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I blink and try not to let alarm bells go off in my head, but they’re blaring up a storm. Never go to a second location.
“Where?” My brows pull together, and I’m sure I look like I’m about to tell him to fuck off.
“Just thought we could go outside by the pool or something. It’s really chill in the backyard. I think you’ll like it.”
Jesus, Atlas, will you fucking relax? He’s not going to axe murder you at a party full of people.
Wait, will he?
I look him over. No, he doesn’t seem the type. His arms look too skinny to carry me.
The day I find someone who doesn’t let out a fucking grunt when they try to pick me up will be the day I fall to my knees with stars in my eyes.
Fuck, is the bar really on the floor for men?
“The pool, right, okay that sounds good. I don’t want to swim though.”
“You don’t have to.”
Then slowly, almost carefully, he reaches for me. I don’t flinch. I relax and I let it happen. And when his fingers close over mine, I don’t want to claw his hand off. It doesn’t feel restricting; it doesn’t feel like he’s trying to hurt me.
In fact, it feels nice, and I find myself squeezing his hand back, which draws a wider smile from him as he tugs me away. I look back at Anna to mouth an apology, but her smile on her face is so big it looks like she might physically combust with excitement as she waves me away.
We step out through the sliding back door, and the music is drowned away here where pretty string lights hang across the patio. A few dozen people are scattered in corners and throughout the pool, but he was right; it’s calmer here. The tension in my shoulders eases away.
I guess I can be normal after all. But as the music filters into the night and the screams of laughter carry through the open door, a shiver shakes through me. My hands brush up and down my bare arms, and I hate myself for not grabbing my black jacket before we left. But this is different. The air isn’t cold and chilling.
Something else is.
I’m... comfortable. And yet there’s a huge part of me that feels like I’m being... watched.Observed. I don’t know how to explain it except that there’s a terrible itching at the back of my neck that I can’t seem to sate, no matter how much my nails dig into the fragile skin there.
I try not to look so obvious as I do it. I try not to look like a freak with too many nerves to be contained beneath my skin. Yet Simon is all smiles and gentlemanly behavior. I try to ignore how suspicious it makes me, and with a bit of focus, I can. He’s nice. I know he is genuinely so. But there’s always a kernel of doubt when I meet new people.
I don’t have the best experience with anyone to think they have pure intentions.
But Simon is nice. He hasn’t touched me anywhere I don’t want. He’s kept his hands mostly to himself. And when he smiles, it lights up his eyes.
If I let myself, I’m sure falling for him would be easy.
Unfortunately, my life has never been easy.
There’s another charge in the air, so heavy, so hard, that I finally whip my gaze around the party, squinting through the sea of bodies. But nothing appears out of the ordinary. Am I imagining something that isn’t there?
Nausea curls low in my stomach at the thought. No. No, I’m not imagining anything. I can’t be. Can I?
I swallow past my sudden nerves, fingers reaching impulsively for Simon’s wrist just to ground myself to him.
The action pulls his attention my way, and his brows furrow with concern as we stand quietly by the pool. “Are you alright?”
“I just have to go to the bathroom.” I blurt the words out on a strangled pitch and quickly try to recover. “And maybe get some water?”
Not a single drop of alcohol has passed through my lips. I don’t like drinking. I don’t like the way it makes me feel. And I definitely don’t like how it makes me feel in public.
“Of course.” He stands first, taking my hand and tugging me to him.
Weaving through the party makes me a sweaty mess, so that by the time we make it to the bathroom, I’m grateful. Once inside of the half bathroom, I splash water on my face, staring at my reflection in the oval mirror.
“You’re normal,” I tell my reflection, and for a second, I picture my own self in the mirror laughing back at me and saying, “No, you fucking aren’t.”
