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I blinked, not expecting that. For one thing, he was asking and not being an asshole about it. I hugged my arms. “You actually want to talk?” I popped a shoulder. “Well, that’s new.”
This boy didn’t talk. He took.
His hands cuffed his biceps, his nod slow. “I deserve that.”
He deserved more than that.
And I was done with this conversation.
I started to walk away, but he called my name.
And why did I always stop?
I closed my eyes, pivoting. He hadn’t gotten any closer, but that didn’t matter. I still felt his reach, didn’t matter the proximity.
I could even smell him, taste him. His clear cool scent wafted in the air like a drug, and it was a habit I couldn’t seem to kick.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said, frowning. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I’m sorry for how I left you and how I left things.”
“You already said that.” He’d forced himself on me yet again, taken from me because that was what he did. He knew how fucked up we both were, and how I always responded to it. I lifted my chin. “In the computer lab, remember?”
I definitely hadn’t forgotten.
“Well, I’m saying it again.” He started to come closer, but his fists clenched, and he stopped. “And I shouldn’t have done that. And definitely not in there.” He cringed. “We take girls in there.”
Even better. I nodded. “Nice.”
“But that’s…” He cut around, finding my eyes. “That’s not what I wanted to do that day.”
“What had you wanted to do?”
“I don’t know.” The words were low. “I guess I just wanted to be close to you.”
Why did he keep saying things like this?
He was making this so much worse.
I didn’t want to push him away. He’d made me. “You’re an asshole.”
“I know, and I’m not trying to be. Fuck, it’s driving me crazy. You drive me crazy.” He shook his head. “I hate what I’ve done to you and how I made you feel. I hate that I didn’t believe you—”
“Why didn’t you?” I’d never given him a reason to think he couldn’t trust me. “I never said a word about where you were that day. I’d never do that to you. I…”
I stopped myself before I said something stupid, and what did I really know about feelings and bullshit anyway?
Let alone anything deeper.
The one time I tried he’d done what he had to me.
His jaw moved. “I know. I know. I just…” He stared away. “I’m not good at this.”
“Good at what?”
He put a hand out. “This. This shit. Us.”
“This shit?” A perfect sum-up of what we were or were not. I squeezed my arms. “I don’t want you.”
“Well, I want you.” He closed the distance, disappeared space, and I thought he’d do what he always did. He’d take.
