Page 23 of Ghoul

“A fucking shit-show. That was it,” rushed out of my mouth, and I took another step toward him. “What kind of shit show are we running, Ghoul? She can’t handle all that stuff about him. She doesn’t need to find it out. She’ll think she failed him as a mom. She...She…” Tears of regret and pain appeared, and instantly, I was even more enraged. My fists balled up, and I pounded them against his muscular chest. I wasn’t getting my point across. I was so fucking tired of not being able to handle things. I’d bottled so much up for so long, it all was bound to come to a head at some point. That time apparently had arrived without my knowledge, and I couldn’t stop it. I told my hands to quit beating him, but they were about as reasonable as I was.

He abruptly pulled me against his chest and pinned my body to his, holding me tightly with his arms. “Ginger,” he calmly spoke the nickname he had given me, but I writhed in his grasp. I didn’t want him to touch me, yet in the same breath, it was the only thing I thought would make me feel better. I was a fucking mess, there was no other way to put it.

“Ginger,” he echoed, but I didn’t answer him. Instead, I buried my face inside the curl of his bicep and dug my nails into his skin.

“Stop!” he shouted and shoved our weight off the dresser as he caught my wrists in his palms. “Hazel, fucking stop!” he commanded in a stern voice, and shock froze me into place. He had never said my name before, and hearing him say it with such authority, covered my skin in goosebumps.

“I’m going to let your hands go, and you aren’t going to hit me anymore. Got it?” he breathed, his chest falling erratically.

I agreed with a silent nod of my head and backed up until my hips were flush with the footboard of his bed.

“I didn’t tell your grandmother shit about anything other than I would keep you safe. Fuck.” He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair and groaned. “I’ll always keep you safe. For fucks sake, I owe you that much. Don’t you get it?” His eyes wildly roamed my face, demanding answers from me that I didn’t have.

“Get what?” I probed nervously.

“I don’t understand it, but I’m drawn to you. It’s sick and fucked up, I know. Trust me. But it doesn’t stop me feeling the way I do. You’re too good for me, and I’m the worst person for you, but I care about you a lot more than I should.” He cupped his fingers over his face and scrubbed them up and down. Afterward, his beard and mustache matched his hairstyle. Every bit of his visible hair stuck out in every direction, and bewilderment fired behind his eyes as he continued, “I’ve tried my damnedest to keep my distance from you.” He closed the space I had put between us, hooking his fingers in the loops of my jeans. “I’m no good for you,” he breathlessly declared as he pressed his forehead against mine. “But I’m tired of fighting this.” He lifted his head and released me. “Go,” he said in such a low voice, I wasn’t sure if I heard him correctly.

“What?” I stammered over the word, and disappointment filled my soul.

“This is your chance to leave. I can’t be around you anymore, knowing how I feel about you and not being able to do a fucking thing about it. If you don’t take your ass out that door right now, there’s no turning back.”

Now, it was my turn to respond, except I didn’t know what to say. I would be lying if I said wanted to leave him because being with him was the only time I felt safe. My teeth caught my lip, and I sucked on it as I considered his offer. Did I want to be with him, and was that even what he was asking of me? Truthfully, I didn’t have an answer, but the thought of leaving him tore my insides apart and caused panic to rip through my body. Clearly, the latter wasn’t an option, so I swallowed my nerves and hoped I had the courage to follow through with what I was about to say.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promised right before his mouth crashed against mine.

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