Page 23 of Pretty When He Bleeds

Damon freezes with his back to me. For a second, I think he’s going to walk away without saying anything, but then he turns, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“I’m not avoiding you,” he says, his voice back to being flat and dismissive.

“Bullshit,” I fire back, stepping closer. “You’ve been ghosting me for three weeks. What the hell is your deal?”

He smirks, but it’s not the cocky one I’m used to. This one is more resigned, almost tired. “My deal, Roman, is that it’s better for us if we pretend the other doesn’t exist.”

The words twist something in my chest, but I push that shit down. “Why now?”

“Because this,” he says, gesturing between us, “whatever the fuck this was turning into, doesn’t go anywhere good. It’s toxic. And, if I’m being honest, I’ve got enough shit in my life without adding you to the mix.”

“Toxic?” I repeat, my voice rising. “You’re the one who started this shit by pinning me to a wall, licking my fucking lip and getting in my head. Now you’re acting like it’s my fault?”

Damon’s jaw tightens and it looks like he might swing again, but he steps back and takes a slow, measured breath. “I didn’t say it’s your fault,” he says. “I’m saying this isn’t worth it.You’renot worth it.”

The words feel like a puck to the face, but I don’t back down. “Then why are you still standing here explaining yourself? If I’m not worth it, why haven’t you walked away?”

He doesn’t answer me right away, his green eyes locking onto mine like he’s trying to figure out why I’m baiting him. “I’m trying to, but you don’t exactly make this easy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’ve got a way of getting under my skin,” he snaps, his composure cracking just enough for me to see the frustration simmering beneath the surface. “And I fucking hate it. I hate that you’re in my head when you shouldn’t be. I’ve decided that I’m done with you and this fucking grudge, but now you show up and start poking at shit again.”

I let his words sink in, but they don’t fucking make sense. I’ve been under his skin all this time he’s been fucking with me?

“Maybe you’re not as done with me as you think you are,” I say, crossing my arms and hating the fact that I can’t just shut the fuck up right now and let it go.

Damon lets out a short, humorless laugh. “I don’t wantto be done, Ineedto be.”

“Bullshit,” I shake my head. “You don’t get to pull this shit after everything. You don’t get to act like you don’t—”

My breath catches when he grabs the front of my tank. “You think this is easy for me?” he grits out, his pupils blown wide. “You think Ilikethe way this feels? Like I’m losing my fucking mind whenever I look at you?”

“Then stop fucking running!” I snap, my voice louder than I intended. “Why not just—”

“Because this iswrong, Roman!” he shouts, his voice cracking on my name. “Whatever is happening is wrong and shouldn’t even have started in the first place. Caleb—”

He stops himself, chest heaving as he looks away and lets go of me, his jaw clenched so tight that I can see the muscle ticking.

“Damon…” I start, but he shakes his head.

“No,” he says, his voice quieter now. “You don’t get it. You don’t know what this is doing to me, and trust me, youdon’twant to know. So just… leave it, and forget about me.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I just stand there as he takes two steps back, the heat of his body lingering in the space between us. Then I watch as he walks away, and, for a second, I wonder if I’ll ever stop chasing the ghost of him in my head.

Roman

Thehouseispacked,the music is loud and the air smells like beer and cheap cologne. Just what I need to drown the thoughts in my head.

We won our second game of the season, so Killian decided it was reason enough to invite half the campus over, and everyone loves a Sin Bin party. I’m sitting on the couch in the living room with a half-empty bottle of whiskey dangling from my fingers and well into forgetting what day it is.

Luca Devereaux and Damien Moore are flanking me—football and basketball players respectively—both as loud and obnoxious as they always are.

Luca’s got a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, his blond hair sitting way too perfect for someone this drunk. Damien’s sprawled out on my other side, a joint hanging from his lips as he’s scrolling through his phone.

“Why the fuck are you smoking weed, anyway? Aren’t you worried about tests?” I ask Damien, who offers me a goofy grin, his brown eyes glinting.

“I’ve got my ways to pass them,” he says with a wink and I don’t even want to fucking know what illegal shit he’s into.

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