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“Nothing. I’m fine,” he snaps as he pulls on his shoes.
“Bullshit!” I step into his space and pull his face up to look at me. He flinches but doesn’t pull away. “There’s something going on. Talk to me.”
Brendon wraps his hand around my wrist and pulls my hand from his face and pushes me away from him.
“Don’t touch me.” The even, almost cold tone of his voice is a knife in the heart.
Then he’s gone, and I’m staring at the door as it closes behind him.
What the fuck just happened?
13
Brendon
Idon’t know how many shots I’ve had, but I feel fucking good. My body moves to the beat of the music blaring through the house. I don’t remember which one because I don’t care, and it doesn’t matter.
Nothing matters but the hum in my veins and the blank space in my head. No past, no future, just this moment and the next.
My head is clear. The fear of earlier, the feeling of being trapped and abused is gone thanks the liquor, and I can enjoy the sway of bodies. In here, I can get lost in the movement.
A warm body presses up against my back, a hand on my hip, and I smile. It’s not the man I want touching me, he’s not comfortable in public yet, but that’s okay for now.
The stranger grinds against my ass, his hand sliding under my shirt, and it steals my breath. I shouldn’t let him touch me like this, but I’m damn near desperate for someone towantme. Paul talks a big game but hasn’t done anything more than we’ve been doing. Kissing, handjobs, a couple of blowies, but nothing more. Orgasms are great but damn it, I want to fuck.
A smaller, curvier body slides against my front, and I pop my eyes open. The girl is a curly blonde, smiling up at me like I hung the damn moon. Fucking Nikki. I’ve been avoiding her the last week, but I should have figured she would find me here.
Reaching for the side of my neck, she presses her mouth to mine. She moans, but it doesn’t feel right. It’s probably better for people to see me or Paul with someone, especially since I’m so touchy with him, but I hate this. She’s a pretty girl, a bit intense, but she’s not Paul. I want Paul. I crave the way he gives me orders and uses me to feel good. He makes the constant buzzing in my head stop.
He deserves better than me. I’m a mess, annoying, need reassurance all the damn time, moody, and loud. He’s not even here, and I miss him. How lame is that? I live with him but having him gone for an hour is too much?
I pull back from her lips and kiss her forehead, hoping she doesn’t get pissed off. She sways with me and whoever is still against my back. It feels good to be touched, but it’s not right. It’s not who I want.
Fuck.
Why am I so weak?
My happy mood fades, the comfort of touch morphs into too much, it’s too hot, and the music hurts my ears. I need to get out of here.
Pushing my way through the crowd without a word to anyone, I get blocked and pushed around while the walls close in and the panic rises. I need to get out. It’s too loud. Too hot. Too much.
Get out. Get out. Get out.
My breathing is coming too fast as my pulse spikes, the alcohol that was making me happy and loose now makes me paranoid and edgy. My body is vibrating under my skin, and I just want to scream to make it all stop.
Pain slices through me in an instant, stealing my breath and shutting down my brain as quick as a blink. Someone elbowed me in the nasty bruise that has turned purple from tonight’s game, but the panic is gone.
What the fuck?
Just like that, the overwhelming stimulation is quiet, and I can almost breathe again. I cover my side in case I get bumped again, and I make it outside to the cool winter air and suck in a deep breath. The sun is down, but the night isn’t dark like back home. We’re too close to the city to see the stars, and that makes my chest ache. I miss the stars. We lived on the outskirts of Muskegon, where the city lights didn’t wash out the night sky. Sometimes we even saw the aurora borealis. It was rare but beautiful. Something about it made me feel tiny, like when people stand at the edge of the ocean.
Leaning against a tree that has lost all its leaves, I lift my face to the sky and close my eyes, just breathing in the night air.
Do I really want to be here? In this big city, at this big college, working toward the unknown? I miss home. My family. The familiar streets.
Nothing out here is familiar or comforting. I just want to go home.
A tear slips from the corner of my eye, and I let it fall. Maybe it would be better for me to just transfer home. I’m sure I could get into a college there and play hockey.
