Page 16 of Brutal Titan

Victoria

Anger. Fury. Frustration. Rage. Defeat. I can’t decide which emotion is the strongest as I ascend the staircase, slipping into my room before shutting the door behind me, I lock it, like I thought I had earlier. Even though people know it’s off-limits, a few drunken idiots have stumbled into my room before.

Sluggishly moving to my bed, I slide under the covers, pulling them to my face as I sob. Angry that Elliot got to me once again, I’m also livid that Grant was standing front and center, a witness to the show. That arrogant, self-assured grin had been fully intact when I passed him. Unable to keep my emotions together, I wished I’d been able to tell him I was done with all of them. I’m almost to the point where I don’t care what he does with the stupid picture, as long as he will leave me out of their feud. Grant has pitted us against each other in hopes of causing trouble, and he’s accomplishing just that. But Elliot is ripping my soul to shreds, and I can’t handle it anymore. I’d never intended on him seeing the sketch of Olivia. I almost hadn’t drawn it but after our visit this week she’d been constantly on my mind, and I wanted to remember her when she was smiling, genuinely happy … before something or someone broke her spirit, causing her to do the unthinkable.

Losing track of time, I lie in bed, comforter pulled up to my chin, until I hear a hard rap on the door. Unmoving, I listen as it continues. Something solid hits the door, maybe a glass bottle or something metal. Either way, I don’t care to respond. My phone dings with a message. Closing my eyes, the message alert dings several more times before I reach to the nightstand to grab my phone. The first message is the last person I want to be outside my door, knocking to enter—Elliot. And his latest message says he’s not leaving until I open the door.

Too bad.

Pressing the power button, the phone goes dark before I lightly toss it back on the nightstand, pulling the comforter back to my chin. There’s silence, and I’m grateful he’s finally gotten the message, or lack thereof, and taken the hint to leave me alone. No sooner had I released a relieved sigh, when a loud crash sounds against the door.

Apparently, he hadn’t gotten the hint because something very heavy is slamming repeatedly—and loudly—into my door as he bellows for me to open it.

Sliding off the bed, I shuffle to the door, unlocking it, I yank it open just as Elliot lunges forward, stumbling into the room. A nearly empty bottle of whiskey in his hand, he still manages to splash it on the floor.

“’Bout time.” He steadies himself, rolling his shoulder back before taking another swig. There’s no way to guess how many drinks he’s had out of the bottle, but it’s got to be a lot based on his current state. He doesn’t slam bodily into my door under normal conditions.

“When I said don’t ever come near me again, I meant it.” My harsh tone does nothing to deter him from causally strolling around my room, glancing about before looking to me. There’s a pained look in his eyes, maybe regret or remorse, but I don’t care to look deeper. I just want him out of my room, my head, my heart, and my soul. “Leave. Now.”

He moves next to me, as I point out the door, holding it open with one hand and motioning for him to leave with the other. I almost think he will be a decent human being and cooperate, but this is Elliot Bass, so instead he jerks the door from my hand, slamming it shut. “I’m not leaving until you let me say something.” His words slur as he holds his hand up with the bottle gripped in it. One finger loosens, pointing to me. “You are driving me batshit crazy.”

“Okay.” I nod, reaching for the doorknob but he steps in front of me, placing his body against mine as his hand brushes up my thin cami. Unlike the vile touch I’d experienced from Grant, this one is unwanted for a completely different reason—it doesn’t feel wrong or out of place; it feels right, like it belongs to me, yet I’m smart enough to know it’s as hopeless and unattainable as its owner. “Get out.” My voice squeaks out as I step away from him.

Dropping his hand to his side, his voice is strained as he whispers, “I’m sorry.”

Suppressing the shock of his words, I do my best to maintain an emotionless stare. He’s drunk, and I’m done getting twisted inside out by him. “I said get out.”

His shoulders fall forward in defeat as his head shakes. He steps back and in one quick motion, his arm cocks back and he slings the bottle across the room where it shatters against the wall.

I stand rigid, not fearing him but not knowing what to do as he falls to his knees in front of me. His hands grip my sides, pulling me against him before his arms wrap around my waist, his face against my stomach as my arms awkwardly lift, unsure what to do. Elliot kneeling before me is even more shocking than him actually apologizing for being a jerk. But in the end, the asshole I’m all too familiar with is bound to resurface, the cycle will repeat itself. I’ll have hope that something could happen between us then he’ll shut it down. Besides, this is only a show from drunken Elliot, and even though I desire to give in, I know sober Elliot will return with a vengeance way too soon.

“Please just tell me what to do, what to say.” His voice is strained as he nuzzles his face against the thin material of my shirt, his hands stroking my back. “Please just tell me how to make this right, how to make us work.”

“There is no us. You’re drunk, Elliot.” My voice is shaky as I force the words out. It breaks my heart to say it, but I know he’ll just crush me further when he sobers up from his inebriated state.

“Yes, but I know exactly what I want, what I need.” As he rises from his knees, his mouth trails up my torso before he moves to my neck, his lips brushing across my exposed skin, sending a shiver through me as my fingers clutch his biceps.

Unbidden, tears stream down my face, and I swallow the lump in my throat. His eyes meet mine, his finger trails along my jawline as he speaks softly. “Please forgive me. Tell me that it’ll all be worth it because it’s what we both want, both need. Tell me that you’ll stay … that you won’t give up on me.”

“No. I can’t do this, and you need to sober up.” My voice betrays me as his finger brushes across my cheek.

“Victoria, please.”

Clenching my eyes shut, I whisper as my arms drop to my sides, “Hopeless. That’s all this will ever be.”

“So I’ve been told,” he mutters, his lips tenderly brushing against mine before he releases me.

My arms fold across my chest, my fingers dig into my arms in an attempt to fill the void left behind by his vacant touch. I know this is the right choice, even if it feels all wrong as I watch him walk away from me. Every part of me yearns to beg him to stay, but I don’t because every time I give into him, it still ends the same way—with me watching him walk away.