“You’re scaring me.”
I can’t help but laugh at this. For the past month, she’s adamantly refused that she’s afraid of me. She’s faced the chaos and the madness of me with her shoulders back and her chin defiantly raised, and she hasn’t backed down. Now that I’m done raging and the storm within me is dying, I am calm. I am still. Now she is afraid.
Oh, the irony.
“Wouldn’t you rather be playing video games or something?” she asks nervously.
“I play video games ’cause I have intrusive thoughts when my mind isn’t constantly engaged.” I’ve never told this to anyone. “I start thinking about all of these different things. I start…fixating on things that are out of my control.”
She thinks for a moment. “What do you mean?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I fixate on fucking climate change, and how shit the world’s gonna be in thirty years. I start thinking about kids starving in Africa, and how my friends don’t need me the way I need them, and how I’m probably going to be a terrible father, and how I’ll probably never be able to open up to anyone the way I’m opening up to you right now.”
Her eyes lock onto mine, her throat working. “Why are you opening up to me right now? If this is another ploy to get me to—”
“When I’m around you. I don’t need the distraction of a video game or a camera in my hand. My head is quiet.” I try to say more and can’t. This is as much as I can tell her right now. I haven’t worked out how to put into words what I’m thinking or feeling. I’m not strong enough to tell her what I want yet.
She looks astonished. “Pax—”
“Do you give a shit about me, Chase? Do you care enough about me to take this further than we have?”
I’ve never cared about anyone enough to pose this question even in my head. It’s just not a consideration that has ever crossed my mind. I’ve treated people like shit. I’ve hurt people on purpose, for fun, because it was entertaining to me. I’ve done all kinds of shitty things to people, and I’ve never calculated the cost or considered the consequences, because I never, not for one split second, thought I’d care enough about anyone to worry about them assessing me as a good and decent human being.
Now that I’m sitting on the edge of Chase’s bed, I find that I care very much what she thinks of me. I’m being weighed in the balance of my past deeds, and that’s a frightening prospect indeed, knowing what I know about myself. I’m about to be found wanting.
Chase looks like she wants to climb out of the window, shimmy down the drainpipe and flee across the lawn, into the forest. “I don’t—”
I hold out my hand to her. “Come here?” This is the first time I’ve asked her to do something instead of telling her to do it. She hears the question in my voice, and her eyes grow round. I’m suddenly not ready for her to answer the question I just posed to her. If she’s going to say no, she doesn’t care about me, doesn’t want more from me than my dick, then I suddenly don’t want to hear that after all. I figured I was brave enough to hear it, but now I realize that I’m not.
Tomorrow.
I’ll hear her say those words tomorrow.
Her shitty half-brother’s still kicking around in Mountain Lakes tonight, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to leave her alone in her room, where there’s a chance he might be able to get to her; he’s already waltzed onto academy grounds like he owns the place once. I don’t doubt he’d do it again, late at night, when he knows there’s less chance of him being stopped by a member of faculty or one of Chase’s friends.
Tomorrow, she’ll be safe from whatever sibling bullying he’s been subjecting her to, and I’ll have a week to unravel the weird mystery surrounding their relationship. She can tell me she wants nothing to do with me, and I’ll fucking take it. But tonight, I’m staying with her. I’m not letting her out of my fucking sight.
Chase looks down at my hand.
She takes a deep breath.
She steps forward and takes it.
PRES
* * *
In all of the wild fantasies I concocted in my head, Pax was never like this. He was never earnest. He never looked at me without some form of malice in his eyes. Right now, he looks vulnerable. The hardness that he wears like an armor is gone, no trace of it left at all, and my heart can’t fucking take it. Where is this going? What pathway is he leading me down?
And, most importantly, can I trust this?
Because wouldn’t that just be a kicker?
I’ve been waiting for him to fuck with me. Every day, I’ve been watching, looking out for the signs of his great play, where he tries to humiliate and break me in front of the entire academy. That’s Pax’s modus operandi. It’s who he is. He feeds off that kind of chaos and relishes causing that kind of pain.
I accepted that when I decided to sleep with him. Over time, I’ve begun to think that he’s simply not going to bother, though. I’ve grown comfortable.
So, yes. Wouldn’t this just be the perfect trick, if he managed to lull me into a false sense of security, made me trust him, made me believe that he really does care about me…and then he burns everything to the ground?
I’m shaking as I step forward and take his hand.
Pax interlaces his fingers with mine, doing the same with our other hands, too. He looks up at me, half his face thrown into shadow by the light on the other side of the room, and my blood roars in my ears. He doesn’t look like he’s hiding anything. There’s nothing in his eyes to tell me that I need to protect myself from…whatever this is.
But…how does that quote go? The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist. I should be careful. No matter how honest I think he’s being in this moment, I can’t trust that he’s being genuine. I just can’t. It wouldn’t be safe.
“Stop,” Pax whispers.
“Stop what?”
“You’re thinking way too fucking much. You’re gonna give yourself a migraine.”
I’ve never been very good at keeping my concerns from my face. I thought I’d gotten better at it recently, but it turns out I was wrong. My chest squeezes when Pax tips his head back even further, pulling me closer, so that I’m standing in between his legs. He rests his chin on my solar plexus, staring up at me, and the sight of him is too much to take.
He’s fucking beautiful.
Raw masculine energy, unguarded and open for the first time.
I don’t know what to do with him like this.
I’m always flinching away from him, ready to bolt or throw up a shield to protect myself. It feels as if he’s laying down his weapons now, though, silently offering some kind of truce, and I don’t know how to stop bracing for the worst.
“I don’t understand any of this,” I say quietly. “If you’re playing some kind of game—”
He stands quickly, letting go of my hands. He sweeps my hair over my shoulders, his fierce gaze moving from my mouth, to my eyes, to my cheeks, back to my lips again. He’s drinking me in, memorizing my features. My eyes prick weirdly, and I get the sneaking suspicion that I’m about to cry.