Page 22 of Say It Slowly

I push myself up and against the headboard, unsure what to do. I’ve clearly upset him somehow, and I’d gladly leave, but with him pacing around the room, picking fights with walls, I feel like my best bet is staying on the bed, and making myself as small as possible.Invisible.

Minutes tick by—I don’t even know how many—and in all that time, he doesn’t say anything. Not a damn thing to explain his erratic behavior. He’s just pacing, raking his hand through his hair, looking more pissed than I’ve ever seen him, which is saying something, because this guy isperpetuallygrumpy.

Then, out of nowhere, he walks to the door, wrenches it open, and leaves, slamming the polished slab of wood behind him, the painting on the wall jumping with the force of it.

I wait for a couple of seconds, my breath held.

What theactualfuck was that?

I’m so confused. He’s the one who started all this. He’s the one who introduced me to the darker side of himself—his words. But I lied earlier. I guess I do care what he thinks. I hate that his opinion of me matters, but seeing that disgust on his face stings.

But why that reactionnow? We’d had sex before, and he didn’t have that reaction. Goddamn, it’s just one more mystery that is Roman-fucking-Rush.

I shake my head, and climb down off the bed, gathering my clothes up off the floor. My ass feels like it’s on fire, and my entire body aches. What just happened between Roman and me was intense. More intense than anything I’d ever experienced before and I have a feeling I’ll be sore for days.

As I wander into the bathroom to clean up and get dressed, I wonder what the fuck I should do. Walk out there and address his very obvious anger, or just grab my backpack and run for the hills?

Damn.I just don’t understand what I did so wrong. But why do I care? I despise him. I should be happy he’s pissed. Maybe now he’ll leave me alone.

But, I don’t know…the thought of him angry at me sits like a lead weight in my chest, heavy and uncomfortable.

I really need to call Dr. Cunningham, because even I can see that this shit between Roman and me is toxic, and I’m trying to be better about protecting my mental health. But just a couple weeks into being a college student, and I’m already failing miserably.

As I’m pulling my t-shirt on, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and see a flash of red. My neck is bleeding. Like, actual streams of blood trickling down my neck.

I grab a tissue from the box on the counter, and dab it. Once I get the bleeding to stop, I can see three or four perfectly shaped teeth marks indented in my skin.

Great, that’s going to be impossible to hide.

And I’d be pissed, except I know I did the same to him. His shoulder is probably bleeding, too. That thought gives me a flash of sick satisfaction that I immediately push away.

Is it wrong that I’m happy about marking him? I remind myselfagainthat I shouldn’t care, but the fact that another girl might see that bite mark gives mea lotof joy.

Ugh, I’m so messed up.

I find a small bandage in the medicine cabinet, then go back into Roman’s bedroom, and hunt for my phone. I find it on the floor next to the bed, then shove it into my back pocket and creep out into the hallway.

This is an old house, so every step I take causes a floorboard to creak, and I wince with every step. Roman knows I’m here, obviously, but would he try to stop me if he knew I was leaving?

Honestly, I don’t want to find out.

I just want to get the fuck out of here and forget the last two weeks ever happened. And given the look of disgust on Roman’s face earlier, I’m guessing he wants the same thing. So I’m going to do us both a favor and sneak out of here without making a scene.

As I make my way down the back staircase, I hear voices vibrating through the bottom floor of the house, booming, masculine voices that echo off the wood paneling.

“So where’s your chick, Roman?” one of the guys asks. Jackson, I think. I suspect it’s him, because he sounds serious, and Jackson is the most serious of the four guys.

“Oh, yeah, hey, great question,” Christian laughs. I know it’s him because everything he says is right on the heels of laughter. “Probably in bed, recovering from that epic fuckfest.”

“Yeah, damn dude,” yet another voice, which must be Lucas. “You guys wereso fucking loud. At one point, it sounded like you were strangling the bitch. I thought we might be burying a body tonight.”

I frown at his comment, but same, dude. Same.

Laughter echoes through the huge house, and I don't even stop to listen to Roman’s response. Once I’m at the bottom ofthe stairs, I move quickly through the kitchen and head out the back door. As the door clicks shut behind me, I book it back to campus. The faster I can get away from Roman Rush and his fucked up crew, the better…

I don’t hear from Roman for the rest of the evening, which is strange for him. Normally, he’d be blowing up my phone, angry that I’d left without his permission. Instead, there’s a deafening silence, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. Happy? Sad? Relieved? A toxic soupy mixture of all three?

The next day, I’m headed to the library, when a text pops up on my phone from an unknown number.

---