Page 38 of A Tragic Melody

“Then I guess I’m at your service.”

“Good boy.” I boop his nose. “Tell me, when is the last time you had sex?” I slide into his lap, straddling him. I run my hands through his hair, breathing in his scent. He smells like soap and rainwater. Clean. He smells clean. Safe. Calming. The opposite of everything else I know. t

Must be why he bothers me so much.

“I don’t remember to be honest. It’s been a while.” He keeps his voice low as he looks just to the side of me, avoiding eye contact. I wrap my arms around his neck.

“How sad,” I whisper in his ear, letting my teeth nip at his earlobe for a moment. He sucks in a sharp breath. “For me at least.”

“How so?”

“It means you won’t last long enough for my liking.”

“You don’t want to fuck me, Tuesday.”

“No?” I rock my hips against him. “It sure looks like I do.”

“You think you do, but you don’t really want to go down that road.”

“What makes you say that?” I lean back, forcing him to look in my eyes. “Did you catch something from all those needles you used?”

“No.” He laughs. “I just didn’t take you for a murderer.”

“A murderer?” I cock my head to the side, not quite sure what he is getting at.

“I know you want to ruin me, but surely you draw the line at murder.” I lift an eyebrow. “If we fuck, Hendricks will kill me.”

I slide off his lap, standing to my feet. “You are such a fucking asshole,” I groan, pulling the edge of my dress down. “And a coward.”

“Sorry.” He chuckles. “I don’t feel like dying over some pussy.”

“Coward. Chicken. Pussy,” I snap at him.

“Takes one to know one, I guess.”

I bend forward, slapping his arm. He doesn’t flinch or react, so I hit his arm again. And again, and again until finally his hand snaps up, gripping my wrist.

“Let me go.”

“Will you stop hitting me?”

“No.” I tug at my arm. “You owe me. You have no idea what I’ve done for you. Because of you. What I’ll have to do.” Tears spring to my eyes, but I push them back.

His rejection stings. I don’t know why he doesn’t want me. I want him to want me for some reason. Knowing I mean something to him is important to me all of a sudden. I know the bill for what happened will be owed the next time I see Hendricks, and I desperately want Wyatt to suffer because of it, too. But more so, I just want him to like me.

“I told you not to get involved,” he says softly.

“I hate you. You think you’re so much better than me. Just because you overcame drugs doesn’t mean you’re any better than me. I doubt you’ll stay clean very long. Eventually you’ll relapse and die, just like your family. Which is what you want, right? To join them. Because you’re pathetic.”

He sighs, releasing my arm. I yank it back.

“You’re going to break so easily, Wyatt. You cave the minute I mention your family. You give up whenever you think it will save me. But you don’t realize I don’t need you to save me. You needed me to save you. I saved you. You better remember that. So if I want you to fuck me, you’ll fuck me. If I ask you to jump, you’ll jump. If I ask you to do a fucking line with me, you’ll fucking do it. Okay?”

“Okay.” He nods. “So what will it be, Tuesday? Are we fucking? Am I jumping? Or are we getting high?”

I stare at him for a moment. Hating how he gets under my skin, at how badly I find myself needing to get under his. He just looks at me as I stare. Face blank. Eyes on me.

“Right now, you’re going to stay the fuck away from me.”