Page 11 of Bruised

I try to knock myself out by listening to boring YouTube videos, but nothing seems to work. The AC is on its last leg, so it’s hot and humid, and the faint smell of old pizza from the discarded carton is distracting and gross.

Finally, I realize why I’m having such a hard time finding rest.

I always jerk off before bed at home, and my body seems conditioned to think nighttime means jerk-off time. Now that I’m sleeping in the same room as my best friend, it’s hardly appropriate to start jerking it while he’s right next to me, is it?

Ignoring my need is all I can do, but as a result, I’m unable to sleep.

After what feels like hours, I give up and go downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of water. The house is dark, but there’s enough light outside from streetlights that I don’t bother clicking the kitchen light on. I fill a glass with water from the sink and take a sip, sullenly glaring into nothing.

“Hey, puppy.”

I jump, nearly dropping the glass, and I turn around to see none other than Mason standing there, shirtless of course, dressed only in a pair of black boxers.

“Don’t call me that,” I grumble.

“Why? Because you like it too much?”

My cheeks flush furiously, and I can’t think of a reply fast enough, my mind spinning and distracted.

“Where’s your collar?” Mason watches me casually, as if it’s not creepy as fuck that he just showed up out of nowhere and scared the crap out of me.

When he reaches over me to grab a glass from the cabinet, I slide under his arm, backing off, trying to reclaim my personal space. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to matter where in the room he is; his presence is just as tangible either way.

“It’s not a collar,” I argue.

“Mm-hmm.” His next words are spoken so calmly, as if he’s stating facts rather than trying to convince me. “But you want it to be.”

My mouth falls open. Too many seconds pass before I manage to shut it and replace my stunned expression with a glare.

“It’s called fashion. Not that you’d know anything about it.” I sound prissy, like a snob, but that’s the point. I need him to leave me alone, but somehow he gets closer with every word I say.

Ignore him, Oliver said. Well, it’s easier said than done.

There’s a new glint in his eyes now, along with his smirk. “Well, maybe I want to know. You could teach me.” He looks me up and down, locking his gaze on me, and I’m unable to shake it off.

Oliver’s out cold and can’t come interrupt us. I’m all alone. I feel like I need to be saved, which is weird; Mason is just some guy, but he turns my world upside down with merely a glance.

I bring my hand to my throat where I usually have my choker, but in its absence, I stroke a hand along my neck in a soothing gesture.

Mason’s eyes fix on my hand, and he takes a step forward.

Oh. Oh no.

I step back. “I should go to sleep.”

Mason shrugs. “You could, but why bother?”

“Don’t you have anywhere to be tomorrow?”

“That’s the thing, puppy—I don’t. So I thought you and I could be friends.”

“Friends? I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

Oliver told me you were dangerous. Oliver told me to stay away. And that’s exactly why I don’t want to stay away, and that in turn is the reason why I should. That rush of exciting, forbidden danger.

I can hardly tell Mason all this, so instead, I say, “I don’t need any more friends. I have Oliver.”