Page 61 of Vicious

I turn my head to signal that I’m done drinking, and he puts the bottle aside. I want this to be the end of our interactions—don’t leave me alone—but he grabs something from the plate and pushes that against my mouth.

A grape, like I’d fed him earlier in the evening.

I shudder, but I bite into the perfectly ripe piece of fruit. As the sugars burst over my tongue, I feel… not rejuvenated, but like I can see the road to something better.

I hate it. I hate that he’s the reason I’m feeling better when he’s also the reason I feel so desperately in pain, so desperately miserable.

So desperately needy.

He keeps feeding me small bits of food, cheese and crackers and fruit, and slowly the haze in my mind recedes.

Things feel so much clearer now than they had before.

They feel clearer than they had even this morning.

Wo ai ni.

Chase loves me.

Chase believes he loves me, in any case, but everything so far has proven that he has no fucking idea what love even is—because this isn’t love.

This is obsession.

This is what it looks like when obsession goes too far.

But it all makes so much more sense, and I mull over the thought as he feeds me more of a buttery cheese.

He brushes my hair aside and kisses the back of my neck again. “Looks like I got to feed you tonight after all,” he says softly, with a hint of humor that I don’t share.

“Yay,” I say flatly, turning my face away from him. “You know, I said something stupid, but she overreacted like… like a crazy person.”

Chase snorts. “Yeah. She’s got Hunter wrapped around her finger. I don’t think either of them realize it either. But she’s hyper-sensitive about everything. The one time I did something to hurt her feelings, Hunter refused to talk to me for almost a month.”

“Meanwhile, you let Drake touch me and grope me all over and now you’re probably going to have beers like old pals tomorrow,” I say, my voice coming out more bitter than I intended. “How lucky I am.”

“It would have been all right if I had been the only person to touch you?” Chase asks, his hand dropping to my neck.

I would jerk away if I had the energy, but all I can do is lie there. “No,” I say. “But I hate you more for letting him.”

“I wouldn’t have let him fuck you or hurt you.” Chase moves to simply lie next to me, his arm against mine. “You belong to me.”

I don’t know if he expects me to feel warm and fuzzy or what, but I don’t feel any of those things. “Ohh, so you’re the only person allowed to rape me. Got it.” Despite my bitterness, I’m exhausted, too weary to move, and all I can do is bury my face against the pillow.

“I’m the only one who gets to make you come,” Chase answers darkly. “Because I know you did. I felt it. You can lie to yourself, Ah-May, but you can’t lie to me.”

I nearly choke on a sob, but I manage to hold it at bay. “Stop. Just… stop. Stop saying things like that. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to…” To think about it. To remember how good it felt. To… anything. “I just want to sleep,” I mutter.

“Then sleep. I’ll be here.” Chase probably meant that to be reassuring, but it sounds more like a threat.

I shudder. “Can you not be?” I don’t know that I want to be alone even now, but I’m so torn, and it’s so much easier if he just tells me instead. I can at least pretend that I didn’t choose this.

And sometimes… Sometimes that makes things simpler. Not simple, but simpler.

“I’m staying,” Chase says with a yawn. “I’m too tired to move, anyway.”

I sigh, trying to ignore the sense of relief I feel.

Like him, I’m too tired to move, and eventually, I let sleep overtake me.

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