I just want to move past it and forget that dull ache of betrayal I first felt when I realized the extent of his…interestin me.
Again, I’m torn. Maybe it speaks volumes about how deranged I am, but dammit, Iamattracted to the notion of him outright stalking me. I’m turned on by the idea of him breaking past every wall, smashing every lock, and creeping into every shadow of my darkest fantasies to drag them into the light.
Ilovethat he did all of that.
But there’s also part of me—probably thesanepart—that can’t quite get pastnever having had a choice.
Yes, I’m crazy about him.
I’m in love with him, honestly, to an extent that almost freaks me out.
But this whole thing started with a lie. If the foundation is rotted, what hope do we have of building on it?
When we get to where Achilles parked his car, I sigh as I unwrap his arm from around me. “So,” I tease. “Your place? Or are you ready to chance my place now?”
Imight be hell bent on moving forward to eventually forget how this all started, but my friends aren’t all on the same page. Arianna, for example, texted our group chat the other day about “stabbing Achilles in the dick with a fork”.
So, you know, some anger issues there.
My friends all know how I feel about Achilles. But they also know now how he dug into my life and rigged the game before we even started playing it.
Unsurprisingly, they’re not exactlythrilledabout that part.
But whatever grudge my girl squad still has vis-à-vis Achilles, it’s nothing compared to Damiano's.
Forget stabbing Achilles’ dick with a fork. Dame wants to decapitate him and put his head on a spike right in the middle of the quad.
Achilles smirks. “After dinner with your father, I think I can handle Damiano.”
I giggle. “Maybe, but for the sake of your head and its continued connection to your neck, let’s do your place tonight?”
He smiles. “Deal. But we’re not going back to campus yet.”
He takes my hands in his.
“I need to show you something,” he growls. “You haven’t forgiven me for?—”
“Of course I have.” I squeeze his hands as I look into his eyes. “Achilles, I?—”
“No,” he says quietly. “You haven’t, not yet. And that’s okay,” he adds before I can open my mouth to protest again. “I don’twant youto forgive me yet. I need to show you something first.” He reaches into his pocket. “Do you trust me?”
My bottom lip retreats between my teeth. Then I nod.
Achilles holds up a blindfold.
Fifteen minutesof light Manhattan traffic later with the blindfold over my eyes, we come to a stop at the side of a busy-sounding street. I hold his hand as he leads me someplace quieter, into what I think is a room until I hear the ding and feel us start to rise.
“Watch your step here,” he says gently, helping me up a flight of stairs after we exit the elevator.
A door opens, and I shiver at the sudden chilly wind whipping around me. Achilles guides me forward, and I hear the door close behind us as he leads me across a flat, windy surface, the sound of the city a little more distant than before.
“Right here.”
I laugh nervously as he plants me in place. When I reach for the blindfold, he gently pulls my hands away.
“I do bend the world around me to get what I want,” he murmurs, taking my hands and pulling me close. I can’t see him, but I can feel his gaze on me, and I swallow as I inhale his comforting scent and squeeze his hands with mine.
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t know that what I did was wrong,” he growls.
