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“You don’t remember?” he wonders, searching my eyes.
I shake my head while pressing my back against the headboard. “Remember what?”
“You came home drunk,” he explains. “Ryder helped you to your room, and since your mom saw you wasted, he had me come in here to keep an eye on you, to make sure she didn’t try to do anything to you.”
What he’s saying sort of registers in the distant part of my mind.
I glance around again until my mind settles. Not that I feel great right now. My head is pounding from last night’s choices, and every muscle in my body is griping in protest with every one of my movements. But I’m okay. Sure, I’m in here with Blaise, but right now, that seems better than being trapped in that nightmare I was just having. Or worse—waking up to my mother looming over me, ready to punish me for what I did.
Blaise sits in the center of the bed with his leg bent in front of him and his arm resting on his knee. His stormy eyes are locked on me, dissecting me too much for my liking.
“What were you just dreaming about?” he asks. “It sounded like you were having a nightmare.”
“I was.” I drag my fingers through my hair. “It was about you guys and that day you told the entire school that Ryder fucked me,” I lie, wishing he’d stop looking at me, wishing he’d just leave. In fact … “You can go now. I can take care of myself.” I get up and cross my room to the bathroom to rinse my mouth out with mouthwash because my breath smells like shit.
I grab the bottle, take a sip, rinse, and spit, hoping by the time I’m finished, Blaise will have left.
Once I’m done, I look at my reflection in the mirror and cringe. My hair is a wild mess of waves, dark half-circles reside under my eyes, and I look pale. No, what I look like is hell.
I need a shower.
I head back to my room to grab a change of clothes so I can do just that, but when I cross the threshold, I slam to a stop.
Blaise is still in my room, looking around at the walls.
I frown. “What’re you still doing here?”
“I’m staying with you today.”
“Nope. No way.”
He hesitates. “I have to, Al.”
“Why?” I groan in annoyance. “Because Ryder told you to?”
He takes a step toward me, putting him within arm’s reach. “No, Ryder, Reece, and I all discussed it, and with what happened last night, we decided you shouldn’t be alone until the ceremony.”
Glaring at him, I inch back. “Fuck you. I’m not being babysat. This is my time to do what I want”—I point toward the door—“so you can leave.”
He makes no effort to budge, and a drop of remorse rises in his expression. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.”
“I can handle my mother, Blaise. I’ve been dealing with her shit my whole life all on my own, and I’ve been fine.” Maybe a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that.
He chews on his bottom lip. “It’s not just your mother I’m protecting you from.”
Puzzlement webs through me. “What else would you need to protect me from?”
He dithers, and I can tell he doesn’t want to tell me.
“Awesome. So, not only am I being forced to spend time with you, but I also have to deal with your keeping-secrets shit,” I snap. “I don’t know why I expected anything less.” I spin around to go back into the bathroom where I plan on locking myself in for at least a few hours, but he snags a hold of my arm and whirls me back around. When I nearly trip, he grabs my other arm to steady me.
“We’re protecting you from a lot of things,” he says quietly, letting go of one of my arms. “Things I can’t talk to you about while we’re in this house.” He presses me with a pleading look, begging me to understand what he’s really trying to say.
And I do.
He can’t tell me while we’re here because cameras could pick it up. The question is: do I really believe he’ll tell me later, or is he just trying to get me to shut up about it?
I have no idea, but I want to find out.
