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“Not a peanut butter fan.” He freezes and stares at me like I’ve grown another head, and not just told him that I don’t like goo that is almost tasteless and sticks to the roof of your mouth.
“What is wrong with you? Everyone loves peanut butter!”
Too much. Too much is wrong with me. I don’t say that though, how much drama can I bring into their lives until they realise I’m not worth the effort. Before they see how truly damaged I am. I give him a lazy smile over my shoulder where he still stands and continue walking down the hall.
When we walk into Peyton dorm room, she’s ordering Leo around on the placement of furniture while she’s shuffling her things to make room in the closet. I tell her that I don’t need half the space, but she waves me off like I’m being ridiculous. I’m in the middle of putting my things away when Peyton throws her arms around me and pulls me into a bone tight hug.
“I’m so sorry.” Her voice is whispered as she squeezes me a little closer. I hug her back just as tight. I know she’s not apologizing for what happened during the attack, but for the distance that’s been between us since the dinner. The thing is, she has nothing to apologize for. I can’t tell her why I’m looking into the Spencer’s, and she’s smart enough to know I’m keeping secrets. But this right here, is everything. I blink like crazy to stop myself from crying at the show of loyalty she’s giving me right now and I decide that I’d go to war for this girl.
It takes two minutes to put my half bag worth of stuff away thanks to the ruination of my things over past few months. I really need go to the surrounding town on the outskirts of the university, but everything’s so expensive and I can’t bring myself to splurge the money. I know as soon as Peyton cops on to my lack of items that she’ll force the situation anyway so I should just bite the bullet and go. But procrastination is my middle name, so later.
Peyton decides that we are all having dinner in the room to celebrate the move before declaring that she’s ordering Chinese food. With a wink in my direction, she’s on a mission to find her phone. This girl, I swear. I’ve never told her that I adore Asian cuisines, but she’s somehow noticed my love anything smothered in satay. It’s not until I see Peyton shoving her hand under couch cushions and stripping her bed that I realise that I haven’t seen my touched my phone in days.
I was so focused on everything and anything else, that my phone didn’t seem of high value at the time. I was barely awake after the boys let me sleep that first few nights. The battery is dead, unsurprisingly, and I pad into the kitchen to plug in the charging port before deciding I need the serenity only brought by a scalding hot shower. Peyton corners me on my way to the bathroom, holding her hand up to stop me while hissing jabs into her phone.
“No… No, I don’t care… Jack, grow up… We’re not having this conversation again… For the love of Christ, I’ve already ordered… You better be up here with the food in twenty minutes or so help me God, I will set fire to all your games… Yes… Yes, okay… Love you too.” She hangs up and glares at her phone for a minute, muttering about stupid, stubborn older brothers before telling me Jack will be here soon and he said he’s got a surprise for me.
I’m barely managed to get the conditioner out of my hair when the banging starts on the door. I think about ignoring it when it starts up again, louder, and more insistent. Grumbling, I wrap myself in a towel before opening the door a fraction to see who’s dying, because I don’t think I’ll accept anything less when I’m being forced out of heaven. Leo stands on the other side, scowling down at the floor with his arms folded across his chest. Seriously, what the fuck has happened in the five minutes I’ve been in the damned bathroom?
“Yes?” I manage to keep the snark from my tone which is a feat in itself. He says nothing, just stands there. I think he’s not going to answer and I’m about to close the door again when I hear the familiar dings of my phone sounding in the background. This seems to bring him out of whatever trance he was in, because his eyes snap up to mine.
“Your phone keeps buzzing. Messages and missed calls from someone named Clarke, a few from a Nova too. Thought I’d tell you since I can’t tell which one of them you’re spreading your legs for.” The disgust is clear in his voice, not offering me the same courtesy of masking it that I did him. His gaze dropping to what he can see through the slither in the door and the towel cladding my body. I think I see heat burn in his eyes, but if I did it’s gone as quickly as it arrived, replaced with a wrinkle in his nose as he scrunches it up. “Or maybe, you’re fucking them both. One guy not enough to satisfy your pussy?”
I want to gag at his words but I’m too focused on the missed calls and unanswered text messages. My mind replays different scenarios of how this could play out, running script after script in my head of how Clarke is going to react. The only problem is I have zero clue how he’ll be, I’ve nevernotresponded. I scramble out of the bathroom with Leo hot on my heels, not even acknowledging the rest of what he said as I snatch up my phone.
How are things progressing, Rosie?
I want an updated report on the Spencer girl’s communication logs.
Answer.
Clarke’s messages because slightly more irate and clipped as I read through them, until he stopped calling or messaging all together, which has warning bells sounding in my mind. But it’s the message I received from Nova that had my blood running cold.
He’s on his way.
I curse viciously and colorfully under my breath, dialing Clarke’s number and putting the phone to my ear. The ringing starts up, but there’s a strange echo to it, almost like it’s calling two phones at once. The door swings open at that moment, Jack striding in with bags of food containers hanging limply off his wrist, and right behind him is the man himself. Clarke is in my dorm.
The devil is said to be beautiful, to be charismatic. He is the personification of evil and the author of sin. He charms you with his looks and tempts you through clever reasoning. This man in front of me is created in his form, wielding power in such a way that you don’t feel misled, that you stand firmly on the moral high ground of quicksand. But the more you struggle the quicker you sink, and before you realise how far you’ve gone, the pressure builds on your chest until you can’t breathe.
My phone is still at my ear, the ringing reverberating loudly as it slips from my hand, tumbling against the floor. His hair is longer than the last time I saw it, the toffee blonde strands not quite touching his shoulder, but neatly tucked back behind one of his ears, the top perfectly quaffed. He’s wearing a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and black slacks. His fingers are adorned in gold rings, and tattoos cover every inch of his body, running right up under his jawline. What catches my attention is the familiar worn brown leather watch on his wrist, stark in contrast to his sleek appearance.
His eyes are trained on me, I can feel the familiar burn trailing over my skin. It feels different to how my body heats under the gaze of the three other men in this room, when their eyes touch me it feels like the gentle caress of the sun, bright and pleasant, but you’re wary of the aftereffects of their attention. When Clarke looks at me, it feels like I’ve bathed in battery acid, the burn starts slow, but quickly becomes painful. It feels your flesh is peeling off your bones.
My eyes don’t look into his, they stay on the watch. The watch I bought him. What was once a symbol of my devotion to my savior, now a reminder of his brutality when I displease him. It was the first gift I’d bought anyone. Clarke had aged out of the system and was leaving. Leaving me. Before him, I had nothing, no one. I needed him to not forget me. I’d scrimped and saved, worked through the pain, and swam in blood-soaked waters, but I got him a token. And now it’s tainted.
I don’t even realize I’m speaking until the words left my mouth. They’re barely a whisper, but in the dead quiet of the room, I may as well have screamed. “You’re wearing the watch.”
“Of course, I am. It’s precious, just as you are, Rosie.” His words sound rehearsed, holding no warmth, and when I look at him I see his calculating eyes scanning the room, no longer looking at me as he states blandly howpreciousI am to him.
No one says a word. Nash has been glaring at Clarke like he’s the worst thing he’s ever seen since he stepped into the room. He is, but Nash doesn’t know that. Jack scowls at me, but moves to stand beside his sister, who’s perched on the arm of the couch looking between Clarke and me questioningly. When I meet her gaze, I nod towards the bathroom, a silent plea for her that she follows without a word. This girl, I swear.
My eyes shift to Leo when I hear the click of the door close, who’s frowning down at my exposed legs. I know he can see the burn, the one I’ve managed to keep covered for months so I don’t have to see the disgust in their eyes and avoid questions I can’t answer. But when his eyes flick back up to mine, I don’t see the revulsion or pity I was expecting, I see understanding and if that doesn’t just knock me off-kilter I hold the towel a little tighter to my chest, and clear my throat, gaining the attention of the room.
“I didn’t expect to see you today.” I say, focusing my attention solely on Clarke. He strides past the others in the room, coming to pick up my phone from the ground and putting it on the bench beside me. His eyes are cold, hard as he takes in my appearance. Wet hair. No clothes. My scars on display. He hates me like this. His eyes trail over the fading bruises and cuts but he doesn’t comment.
“You would know if you answered your phone.” I look up at him and offer him the same fake smile I’ve been using since I saw him for who he truly is, but I don’t answer. It wouldn’t do me any good. He steps into me, pressing me against him fully, giving me a warning squeeze when I don’t immediately hug him back. I can’t, my whole focus on trying not to throw up at the same sandalwood that haunts me.
“Get dressed. We’re going to dinner.” He growls out to me. He looks around the room at the other occupants before leaning in close me again, practically spitting his next words. “Your friends can come. I’ll wait outside.” Then he turns and exits the room radiating calm and danger.
