“Yep,” Michael answers cheerfully. “We’re going to kick ass.”
I only nod along because that’s better than lying. I am, in fact, not excited.
Right now, the only thing circling my mind is how easily Atticus turned me away, and how disgustingly pliant I was when his alter ego showed up that night.
I’m not surewhathe—it? Jesus, this is complicated—is. But I do know that if I can’t have the real Atticus in broad daylight, I’ll take what I can get.
I’ve seen the alter ego once more since that night, a few days ago, and just like the first and second times, he muttered sweet things to me as he made me come, then I passed out.
For some reason, I can’t seem to stay awake after. As if he takes all my energy when he’s done or something. And weirdly enough, I never find proof of his release either, so he must not be coming too.
Which, to be honest, makes me feel a little bad about myself. Like, what’s the point then? To getmeoff? I doubt it.
And I can never understand him! Half of what he says to me is in another language, andthat’sdriving me crazy. Though I have used context clues to understand yes and no.
Anyway, the more I sit on it, the angrier I get; it’s not like I murdered someone or cheated. I talked shit, which Atticus refuses to understand the context of, and he caught me.
That’s literally it.
Sure, the guilt is crushing me, and seeing how it’s affected him makes me sick. Butcome on!Can’t he forgive this one time? I literally confessed to loving him!
Whatever. I have friends and I have a decent-paying job; I can’t really ask for more, though I would be happy to receive a nicer mother.
And since Atlas’s party, Cassie has been avoiding me. I’m sure once she got upstairs and talked to Kim, she realized I lied, but can she blame me? That girl would have sent me on a wild goose chase if it meant being alone with Atticus Chastain, and we both know it.
So, in conclusion, I’m very irritated lately. And no, I’m not looking forward to the basketball game. I’m looking forward to seeing the alter ego again, if not just so I can imagine it really is Atticus and I can get off with him.
Or alone, it seems.
My phone suddenly buzzes, drawing my attention from my spiraling thoughts as I pull it from my pocket.
And I stop breathing.
Atticus 6:34 p.m.
Tell your little friend to stop messaging me. I don’t want to hear from her.
Um, what? For one, he unblocked me! For two, assuming he means the only female friend of mine he had the contact information for, then he never blockedCassie?What the fuck!
What is she saying to him? Why does she always get special treatment whenI’mthe one coming down his throat and being visited by his body double?
Rage overcomes me, and after sending Cassie an unseen glare, I type back.
Cameron 6:36 p.m.
Who’s this?
He’s the one who told me to leave, to never come back. Fuck this. It might look petty, and sure, it makes me very immature, but itfeelsgood, and I’m tired of begging and pleading.
I told him I loved him, and he told me to leave. I’m done trying to reconcile with him.
I’ll just keep his alter ego.
It takes a few minutes for Atticus to respond, not that I’m counting or anything.
Atticus 6:40 p.m.
Are you looking to be taught a lesson in respect?
