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“Forget it. I’m going to go check on her.” I turn away, ready to run if I have to, but as usual, he’s too fast. He blocks me in, one arm on either side of me—then, he takes it a step further by grabbing me by the waist and lifting me onto the island.
Instead of fighting, I sigh. “I don’t feel like playing games. It’s been a long night.”
“Who said I’m trying to play a game?” He pries my thighs apart and places himself between them. “You said you want to be friends. Let’s be friends.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“I don’t know what to do with all these mixed messages you keep giving me.” He holds on to my hips, pulling me a little closer to his crotch. He’s getting hard. How can he get hard right now? “Admit it. You liked watching me beat the shit out of that guy. It got you wet.”
“That’s not even funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny. All women like watching men assert our dominance. You can pretend all you want, but you aren’t any better than the average female.” He leans in until his nose brushes my neck and I have to pretend to be revolted when he inhales deeply. “I can smell it on you. Excitement. It’s on your skin.”
“You’re sick.”
“What’s really sick?” He lifts his head, his lips dangerously close to touching mine. “Me talking like this, or that it’s true? You’re no better than me. The only difference is, I don’t lie about who I am.”
“I know that’s not true.” He’s hiding himself again, trying to scare me out of getting closer. It’s obvious enough to make me feel sorry for him.
“It’s not?” His hands slide over my thighs, and it shouldn’t affect me the way it does. It shouldn’t unleash heat low in my belly, heat that spreads to my pussy and makes it throb. That’s how undone I am by his touch. I’m helpless against it and it makes me hate myself. I’m leaning in before I know what I’m doing, ready for him to lead me wherever he wants to go.
In a flash, he lowers his head to my shoulder, partly exposed under a loose T-shirt. His teeth sink in, and I suck in a pained breath.
“What are you doing?” I ask with a gasp. He lets go and I press a hand to the spot. It’s screaming, throbbing with every beat of my heart. “Why?”
“You know me so well, right? You tell me.” He walks out of the room, whistling softly like he didn’t come close to killing somebody tonight. He’s right. Just when I think I know him, he reminds me I don’t know anything at all.
Upstairs in my bathroom, the mark stands out like neon against my pale skin. It’s red, throbbing, and it’s going to turn into an ugly bruise. I wash it off before turning out the light and going to the bedroom.
Salem’s asleep, snoring softly when I slide in beside her. Thank God. I hope she doesn’t have too many nightmares—but if she does, I’ll be here when she wakes up. There’s at least one person I can help.
Hayes? I don’t know if anybody can help him.
19
This has been the longest few days of my life. Running out of chemistry because I’m about to throw up might as well be how I end the school week.
I barely make it, throwing one of the stall doors open and dropping to my knees maybe a second before hurling into the bowl. I barely ate anything for breakfast or lunch, but it doesn’t seem to matter. My body wants to eject everything in it, fast and forcefully.
By the time I’m finished, I’m sweating and shaking and seriously wishing I was in my bathroom instead of here. But what was the alternative? Throwing up all over myself in class? As it is, I’m sure I’ll catch hell from the teacher for running out. Theo’s in that class with me. Maybe he’ll speak up on my behalf.
How am I supposed to walk through life like nothing’s out of the ordinary when all I can do is wait for the cops to show up?
Every minute, I expect them to knock on the front door at home. Or to see them striding down the hallways at school, looking for Hayes. Thanks to my frayed nerves, even a slamming locker makes me jump.
Salem’s been out sick since that night. I can understand why—and if she was here, it would be too much to handle. I wasn’t the one Logan raped, and I can barely handle all the talking and the whispering and the insane stories people are making up.
After three school days worth of gossip, I’ve put together that Logan was eventually discovered by guys with the band. He needed surgery to fix his face. Depending on who’s telling the story, he either had a broken nose and jaw or he basically needed a total reconstruction. Having watched the beating, I’m going with nose and jaw, at least.
