Page 70 of Heartless Game

Passing him, I entered his bedroom, grabbing a shirt out of a drawer and pulling it over my head, dropping the towel on the ground listlessly. I walked out of the bedroom and turned right, opening doors until I found a guestroom with a bed. I entered, locking the door behind me.

I’d be sleeping here tonight. And I’d be going home in the morning.

I fell asleep the second my head hit the pillow, and then I dreamed. I dreamed that Isaac entered the room, picking me up and carrying me back to his bedroom, handcuffing our wrists together again, except this time, the handcuff wasn’t metal but was a soft fur and leather bracelet, bracketing my wrist in warmth and an ownership that felt safe. That made me feel achingly whole.

In my dream, Isaac kissed the back of my neck, holding me tight and saying, “I’m so sorry, Tovah. I’m so sorry for the way I hurt you. But I can’t—I won’t—let you go.”

Since his words were absolutely absurd, it had to be a dream.

* * *

When I wokein the morning, I was still in the guest bed, alone.

So it had been a dream. He had not, in fact, carried me back into his bedroom, cuffed me to him, and whispered a heartfelt apology and declaration of caring into my ear while I’d slept.

The disappointment I felt at knowing it was only a dream made me even more sour toward the asshole.

I headed into the bathroom, only to be blocked by boxes upon boxes of hair dye lined up on the floor. They were in every color imaginable, and some I couldn’t have even imagined if I’d tried. There must have been sixty boxes there, all in the brand I liked.

On top of a, yes, millennial pink, box was a note:

Pick whatever color you want. I’ll love it, regardless.

For what it’s worth—and I know it isn’t worth a lot—I’m sorry.

I’ll be home later.

The asshole

Love.

Sorry.

My heart squeezed tight in my chest. He was right, his apology wasn’t worth much. But seeing the word “love” in his handwriting, knowing that even though he hated me dyeing my hair, he’d made it easy for me to do it as much and any way I wanted, realizing he was giving me back this piece of agency and control over my life…it meant more than any lengthy apology could have.

No, I didn’t forgive him. Yes, I still loathed him. No, I didn’t trust him an inch. But I had to be honest with myself—even if I could leave, I wasn’t going to.

Running my hand over the boxes, I chose an electric blue and got to work.

27

Tovah

The peace between us lasted about a week before it came to a grinding halt.

“You’ve completely lost it if you really think I’m coming to your hockey game,” I told Isaac angrily.

It was the Friday after Statuegate and we were facing off in his kitchen, glaring at each other. For the past week, we’d existed in a state of…not quite a quiet truce, but more of a temporary armistice. Isaac’s teammates walked me to class every day and walked me home, and Isaac was barely around. I’d focused on schoolwork, snooping around Isaac’s house—which proved fruitless—and worrying endlessly about my mom.

I’d also used a library computer to search the news and see if there was a report about a guy being beaten nearly to death on campus, but bothThe Daily Queenand the local papers were silent about it. Part of me, the part that needed to speak truth to power, wanted to write an article about it. But whoever had cleaned up the issue for Isaac would probably do worse to me if I wrote a piece about it. But I was worried; I wanted to make sure he was okay, and I had no way of knowing if he was or not.

I was helpless, and angry. And on top of all of that, I had to deal with Isaac and his nonsense idea that I was going to gosupport him at his hockey game as his fake girlfriend.

Fuck that.No.

“No,” I said out loud. “Besides, I thought I was just your fuck buddy.”

He shrugged as he grabbed eggs out of the carton for an omelet. “Not fuck buddy. Girlfriend. And you’re coming. Besides, as senior sports editor, don’t you have to go?”

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