Page 93 of Diem

“Fuck,” I mumble, dropping the razor to the floor and grabbing my stomach.

It hurts. It hurts so fucking bad. How do I make the pain go away?

“Mae?”

Whipping around, I stare at the door in disbelief before whispering, “Diem?”

What the fuck is he doing here?

“Open the door.” At his deep rumble, I grab up the razor and drop it in the drawer before slamming it shut.

Swiping at the blood pooling on my wrist with toilet paper, my heart jumps into my throat when he says again, “Open the door.”

I don’t have anything to cover the wound, so I grab a discarded sweatshirt from the floor and pull the cuffs over my wrists.

“Mae—“

After opening the door, I step around him and say, “What are you doing here?”

From the corner of my eye, I see him cock his head. Although it’s a small cut, I can feel the slide of my blood as it pools in the fabric.

He needs to go now. Which means I have to attack before he can question.

Spinning toward him, I say, “Ready to tell me the truth?”

His brows furrow and he snorts, “What are you talking about?”

“My dad. Your dad. Dixie.”

If possible, his expression turns more forbidding and with a shiver, I back to the bed and sit down. I know I decided to push him but now I’m regretting my methods. I would have been better off spewing words of love. He would have run for the hills at that.

“Mae, for the last fucking time, stop with this shit.”

“No,” I whisper, and his eyes go wide.

“No?”

“Yeah, no,” I hiss, standing and waving my hand. “Something is going on and you know it.”

I have no time to respond when he grabs my arm and pushes me to the window. “Diem—”

“Go,” he says.

“Ah, how about no,” I say, wrenching away.

“Maeve! Maeve, goddamn it!” he swears as I stalk toward my door. Let him try this shit with my mom all up in his grill.

Suddenly, I’m picked up from behind and I gasp at the contact. He’s warm and hard in all the right places.

“Out the window. Now,” he barks, and I silently sigh before acquiescing. What else am I going to do? Stay here and fight my own diabolical mind.

I don’t usually escape out my window in broad daylight, but Diem isn’t worried about being caught. Thankfully, I manage to reach the ground without incident, and I assume my mom remains unaware somewhere within the house. Then again, she may not fucking care.

With his arm outstretched, I turn to the car at the curb. Usually, he’s driving one of Ramsay’s fancy vehicles but not today. Today, he’s in a beater that used to be a beautiful sports car twenty years ago. Now it’s a rust bucket.

Slowing to a stop, I turn to him with a furrowed brow. He studies me steadily for a minute before saying, “Get in.”

“Diem…” although I want nothing more than a distraction from my thoughts, maybe going anywhere with Diem is a bad idea. I mean, despite the amazing sex, we always end it with angry words and hurt.

---