He opens the door to his room, and I follow in behind him. He turns to look at me, his blue eyes bright, the slight shadow in his left eye showing more now that I’m standing this close to him.
“Collins, I’m going to be honest.” He steps closer to me, the tips of our shoes touching as I breathe in the heady scent of his cologne. “I won’t play fair. You don’t have to give me a chance, but I’ll make sure you can’t forget about me.” My mouth dries, my tongue sticking to the roof, and my pulse thundering in my neck. “You can ignore me, go on dates withThomas,” Adamhisses his name like it’s a curse, “but I’ll be there. There won’t be a day that goes by where I don’t cross your mind. Nod your head if you understand.” I nod my head, stupidly.
“Good boy,” Adam says, and I should be embarrassed by the reaction my body has to those two words. My dick twitches in my pants. “And when you’ve had enough of Thomas being nice to you, come find me and I’ll give you what you need.”
“What is that?” I rasp out, trying to swallow to moisten my mouth and throat.
“You don’t need someonenice.You already have that taken care of. You need someone who is willing to ruin anyone who tries to hurt you. Someone who stands in front of you to protect you.” He’s saying all of the right things, but there’s one problem.
“That can’t be you. Because I want someone who’s proud to be seen with me, who wants to take me on dates and go for walks and get coffee from cute little coffee shops.” He glares at me, tilting his head down until our noses meet.
“I would be so proud to be seen with you, but there are other circumstances preventing me from that. But if you want to use that as an excuse, you need to be ready to stand behind it. Because I’m going to do whatever it takes to show that you belong to me.” His cool breath brushes my face with every enunciation of his words, the cool mint gum he’s chewing filling me with my own craving.
I kiss him. I press my lips against his and swallow down whatever words he’s going to speak next, I don’t need to hear them. This is a bad decision, any choice I make that involves Adam is made without using my brain. He makes me feel insane, like I don’t have control of my body. He’s the one calling the shots and bending me to his will.
His hands cup the back of my head roughly, jerking me until our bodies are pressed together, his hard dick rubbing against mine behind my zipper.
“I’m fucking crazy for you,” he says, shoving his tongue into my mouth and tangling it with mine. We rut against each other, the pleasure that I get from him insurmountable and incomparable to others. And damn him for ruining me for everyone else. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
But when my orgasm crests, I cry out into his mouth, feeling the pulse of my release spew out of me and coat my underwear. Adam is right behind me, groaning out my name as his body shudders.
When I come down from the high, the guilt settles into me like a five-ton boulder, making a home inside my chest.
“This was a mistake,” I whisper, and Adam freezes. His deep, shuddering breath fills the silence. I can’t pull myself away, though, he’s a magnet. When he’s in my vicinity, my body searches for that deep connection with him. Sometimes it’s so strong that I can feel the invisible pull even when he’s not around. At the coffee shop, the library, random spots around campus.
He’s ruined me, and he’ll continue to ruin me if I go down this road. My heart is already shredded; if I gave him full control of it, there would be nothing left to salvage.
“Please don’t go. Not yet.” Adam looks at me, peering into my soul and begging for me to offer something. Anything. But I can’t.
I step back, and he follows. Refusing to separate from me.
“Adam, please. Let me go.”
He bows his head, resting his forehead against mine. I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood, the taste of copper flooding my mouth, so I can avoid feeling my heart cracking in my chest. It’s irrational, we’re irrational. But that’s the way life works. You can’t pick and choose what you feel.
We stand like that until I can’t fight back the tears anymore. “I’m sorry,” I choke out. He rubs his fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp.
“It’s okay, Collins.” He kisses my forehead, and then he tilts my head up to kiss my nose. My left cheek. My right one. And then the scar on my upper lip, which I’ve noticed his obsession with.
“Just know, I’m still going to inject myself into everything you do. I’m not going anywhere.”
And that’s what I’m the most afraid of.
28
ADAM
September bleeds into October, the leaves on the trees changing with the season. The bright green colors of the campus are now diluting to orange and red.
Fall break is in a few days, and I’m tagging along with Danielle to go home with Hunter for the three-day weekend. Technically four days since we’ll be leaving Thursday after our last class. Thomas will be there, too, but I’m trying to ignore that fact.
One month of watching Hunter and Thomas, and it’s been torture of epic proportions. But I stood by my word to stay around. Studying in the library, I’m there. Hanging out at the coffee shop, I’m there. Date nights, I’m there. Sometimes as a double date with Danielle, and other times, I’m the creeper having dinner by himself, not able to take my eyes off the couple in the back.
I never said my ways of staying relevant in Hunter’s life were stable, but that they would get the job done. And so far they have, because the glares stopped and instead have turned into soft gazes when it might seem like no one else is looking. My messages are blue now, and our conversations are filledwith talks of the literature he’s reading for class, the books he’s found at bookstores, and he’s even opening up to me about his side business, asking for my opinions on stuff he’s drawn. He’s so creative, and I love that about him. He can take the most abstract thing and create a beautiful piece of art from it; he constantly blows off the praise because they’rejust bookmarks.But I think he has so much more potential than he realizes when it comes to creating things.
But more than that, we just talk about our days. He texts me every morning when he wakes up, no matter how long I’ve been awake. My favorite part is him sending me pictures of the sunrise each morning on his walk across campus.
This morning was no different, but our conversation entered rocky territory. And that’s how I’m finding myself outside of his dorm room, waiting for him to open the door.
