Page 69 of Consume Me

“I can’t believe I slept so much.”

I wish I could pick his brain apart, uncover him, and make him feel safe enough to share those demons with me. I hate that he sees me as this better, brighter person. I am flawed too. If he would allow himself to see that, maybe he would change his attitude toward me.

“Does this hurt?” I ask, touching his cheek again. He’s so near, and I am weak for him. It would be better if he left, but I don’t want that either.

“No, nothing hurts. Physically,” he says, and with that, the closeness between us shatters. My dream that he might finally tell me the truth, let me in, crumbles before my eyes. He scoots to the edge of the bed, planting his feet on the floor and giving me his back.

I force myself to remain seated and not throw myself at him or embrace and hold on to him. “Why are you doing this?”

His shoulders stiffen, tension rippling through his back muscles, and his head drops. “Because I can’t fucking control myself around you.”

“If it’s such damn torture, stop coming to me.”

“I don’t have much of a say.”

Anger lashes at my skin. “Yeah, right? You need to protect me, but from afar. God forbid you let yourself feel.”

“You’re in this mess because of me. I am in your damn bed. That’s as far from you I’m willing to go.”

“You’re not welcome in my room anymore.”

His jaw sets into a hard line, and he jerks his chin, full defiance on display. “Try to keep me away.”

With that, he storms off, leaving me with my mouth hanging open.

I can’t believe his nerve. I’m locking my door from now on; I can’t partake in this madness. It feels too good, and he could be the addiction I would lose myself in and never want to emerge from.

Pulling my hair into a short ponytail, I change and go downstairs.

Celine and Abigail are in the kitchen, both grinning at me.

“Did you take care of his booboos for him?” Abi asks.

I huff. “He drives me insane.”

“Yes, they’re good at that,” she says.

“So what is going on between you two?” Celine asks.

“I don’t know.”

I help the girls prepare breakfast but only eat a few bites of toast before heading out. I know we should walk in pairs, but there are guards everywhere disguised as students, and paranoia would only make it worse. I am so used to being restricted in some ways that I don’t even question it.

Plucking out my phone, I call Tyson. After the third ring, he answers with a groan.

“How are you?” I ask

“Feeling like I got hit by a fucking train.”

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out.

“Don’t be. I needed that.”

I will never understand how anyone can need such a violent outlet. In Blake’s case, it is so evidently clear he fights with every fiber of his being, chasing a win that transcends the one in the ring, as if he wants to win against himself.

“Do you need anything?”

“Are you proposing something, girlfriend?” he asks in a playful voice.

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