Page 48 of Choke Up

"I panicked. I thought you'd prefer having Antoni—" I rub a hand over my face. "I panicked," I repeat, my shoulders rising. "I'm sorry."

Ellis huffs out a breath, then looks over my shoulder toward the parking lot. I follow his gaze, seeing a sleek black Audi pull up to the curb. Antoni climbs out of the driver's side and stands there, waiting. Behind his large sunglasses, he looks expressionless, but it's obvious he's waiting for Ellis.

"Why is he here?"

I look back at Ellis. He's not cradling his hand anymore, but I notice him flexing his fingers. There's blood on his knuckles, but I can't see any cuts. His hair is disheveled, and I can't help but notice that he's wearing pajama pants and the shirt I gave him after our blind bathroom hookup. I don't want to examine the weird pang I get seeing him in it. Instead, it occurs to me that he's not wearing a jacket. His arms are covered in chill bumps. I pull my hoodie over my head before reaching for his bag.

"Stop. I'm fine."

"It's cold. You're not wearing a jacket, or socks," I point out, noticing his unlaced shoes. He left in a hurry. "What happened?" I ask, ignoring his protests and wrestling his bags away from him.

I push the hoodie into his chest. He's watching me with those searching blue eyes of his, looking through me like always, like he can see through to the other side. But his brow wrinkles in confusion.

"Why do you care?" It's an accusation. A fair one. "I need to go."

"Ellis—"

"Antoni's waiting."

"Why though? What happened?" Wait. I saw his roommate come home. "Was it your roommate? Did Brad pull some shit again?" Ellis' hand briefly touches his neck, which has blotchy red marks on it. It could just be from rubbing his skin, but my mind is in overdrive.

"I handled it," he says, trying to wrench his bag from me. He won the silent argument over not putting on the hoodie, but he won't win this one. "Gabe. I need my bags. Antoni's waiting. I'm just going to stay with him for a few days until I can get an appointment with student services."

"Handled it how?" My eyes are on the door, torn between marching in there to beat the shit out of his asshole roommate and not letting Ellis out of my sight. I level him with a glare. "Did he fucking touch you?"

"It doesn't matter. It's handled. Just leave it."

He did. He fucking laid his hands on him.

"I'll bash his fucking face in. No one touches my?—"

"Your what, Gabe?" He snaps, pulling hard on his bag again. "I'm not your anything."

The hurt in his tone dims the red haze my vision is swimming in.

"You're my friend. Family, even."

Ellis cringes, and I don't disagree. After what I did with him—to him—last night, I don't deserve to be either of those things. "Go home, Gabe."

My gaze wanders to the door.

"Don't," he says firmly, his tone laced with warning. "Go. Home."

"Come with me," I say, not thinking about my words before I say them. "Take the extra room." My instincts really can't be trusted, but the need to have him close until I know he's okay is fucking with me.

"Gabe, I?—"

"Or go with Antoni. I'll stay here and have a chat with your roommate." I let him have his bookbag, but don't release the duffle.

His angry glare flashes with indignation.

"If you don't stay with us after whatever just happened, your brother will ask questions." My foot shuffles on the ground like a nervous child. "I won't… I won't touch you, or anything like that."

He scoffs.

"I won't ever hurt you again," I tell him seriously.

His eyes cloud over. "You leaving was what hurt, Gabe."

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