I’m babbling against his skin, begging and crying as I come down from my orgasm. My body is shaking, my mind reeling.
Atticus doesn’t sit around after he finishes. Instead, he pulls out, slides my pants back on, and takes a step back.
“Now,” he pants out. “Have a wonderful night,sweetheart.”
And then he leaves.
Atticus
22
I SHOULDN’T HAVE CORNEREDCameron. I shouldn’t have messaged him in the first place, but Cassie’s insistent social media messaging was driving menuts.
And then he pretended not to know who I was when I did message, and that angered me beyond belief. He isn’t allowed to tell me he loves me, entrap himself in my mind, then run away.
Alright, sure, I toldhimto leave, but that doesn’t change the fact. He was being rude, and I wasn’t going to stand for that.
Does that mean I needed to shove him against a tool shed and fuck him senseless? No. But was it completely justified? Also no.
But we both enjoyed it, so what’s the harm?
You’re losing your sanity; that’s the harm, I remind myself.
And it’s true… now that I’ve had a refresher in how it feels to be balls deep in Cameron’s backside, I’m all sorts of messed up.
I’ve even begun dreaming of him again. Like last night, where I dreamt I was in his room again, sucking him into my mouth until he blew and then coming that bluish liquid all over his spread thighs. Only this time, the dream started much earlier.
As in, for half the dream, I was justwalkingthere.
It was very boring, actually.
And now I’m readying myself for a run, in hopes I catch him loitering again, whilst drowning in my own self-loathing.
If I’m going to be this weak for him when I see him, why not just give in? Why not accept his confusing apology and let him face what I fucked up when I tried to save Atlas with me?
Well, because, for one, I’m still angry. And for two, involving him with that demon would only be cruel and unfair, even if he did hurt me once.
So, rough sex where I can get it and desperate dreams are all I can have of him. Otherwise, I’m screwing us both.
With my sneakers on—not the newly muddied ones in the corner, but my normal running shoes—I leave my room.
I’ve asked my family a few more times about these mysteriously dirty shoes, and everyone denies accountability. So, I ordered a camera that connects to my phone.
It arrives later today, so I’ll set it up tonight; whoever the culprit is will be fired, or maybe grounded, if it happens to be one of my siblings.
As I walk onto the second-floor landing, I spot Atlas coming up the East side of the main staircase.
“Atticus,” he greets. The first thing I notice is that his normal smile is gone, replaced by something weary.
I can hear Julian and Abigail laughing all the way from the music room, where Atlas must be heading.
“How was your trip?” I ask, knowing they got in late last night, though I was sleeping, so I couldn’t greet them.
“It was good. We saw Susie,” Atlas tells me.
“Was Landon not back in California?”
Atlas gives me a curious look, as if he wasn’t aware of Landon’s being here on the night of his party, but he changes the subject.
