AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Call dad if you need a ride,” I grit through a jaw clenched so hard I’d be shocked if I don’t crack a tooth. Then I hang up and block her number.
***
Slamming the door to our room, the sound cracks across the space like a gunshot. Cruz jumps in his desk chair, whirling to face me.
“Whoa, Sunshine.” His expression turns from surprised to wary when he gets a look at my face. “I haven’t seen this level of ‘don’t fuck with me’ before. What happened?”
“Nothing.” I collapse on my bed and curl into a ball like I’m two, squeezing my eyes shut as if that will block out the entire world.
“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to do the whole ‘I don’t need anyone I can take care of myself thing’ anymore.”
“We agreed I wouldn’t do that if I went to the hospital.” My voice is muffled against my pillow, but Cruz hears me anyway.
“It doesn’t have to be an emergency for me to be there for you.”
“We also agreed you were going to work on your hero complex.”
“I reserve the right to be concerned when my roommate storms in here looking like he wants to punch a hole through the wall.”
Cracking one eye open, I sneak a peek at Cruz, and find him with his arms crossed like an overlord, testing the limits of how far his chair can recline before the back support snaps. His mouth is set in a firm line, eyes so focused it feels like they can see straight inside my brain, and the effect is one where he appears to be looking down on me despite the fact he’s sitting. It’s a pretty serious pose for a guy whose insides are as gooey as a cinnamon roll, and I don’t know if I should laugh hysterically at the paradox or contritely say ‘yes sir’ because intimidating Cruz is pretty fucking hot.
“Well, I reserve the right to be pissed without having to explain myself.” I stick with brat since my anger trumps every other emotion I could feel.
“Fair enough.” Cruz watches me for a few more minutes—I assume to see if I’ll change my mind—before turning back to his desk and whatever homework he’d been doing before I interrupted him, leaving me to stew in peace.
I’m both grateful and disappointed he didn’t push my boundaries.
It’s not that I don’t want to vent about what happened today, it’s that I don’t know how. I haven’t had anyone to talk to in years, longer when you consider that I deliberately tried not to burden my parents while they were rightfully focused on Liz, so internal rants became my norm. And at this point, I’ve stored up so much shit my thoughts are a rambling, incoherent mess of memories and emotions that don’t have a beginning or an end, so I wouldn’t have the first clue where to start speaking them aloud. But part of me wants to.
Part of me is so tired of suffering in silence about the shitshow that has become my life, I actually want to bitch about it. I want to open the floodgates and let it out before it has such a hold on me that I get stuck as the skeptical, bitter person the past few years have turned me into. But I don’t want the pity that inevitably comes with telling a story like mine. I’d rather people be wary of me than feel sorry for me, and since I’ve already given Cruz something about me to pity, I don’t want to do it again.
Would I feel better after confessing I’ve more or less been abandoned by my parents? That’s a heavier topic. But I might volunteer the knowledge if Cruz keeps pushing me to open up. Fortunately, he lets it drop, leaving me to stay huddled on my bed, replaying the conversation with my mom. Reliving every slight I’ve felt for the past few years, and going over what I want to say but never will, because I won’t get the chance or I won’t take the chance when I have it.
Things like, how shitty it is to check out of parenting when I still need them. Or that I miss Liz too. That I miss all of them. And it’s their fault I feel so alone.
“Okay, that’s enough.” Cruz tosses his pencil on the desk and swivels his chair so he’s facing my bed. “You’re stewing so hard you’re making me feel edgy. Get over here.”
I prop myself on an elbow to look at him. “Over where?”
Cruz pats his lap. “Right here. I’m gonna get you out of your head.”
I snort like he’s being absurd, even though my dick perked up from that little gesture. “You think a hand job will magically make everything better?”
“I think it’ll make you feel something besides anger.”
“I kind of want to bask in my anger a little longer.” I’m only part way through my imaginary monologue of things to yell at my parents, and I still have my former friends and teachers to go.
“Well, your basking is making me tense as fuck, and I can’t take it anymore. If that means I have to jerk it out of you, so be it.”
“Not all problems can be solved with an orgasm, Captain Hand Job.” My cock feels like it wants to dispute that, but the only thing worse about training my body to crave an orgasm when I’m pissed is to train it to crave one from Cruz.
He rolls his eyes at me but otherwise doesn’t take the bait. “Who said anything about solving the problem? I’m talking about giving you a reprieve. It’s worked before, so get over here.”
I’ve never seen Cruz agitated much less bossy, and while a tiny part of me feels guilty for driving him to this, my dick is fully on board with the stern commands he’s throwing around, which means even though I should find my own way out of my funk, I’m going to let him do it for me.
I throw my pillow aside and get out of bed, crossing the room until I’m standing directly in front of Cruz with a distinct tent in my pants. A tent that’s just about eye level from his spot on the chair. But he doesn’t spare it a second glance, spinning me around so my back is to him and tugging on my hips until I fall onto his lap.
Wow. Getting manhandled is sort of hot.
