Page 84 of Man On

It's only now that I realize how disheveled we both are. Noah's shirt is wrinkled and stretched out, his hair matted with sweat in the back. His skin is blotchy, and there's a red mark on his neck that I don't remember giving him. I can only imagine what my face and hair look like, but my pants are wrinkled and my shirt is untucked and missing several buttons.

"Ah, yeah," Noah says with a bark of laughter. "We got in a fight in the parking lot."

I should be impressed by his ability to lie so easily. But I'm pretty sure my heartbeat can be heard across the room, and my face is hot with embarrassment and fear that we've just been caught.

Miah snorts. Jamie Peters asks who won.

"Well, I pinned him first. But fucking look at him," Noah says, gesturing to my overall stature. "He's fucking massive. He had me laid out in no time." I choke at the underlying innuendo, glaring at him before I turn to leave.

Thankfully, they all probably think I'm still mad over whatever we were supposedly fighting about, because no one seems to react when I walk away. Noah chuckles behind me, and I turn to give him another glare before opening the door to the stairwell, but he's not paying attention to me. I catch Danny's gaze instead. He's watching me curiously, his eyes roaming over my disheveled clothes and then Noah's. The balled-up t-shirt is still in Noah's hand, and Danny cocks his head like he's working out a complex puzzle. All the contents of my stomach feel heavy in my gut, and the panic I was missing earlier trickles over my scalp.

And here comes reality.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I run to our apartment, barely making it inside before the contents of my stomach make a reappearance. I heave into the kitchen sink, the first receptacle I can reach in time to not puke all over the floor. I heave until there is nothing left, sucking air in through burning sinuses. Gripping the edge of the sink, I open my mouth in a silent scream, but it costs me so much effort to keep the sound in that all it really does is steal the oxygen from my brain. I have to sit back against the wall for a few minutes, but then remember the last time I sat against the wall like this, the first time Noah put his hands on me.

What am I doing? And where is this leading?

Let's pretend for a moment that I'm not severely traumatized by the idea that I might be...Ugh, I can't even say it in my own head!

Clearly, I have an intense physical reaction to my stepbrother. What is it about him that's appealing, though?

He's an asshole. You like the way he takes control. The way he loses control.

He's full of himself. You're jealous of his easy confidence and the way he seems to not care what anyone else thinks.

He's flighty and careless. You wish you were free like him.

He's a jerk to me. But always seems to notice when you need to get out of your head.

He makes me feel weak. You've never experienced true temptation before.

He's an asshole. He's beautiful.

Logically, Noah is probably not an actual demon sent to tempt me into sinning so he can rip out my soul—although it honestly feels that way sometimes. That look he gets when he has me in his clutches, like he's about to tear off pieces of me with his teeth and devour me piece by piece. It's probably a testament of how broken I am inside that it turns me on so much. Makes me feel alive. Makes me feel free, because he gets me out of my head with that one simple look. It starts with fear, builds into desire, and explodes in a release that clears my mind of all the turmoil.

Unfortunately, it doesn't take too long for reality to settle in and then I'm back right here, feeling bad about myself and my choices. Even then, I'm not spiraling. I can function. I'm just disgusted with myself for being so weak.

He calls me his toy. What happens when he gets bored and moves on, and I'm left at square one, not knowing how to navigate the world without the stupid boy that's become a crutch?

By the time Noah comes up, I've bleached the sink and disposal, brushed my teeth, and am just getting out of the shower. Noah closes the door and leans against it, watching me.

I don't hide myself from him like I used to. He's seen just about all of me, anyway, in pieces at least. There's a towel around my waist, and I'm using another to dry my hair. I return his gaze as I walk into my room, closing the door behind me. My anger has lost its edge, but it's still there.

Noah raps on the door softly. After pulling a pair of sweatpants on, I open the door. He's leaning casually on the frame, his concerned gaze betraying the smirk on his lips.

"You mad, bro?"

My eyebrow raises, and I give him a pointed look, moving away from the door to get a shirt from my dresser.

"Oh, I see. Alright. Cool."

Curiosity gets the best of me. "What?"

"You're going to give me the silent treatment and dress like a slut to get back at me, but two can play that game.”

Why does him calling me a slut make me feel so warm?

"How am I dressed like a slut?"

---