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“Right,” I mutter.
“Do you remember me now?”
I never forgot.
Rather than address such a stupid question, I change the subject. “Why aren’t you in class?”
He blinks into a small frown. “Well, I was, but it was awfully boring. At least before, someone was either starting a fight, or having a life crisis, or there was a guard who’d pull me out of class to…well, you know.” He makes a crude gesture with his fist and mouth.
My nose wrinkles. The fuck?
He does that creepy bug-eye thing again. “Oh! That’s one of those things I’m not supposed to say, right?” He covers his mouth in a mock show of regret. His eyes twinkle, telling me he’s fighting a smile.
I watch him more curiously now. I knew what people were saying about him, my so-called friends included, but I’ve never been one to give much credit to high school gossip. Especially given what I actually do know…
But the longer I watch him, the more I can’t help but wonder if he really is well and truly fucking insane. Like, actually, literally off his rocker and in need of a padded room to bounce around.
Dropping his hands suddenly, he twirls the knife around next to his head as he starts pacing in front of the row of sinks. “All these rules, rules, rules,” he says, tipping his head back with a great sigh. “How do people live like this? It’s exhausting. Don’t do this, don’t do that.” He tips the knife back and forth, dragging his heels, then toes as he starts pacing backward now too. “Don’t say this, don’t say that.”
He stops, whirling around suddenly to face me. He throws his hands out dramatically. “I’m trying!”
I blink and glance around, wondering if he’s still talking to me. “Okay.”
He purses his lips. Then, he brings the knife to his mouth, and nibbles on the flat side of the tip, watching me with furrowed eyes. His tongue pokes out, gathering the chocolate and fruit juices still clinging to the blade.
Jesus.
“You’re gonna cut your tongue out,” I say tightly, grateful it’s just dark enough where I stand that he shouldn’t get a look at my dick hardening in my jeans.
He’s the one to blink at a loss this time. He pulls the knife away from his face, staring at it like he’s just realizing it’s there. “Well, that would be sad.”
A short, disbelieving laugh punches its way up my throat, leaving me in a grunt before I can stop it. He clearly hears it, knows what it is, and his face softens with this freaky sort of demur look about it.
“What?” I ask suspiciously.
“You like me.”
My brows spike. “What?”
His mouth stretches up on one side, giving him a roguish look as he drops his chin and slinks his way toward me.
Fuck.
My feet start carrying me backward, much to my annoyance. What’s with this guy and his ability to fluster me? Make my body do things before my brain catches up.
“Valey, Valey, Valey,” he singsongs.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Don’t call me that,” he mocks in a baby voice.
My back finds the wall with a thud, and I suddenly find myself less than an inch away from Aston. He’s standing so close, I can feel his breaths on my chin.
“You’re so big now,” he says, darting that wide, unhinged gaze all over me. Like he’s taking it all in, eating me up. Feeding off my energy. Not my fear, because I’m not afraid.
I’m pissed.
“Remember when we were kids? Brothers?” he gushes, smiling dreamily. He reaches up and pokes my cheek with his pointer finger. It’s the hand gripping the knife, and I feel my eye twitch at the sight of that sleek, silver blade so close to my face. “You were so tiny. So small and cute. Quiet too, like a little mouse.” He starts chittering.
