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“I don’t have a problem. And I’m not picking them up.”
“Okay. Then you need to go to your room until you can calm down.”
I didn’t know my eyes could get as wide as they did when he said that.
I hate even admitting it, but my dick wasreallyinto that idea. My dick was nasty. And my nipples were throbbing like maybe they’d just hit puberty because since when were they so invested. The rest of me wasn’t so sure what I was so horny for.
I was shaking, a lot, like some hypothermia got loose in me, and I felt especially lost and overwhelmed with wtf when he saidGo to your room. Like it was actually my room. Like I actually lived here. Like he maybe wasn’t desperate to toss me out after I’d flipped out on his kitchen, like any sane person would be. One thing about Caleb though, the dude was not sane.
“Make me,” I told him, staring down the hall at the bedroom, and finally making myself look at him. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he didn’tlooklike a pushover, but he still didn’t look angry either.
He shook his head. “No. I told you what to do and you’re going to start listening to me right now. Now go to your room and think about why you acted this way. It’s time to start behaving again.”
I stood there a minute, breathing hard, finally realizing that the shape I was making with my mouth wasn’t the ugly sneer it felt like, but an embarrassing pout, and I smashed my lips into a thin line. I hated this. All of it. What I’d done, who I was, him not making this easy on me, or making it too easy, or just… whatever this was.
“Asshole,” I muttered, trying to get some kind of rise out of him so at least I’d know he was paying attention, but he didn’t even flinch, and I gave up.
I set my sights on the bedroom, not focused on anything else besides putting that door between us so I could be horrified and hate myself in private. But it turned out I really wasn’t done, because when I got there, I slammed it behind me. Hard. And then held my breath, waiting for angry footsteps when he finally reached the end of his patience.
Still nothing.
When it really seemed like he was going to ignore me, like he really wasn’t coming, I threw myself down on the bed and immediately had to fight to keep my rage amped up. It was so fucking comfortable my body automatically started to calm down. The whole room was too comfortable. Too calm. Too clean.
It was hard to explain what had me acting so obnoxious.
I had a whole lot of death wish in me that kept me doing lifelong dumb shit like mouthing off to guys with guns or just begging to get concussions when it was just as easy to keep my mouth shut. I was just kind of broken that way. Not in a tragic, sexy way, but just like I had some pieces missing I always sort of assumed would get me killed. Faulty brakes or whatever. It wasn’t like I didn’t care… It had just seemed unavoidable.
And then Caleb Fucking Heath had walked in. Saying he liked my damage. Cleaning me up, sorting me out, making me feel like maybe I wasn’t actually broken, maybe I just got put together wrong, but he knew how to fix it. For asecond, I’d really believed that, I think. But now…
Throwing shit around in his kitchen, that was ugly. Made me feel like maybe, not so deep down, I was a worse person than I even thought I was. The kind of guy who deserved every bad thing that happened to him. Every. Single. One.
I stared at the closet door, glaring at my reflection, even though I couldn’t really see anything but the soles of my busted ass shoes, and then I got pissed at myself for having them on the bed, getting all the clean stuff I liked so much so filthy, ruining something else. I sat up and put my feet on the floor, picking at my shoelaces until I was holding one of my shoes in my hand.
I don’t know what part of me turned and threw it as hard as I could against the closet door, wincing and waiting for the mirror to shatter, horrified and relieved when it bounced off with a loud thunk, a lot of wobbling, but no carnage. I didn’t even know if I was still mad. I just wanted the sick twist in my gut that was guilt and anticipation and fear and I didn’t even know what the fuck else to stop before it killed me, and if he didn’t come in here anddosomething it was going to eat me alive.
Clearly there was somethingwrongwith me.
And me knowing that and not stopping made it worse when I took off my other shoe, throwing it at the bedroom door, taunting Caleb with another loud thunk that saidCome for meas clearly as I could say it. Nothing was going to fix what was going on in my head, the ugly dark tornado of thoughts that made my brain throb and sucked the life out of me, but if he’d just hurry up and beat the shit out of me, I knew it would shut up for awhile.
But the house was still quiet.
The crying took me by surprise like an Ellis sucker punch. One minute I was sitting there miserable and angry and guilty, and yeah, okay, still a little fucked-up horny, and the next I was just gushing tears all over myself, rolling back over on the bed and trying to shove my face so deep in the pillow I stopped breathing.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
Why couldn’t I just be normal when someone was nice to me instead of trashing it so hard? Why couldn’t I just appreciate what I had for once and exist without being in some kind of pain all the fucking time?
I kicked hard at the mattress, screaming into the pillow, feeling like a full-on child until there wasn’t anything left in me, and then just collapsing like I had no bones, no muscles, no anything, just stuck there like a puddle of glue spilled out all over the bed.
“You’re having a rough day, huh?”
I didn’t hear him open the door, but it would track that he’d end up watching me spin out again, and it wasn’t like I could be any more of an embarrassment, so who cared, I guess. I wiped at my eyes and my nose and tried to make myself roll over, but I couldn’t. My body still wasn’t listening to anything I said, just off doing its own fucking bullshit, and honestly, how could I even look at him when hestilldidn’t sound pissed off?
He was quiet and his floor didn’t creak, so I sensed him more than I heard him come across the room, sitting down next to me, putting something down on the table beside the bed. Fuck I hoped it was something to beat my ass with.
He put his hand on the back of my neck and squeezed, and I sighed hard. I liked it so much when he did that, all possessive and protective, but I didn’t deserve to like things. I didn’t deserve anything. And he definitely shouldn’t still want me. He was the one who needed to be protected now.
“You gonna turn over here and look at me?” he asked after a minute, and I shook my head. He stroked his hand down the back of my skull a few times and brought it back to rest on my neck again. “You know, it’s okay to get mad. Even if you don’t know why. But I’d like it if you just said that, instead of throwing things, from now on. And I think your bottom would like that too, because you’re going to get a good, long spanking for that tantrum you just had. But first, you’re going to eat something. So turn around and sit up, please.”
