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“Aran, that’s…” Words fail me at his sudden mood swing.
“I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Please, just…” He leans in so I feel his breath on my neck and catch that woody scent. “Let me fuck you. Hard.”
When he presses against me and I feel his half-hard cock, I gasp. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath. His closeness feels so good—and yet I know this is wrong.
“If you want to talk about what happened…”
Aran inhales sharply, then grips my upper arms and shoves me away in anger.
“Talk?” he explodes. “Why the fuck would we talk? Everyone hates me! There’s nothing else to say!”
My heart is pounding. His unpredictable behavior is making me nervous. It’s obvious he’s on drugs and no longer in control. Maybe changing the subject will diffuse the situation.
“I listened to your songs,” I say. “It’s impossible for everyone to hate you. I don’t hate you anymore. You spoke straight to my soul.”
Aran looks stunned. His eyes widen as he stares through me. His right eyelid twitches, then he turns his head away.
“Those songs are old. Nobody cares about the truth anymore.”
As if the last word escaped against his will and he’d revealed a secret, he clamps his mouth shut in regret.
“Could it be that you’ve experienced something similar to me?” I ask cautiously.
His expression tightens, and his gaze grows more distant, slipping away from me. He’s not here anymore, but somewhere else.
I step closer and touch his arm. “Maybe I got your lyrics wrong, but I found myself in them. It felt good. I don’t hate you. I feel like you understand me.”
Aran is barely holding himself upright. His body is rigid, jaw clenched. Tears gather in his eyes.
“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I add.
It hurts to see him like this. He’s retreated so far inside himself, buried his emotions so deep that his whole body is shaking. I want to comfort him, give him the same sense of safety he gave me last Wednesday. When I take another step closer, he drops his head.
“It’s okay,” I whisper.
Aran turns away and clenches his fists. Then he shoves me back again.
“What?” he barks. “What’s okay?”
“Showing feelings,” I answer, startled by the outburst.
I can almost see him putting all his defenses back up, the warmth draining from his body.
“We’re not the same,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. “You got away with it. I went to prison!”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“Go ahead and show as many feelings as you like. You’re such an expert at it!” he scoffs. “I can’t afford that. You should stay away from me. You’ll only regret getting involved with me.”
“Looks like that warning comes too late.”
Aran frowns. “You picked the wrong guy. Do yourself a favor and find someone else.”
It surprises me that he still stands there, like he’s hoping I’ll argue or prove him wrong. But I can’t. His words already cut deep, and I just feel small and stupid.
I know I’ve made mistakes myself, but I’m working on it—or at least trying—to fix everything again. The contempt he shows me leaves me speechless. I’m disappointed and angry, not even at Aran, but at myself.
Yeah. Looks like I picked the wrong guy again. This time it’s a drug-fueled powder keg I understand even less than my ex. Not even Luke showed mood swings this extreme.
