I don’t know why he’s angry. Shouldn’t he be pleased?
“Of course, you’re a virgin. That’s why Lee was itching to have you beneath him. Every man loves the smear of virginal blood on his cock.”
If my stomach weren’t empty, I might have vomited at his comment.
You’re a pig.
When he snickers at my soundless remark, I roll my eyes before heading toward his car. This time, he lets me go.Regrettably.
While latching my seat belt, I run our conversation through my head. Some of what he said makes sense. I don’t feel like I’ve aged a day since I began taking the pills he disposed of. But the part about virginal blood was disgusting—and it makes my insides tingle—but we’re going to ignore that. I’ve got enough confusion to wade through. I can’t add bizarre sensations into the mix.
thirteen
MEGAN
After a prolonged conversation with himself, Dexter slides into the driver’s seat of his car. He remains quiet for the next ten miles, only speaking when obtaining my approval on a roadside motel.
This is a first. Usually, he tells me what we’re doing, and I follow along. He’s never sought my permission before.
He pulls to the very end of a dusty parking lot before his eyes drift to me. “Can you pass me my wallet from the glove box?”
Nodding, I throw down the leather-stitched compartment with care. My heart leaps into my chest when a news article is the first thing my eyes land on. It’s a clip of a recent tour Nick did with his band. He’s smiling at the camera with his guitar slung over one shoulder, and a strawberry blonde is draped under the other. He looks happy.
I’m glad. One miserable soul is always better than two.
I push aside the article to find Dexter’s wallet underneath, shut the glove box, then hand it to him. He eyes me curiously for several minutes. His stare is so prolonged, I run my finger across my lips, worried I have a vomit stain there.
After a grumble too quiet for me to hear, Dexter exits the car, secures a cash-only room, then gestures for me to join him under the weather-damaged patio. With every step I take, worry leaks from him like the air from a stabbed tire. I hate this, the way he is looking at me. It is one of the reasons I’ve neverconsortedwith a man before. My daddy said they’d look at me differently. He was right. Dexter is already giving me weird vibes, and all we did was sleep in the same bed.
My pace slows.Is that what popping a cherry means?If so, mine was popped years ago. I slept in Nick’s bed once. He was passed out from the excessive amount of alcohol he drank and fully clothed, but he did kiss me the next morning. It wasn’t as passionate as Dexter’s kiss slash bite, but it was still a kiss, nonetheless.
I guess it is kind of different. Dexter and I didn’t have any clothes on. My sleepover with Nick was also missing the weird buzzing sensation Dexter’s attention gives me. Nick makes my heart flutter, but Dexter still has it scaling that surging upshot I mentioned earlier. The dip hasn’t arrived yet.
I hope it never comes.
This is bad for me to admit, but I like the power Dexter’s attention awards me. He looks at me like I could have stabbed Joseph in the eye with my fork, and he wouldn’t have gotten mad.
Nick would have been mad. He would have been very, very mad. I only gave his fiancée a special medication to deliver his son early, and he was considerably angry.Imagine if you had done one of the many other things the voices told you to do?
Nodding in agreement to the kind voice in my head, I enter the door Dexter is holding open for me. Further deliberation will have to wait. It is a little after two in the morning. I am beyond exhausted.
“Shower first,” Dexter demands, stopping my beeline to the only bed in the room.
I shadow him into the bathroom. This one is more adequately outfitted than the one at his cabin. A large freestanding shower is at our right and a triangular spa bath is in the opposite corner. It’s a funky orange color but still a cool accessory to have access to. I haven’t had a bath in years, not since I discovered not all birds can swim. My mom said it was a science experiment, but my father was still angry. At times, I swear he loved his birds more than us.
“It’s too late for a bath now. You can have one tomorrow before we leave,” Dexter murmurs upon noticing my appreciative gawk.
He removes his cap, places it on the cracked sink, then spins around to face me. My heart rate skyrockets when I notice splatters of blood on his face. A normal person may mistake the vibrant streaks of red as lipstick or paint. Alas, I am anything but normal. I know the color so well it is embedded in my retinas.
I dart across the bathroom, my panic roaring with every step I take. A guttural moan rolls up my chest when I reach Dexter, my way of asking what happened.
He removes my hands from his face, his expression half-peeved, half-thankful. He doesn’t like me fussing over him, but he prefers it over my silence.
“It isn’t my blood,” he assures me, his tone gruff. His eyes drop to my massively dilated ones. “Even though I doubt you’ll care who it belongs to, I won’t share.”
Pretending he hasn’t spotted the stream of questions pumping from my eyes, he heads for the shower to turn on the faucet. Once he’s happy the water is at a nice temperature, he pivots to face me. Although his composure is a little askew, my hands still move to the hem of my shirt. I don’t need to hear his demands to know of their arrival. I can see them in his eyes, read them from his mind.
Dexter watches me undress with the same set of eagle eyes he had when he entered the bathroom yesterday afternoon. But instead of taking in only the private regions of my body, he devours every inch of me. His hungry eyes skim over my breasts that are aching with need before weaving down my stomach like a snake making its way through a desert, then they stop for a long, voracious glare at the bare mound between my legs.
