Boston blinks, his head snapping back. “What?”
“I have to go,” I repeat, like a crazy person. I rush across his room, grabbing my bra from the floor. I need to get out of here. I need to get away from him. “Take me home.”
He sits up in bed, the blankets falling from his chest. “Ari.”
The way he sounds so confused breaks my heart. The little twinge of fear in his voice hurts worse.
“Where is my dress?” I bite out, scrambling for the door with shaking hands.
He’s up in a blink. Physically pushing himself between me and the door, Boston blocks my only way out. He gently grabs my arm, stopping me in my tracks, and lowers his head until we’re eye level.
“Ari.”
I snap my gaze up to his, tears burning in my eyes. God, I’m an idiot. “Take me home.”
His throat bobs, confliction brewing in his eyes, but he nods slowly. “Okay, but can you tell me what’s wrong? What just happened?”
“I want to leave.” That's all I say.
He stares at me for a long second and then drops his hand with a sigh, running his palm over his face. He steps out of the way without looking at me.
I sprint out the door the second that I can, collecting my belongings along the way, tearing my clothing onto my body as I rush down the hall. The walls are closing in. This big, beautiful home suddenly seems so small. So haunted.
I need to get out of here.
Boston emerges from his room a moment later, wearing sweats and a t-shirt. He’s watching me carefully as he pulls his baseball cap backward over his messy hair, but I’m too panic-ridden to even spare him a second glance.
I storm down the stairs and he follows, slowly and methodically, like he’s approaching a cornered wolf.
“I need my bag.Where is my bag?”
He holds it out in front of him.
Right. It had been in his room. I run a hand through my tangled ponytail, reaching for my heels and nearly stumbling when I try to balance enough to slide one on. I catch myself just in time to not go tumbling to the floor.
His restraint snaps. He reaches for me again, forcing me around to meet his eyes—stopping me from scrambling around like a neurotic mess.
“What is going on?” he asks slowly, his face full of concern. “You’re scaring the hell out of me. Don’t make me guess.”
“Nothing,” I say, almost breathlessly. My eyes are burning. “I just want to leave.”
“No.”
“Boston.”
“Not until you tell me what I did.”
“You didn’t?—”
“I did,” he says gruffly. His eyes soften, brow furrowing. “I can’t just let you leave like this, Ari. It’ll kill me.What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything.”
“Then what is goin?—”
“Nothing!”
“Ariana, please?—”
