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“I can’t keep feeling guilty for this, Shiloh.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
But he isn’t listening to me anymore. Atlas has his arm around Blair’s waist, Blair’s head on his shoulder.
I’ve already taken up enough of their time. We’re just arguing in circles.
I pick up the now cold brownies and stuff them in my pocket, stalking out of the shop with a heavy breath held in my chest. The air is muggy and moist but the freshness in my lungs calms the panic building up.
At the end of last semester, I got drunk and high and nearly killed myself. I was in a shit place, and I took that out on the two people who love me most in the world. First I had a prolonged hospital stay—which included a short stint in the psych ward—and then rehab and vigorous therapy to get me set on new medication and a path towards healing.
Or whatever the bullshit phrase is.
Every effort I’ve made to get better is like fighting the pull of quicksand. I’m neck deep in my own misery, and every hand I hold out for help only seems to bring others down with me.
I could give some of my new sex friends a call. When I get upset lately I’ve started getting horny—some kind of conditioning from jumping into bed anytime I don’t like what I’m feeling.
But it’s also something I’m innately good at. Sex is like a kind of high without drugs, though I’ve seen people take some shit before we go at it.
The sidewalk and storefronts are a blur, my eyes trained down because the burning in them might just overflow, and I don’t want to fucking cry. I don’t want to feel anything at all.
I collide with something, and instead of ducking around and continuing on, my feet are stuck on the concrete. Fingers dig into my bicep, and for a second my entire body is frozen. And then I’m swinging my fist and bracing my knees, and—motherfucking shit does my hand hurt.
Every ounce of training I’ve had tells me to keep moving. Don’t look. Access a means of escape and take it.
But instead my eyes swing toward the person standing a foot from me wiping blood from their lip. The fear evaporates.
Replaced by an uncertain roll in my gut that is part anger and part arousal.
Corvin watches me with the same calculating expression as he always does. Like I’m a puzzle he wants to solve or a problem he needs to fix.
My gut tells me to punch him again for good measure, because the pain and adrenaline beats the aching void in my chest, but instead I grip the collar of his stupid, fluffy sweatshirt and drag him into the alley between two buildings.
It’s small. Like maybe an extra foot and a half of space around our bodies. A foot of that is behind me, and the half is all the distance keeping us apart as I press him to the wall.
The muscles in my neck and shoulders feel as if they’ve coiled and strained so tight the slightest movement might cause them to break. My fists are wrapped up in Corvin’s shirt, but I can still feel the bite of the brick on my knuckles through the fabric.
“Bad day, sweetheart?” Corvin asks with a lopsided grin, making no move to push me away.
Which only pisses me off more.
My blood pumps and my heart races, making a thunderstorm of pounding in my ears. It’s always like this when I get near him.
Like I want to scream and kick and claw but also bury myself in his arms like he’s somehow going to protect me from my own thoughts.
Make it stop, I want to say. Shut it off.
Instead, I free one hand and slam it into the wall until I feel the skin break. Until Corvin finally responds and grips my wrist in one of his larger hands, trapping it against his chest. Before I can make a move with the other, he pins it down, too.
Then, it’s my back against the wall. My wrists pressed to the brick above my head and Corvin’s knee shoving my legs apart.
“Sweetheart.” His voice dips to my ear, and I whip my head to the side fast enough to hear the crunch of his jaw before he grips mine between firm fingers, pressing the back of my head to the bricks. “I didn’t mean to spook you. Settle.”
“Fuck you,” I spit, grinning in spite of myself because Corvin has blood dripping from either side of his bottom lip.
He swipes his thumb across my cheek and brings his face close to mine.
“Would that calm you?” The sincerity in his voice nearly makes me gag. “No. That’s not what you need right now, is it?”
