I feel around him, and that’s how all my problems begin. I’ve known him three hours. Three fucking hours, and two I was asleep for.
My eyes fly open and I hit him again. But he must’ve been ready for it because just as my hand connects with his jaw, he threads his fingers through mine, lessening the blow.
His forehead connects with my own, our fingers entwined against his skin. My nipples harden as his chest brushes against me.
“Say it,” he commands me, his breath against my skin. He smells impossibly good, not like he just woke up at all. I taste blood in my mouth still and I’m positive my breath doesn’t have the same god-like qualities. “Say you want me to hurt you.”
Is that what I want?
In the dark, I smile, but don’t say a word. He’s weakening my resolve by saying all the wrong things. Almost like he knows me.
His fingers tighten against mine. Against his face.
I remember the cuts on his back.
I move my free hand around him, my fingers dipping over the wounds.
He sucks in a breath, his body tense against mine. “Ella,” he says warningly.