Page 125 of Wrath

“Listen to me.” I kiss his throat—a little hard kiss that leaves a hickey.

His eyes well as I lift my head. “I’m not upset about that. Anymore,” I tack on. “It’s in the past. That’s not my concern.” And now my eyes are welling with his. I swallow hard, so my voice sounds clear.“You got put under…tons of times?” I choke out.

His eyes shut, and one tear slides down his cheek. “I’m messed up. I told you.”

“Were you alone at that place?”

His lips twist as he rubs at his eyes. “They don’t let you bring a buddy.”

He shifts onto his back, closing his eyes, putting an arm overthem, and I think of him when he first got here—how thin he was. How angry. Hostile.

Why would they put him to sleep? God—what happened?

“Does Carl know about it?”

“No,” he says, moving his arm so he can look at me. “And don’t tell him. He doesn’t know, and it would kill him if he did.”

I notice that language. He doesn’t want to hurt me—he’s said so in a dozen ways—and he thinks whatever happened to him wouldkillhis dad? Fuck! My chest aches like it’s ripping.

“How did your mom get away with that?” I rasp.

“Full custody,” he says simply. “You see? You can see why I’m not a match for someone like you?”

He holds up his left arm. “All of these are…needles,” he rasps. “Some of them, I did to myself. Just to feel it. That’s how fucked up I was. Still am.”

I can feel him watching me—try to gauge my reaction.

“It’s like,” he starts in a low rasp. He has to stop and swallow. Then he bites the inside of his cheek as he looks at the wall and whispers, “There are disabled people who cope better than me. Is that what you want?” His eyes flit to mine. “Someone with a disability? Who can’t sleep through the night? Sometimes can’t eat or…be places? Is that really what you want?”

A tear drops from his eye. He wipes it. “Couldn’t even get my dick up when I got here. Until you. I went off all that medicine because I didn’t need it. But now I can’t sleep without you.” His voice breaks on that. “Is that what you want? At college?” Tears spill down his cheeks as he presses his lips together.

“At some point, you’re gonna touch me wrong, too. And I won’t be able to—” He starts breathing harder. “I like everything we’ve done,” he whispers. “But I’m not a real person.”

He puts a palm over his dick. “Now that I got off that stuff, my dick is stuck in overdrive. I have to jerk off like five times a day. Always to you. You’re the only thing that makes me feel good. You want to be that? Alpha and omega for me?”

His eyes burn into mine. Tears still drip down his cheeks. “You’re a normal guy. Go live it up. Go off to college, find a—”

I can’t help it. I straddle his legs, about to wrap him up in a hug before I realize what he just said about me touching him wrong and I lie on my side, pulling him on his side, too, so we’re facing one other. I wipe some tears off his cheeks.

“Let me tell you something that’ll shock you, Ezra. For one—” I laugh. “I’mdisabled. Epilepsy is a disability. Keeps people from driving. Gives people seizures. Mandatory medication. Hospital. You’re looking at someone with a disability. When I was sick, you took care of me. If you’re sick, nothing feels good; you’re in pain. And you’re sayingIcan make you feel better? I’d do thatalldamn day. All night, too. I’ll suck your dick ten times a day if you want. If I can cure depression for you with a blow job, sign me the fuck up, baby. You got nightmares but I make them better? I’ll be your drug. You think helping you feel good could ever be a burden to me?”

He shrugs. His eyes, bright from crying, hold onto mine. His voice is a whisper. “I don’t want to be.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, and more tears drip down his cheeks.

“You could never be.” I kiss the tears off. I kiss his eyes. “You think knowing you’re hurt like this makes me want to do any fucking thing but try to help you feel good?”

I brush his lips with mine. His eyes open just a little, glittering with more tears. “Listen, angel. I can’t drive a car. That make you wanna ghost me, kick me to the curb? Do you want someone who can be more fun at college? Someone whose brain doesn’t sometimes just do weird shit?”

“No.” His face is grave as our gazes hold.

“Do I seem shallow to you?” I ask softly.

“No,” he whispers.

“I’m not.” I cup my hands around his face and drop my forehead to his. “You’re my guy now. I’ve got you.”

His body feels tense, and I can’t tell if I fucked up by saying all this. Then he locks an arm behind my back and crushes me against him. He rocks so we’re a little closer, still on our sides facing one another, and his lips are kissing my cheek. “You’re my guy, too.” His arm wraps around me. “I’ll try not to fuck up again. I don’t want to make things hard for you.”

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