Page 30 of Antidote

“So what?” I laugh, but it holds no humor. “I’m just a babysitter now?”

“See it however you’d like.” Oh, yeah. I’m a glorified babysitter. Great. It’s not fucking happening, though. I don’t give a shit what he does with his life. He could overdose right now, and I’d feel nothing. “But he’s living there, and that’s the end of it. If you don’t want to interact, suit yourself. However I do need to know if he’s acting fishy.”

“I’m not fucking reporting on him,” I snap. “I don’t give a fuck about what he does.”

“Then, at least stay out of his way.” I can just imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “He’s going to live with you. That’s the end of it.”

“Fuck this,” I growl, then hang up.

As soon as I do, Numb from Sleep Theory begins to play on the Bluetooth. It relaxes me instantly, and I loosen my grip on the steering wheel as I make my way back to Raleigh. The traffic is awful, yet I manage to not lose my shit for once. Maybe I’m a grumpy driver, but I don’t care. I’m impatient and hate waiting a long time to get places. I probably shouldn’t live in the city.

Soon enough, I’m parked back at the apartment complex right in front of my building. That’s one of the perks of not living in student housing: I don’t have to worry about parking at the dorms, especially when there’s a crazy party going on. Not that I don’t throw my own parties here, but usually, I let people know that there are no parking spaces and they need to get an Uber. It’s safer that way anyway, since everyone is always getting hammered.

Once inside my apartment, I look around, trying to visualize how the hell I’m going to share eight hundred square feet with someone I can’t even stand to look at. The space is fucking small, with a tiny living room filled with a small sectional couch and a TV. I couldn’t share with him if I tried. In fact, I might make it a rule that he has to stay in his fucking room—right next to mine. The only thing dividing us would be the thinnest wall known to humanity.

Will Oliver bring guys to fuck in here? Would he stoop that low?

And don’t even get me started on the tiny circular dining table for two. I can’t possibly be expected to share meals with him. This is going to fuck up my entire schedule. Now I will have to figure out where to eat—maybe the dining hall on campus. Being that there’s no way I could breathe the same air as him for longer than a few seconds without having the urge to snap his pretty little neck. Maybe then I’d finally be able to get him out of my head.

I remove my shirt, take it to my room, and drop it in the hamper. The cool air feels good on my skin, and I drop my pants too, ready to jump in the shower. Except that just as I make my way across the hallway to open the bathroom door, I hear the lock turn and the front door open.

My body heats from the inside out, and I freeze, shutting my eyes. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the erratic thumping of my heart, before walking to the living room, where I hear the door slam closed.

Oliver stands at the entrance, frozen in what I see is fear—much to my satisfaction. He should be scared. He should be terrified. I don’t know how long we stand there, sizing each other up. When he finally gathers enough courage, he begins to wheel his luggage in. It looks like he’s moved all his shit in here, and that same anger returns in full force.

He looks the same as he did all those months ago—except better. Even from here, I notice his eyes are no longer bloodshot. The dimness in them has disappeared, bringing a brightness to the icy blue that makes me uncomfortable. He shouldn’t be getting better while she’s dead. There’s something majorly wrong with that.

Oliver’s hair is still the same length as always. Cropped short on the sides and longer on top, floppy dark hair over his eyes. One of his arms is covered in tattoos from neck to fingers. He’s dressed in his usual. Ripped black jeans and a band t-shirt, and painted purple nails.

How fucking cute.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I growl, my fists tightening at my sides.

“Moving in,” Oliver smirks, then looks down at his shoes. My body heats momentarily at the sight of his snake bite piercings, and I force myself to tear my gaze away from his lips. When we make eye contact again, he seems to be pleading with me. But I don’t care about what he wants. “Dad told you, yes?”

“I don’t give a fuck about what dad said, Oliver.” He flinches, his lips tightening. “As far as you’re concerned—well, I don’t want to see you. Got it?”

“And how is that gonna be possible, Hunter?” His eyes narrow on mine, and I briefly remember what a defiant little shit he is. Brat. “We live together. We’re going to see each other.”

“Well—make sure I don’t see you.” I grin, and he takes a step back when I step forward. “Or I might just beat your stupid ass again.”

I turn around, but he’s brave enough to mutter under his breath. “I’m not fucking scared of you.”

“What was that?” Sweat trickles down my spine, and the urge to hit him is almost too much to contain. “Say it to my face.”

Facing him once more, Oliver makes his way right up to me, stopping only when his black Converse almost step on my bare toes. “I said,” He grins. “I’m not scared of you, Green.”

“Don’t call me that,” I repeat his last words to me before the accident, but his grin never drops. Is he fucking high?

“What are you gonna do about it?”

Yeah, Hunter. What are you gonna do?

“Just stay out of my way,” I mutter, leaving him behind and slamming the bathroom door.

I don’t know how the hell I’m going to survive this.

Or how he is.

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