Page 26 of Pretty When He Bleeds

He leaves the room, and I collapse onto the bed, my heart still pounding.

Because I didn’t just say Damon’s name.

I wished it was him on his knees.

Damon

Ishovemywaythrough the crowded living room, barely noticing the bodies pressing in and around me or the music pounding in my ears. I just need to get the fuck out of here right fucking now.

Why the hell did I stand there and watch that? Why did I follow them upstairs, knowing I’d see something that would piss me the fuck off?

My hands are clenched into fists at my sides, my jaw tight enough to hurt, but that’s nothing compared to the raging fire in my chest. I don’t know what’s worse—the fact that I stood there and watched Roman getting blown, or the fact that he said my name when he came down Damien’s throat.

My. Fucking. Name.

I burst through the front door into the cool night air, but the chill outside is not enough to cool me off. My head is spinning and the steady rhythm I’ve worked so hard to find this past month feels like it’s slipping out of reach.

I thought I let this go.

Four weeks. Four weeks of finally trying to get my shit together again, of working to put the anger and noise behind me. And for what? So I could end up at some dumb party, watching the object of my hate get blown like it’s the hottest fucking porn I’ve ever seen?

I stopped hearing the voices, stopped letting them drag me into the pit where I used to live, but standing there, watching him like that… It’s like every piece of progress I made in the last few weeks just disappeared.

“Fuck,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face as I start walking down the road to where I parked my R7. My pulse is racing as I try to push those images out of my head.

I shouldn’t have followed them. Hell, I shouldn’t have even come to this party. I knew it was a bad idea, but I let myself get talked into it, thinking it would be fine. Thinking I could handle it.

Clearly, I was wrong.

It’s not like I give a shit what he does or who he fucks. He can screw the entire hockey team for all I care. But hearing my name—my fucking name—on his lips while he came down someone else’s throat?

It shouldn’t mean anything. It shouldn’t feel like my chest has been cracked open and someone’s pouring salt in the wound. I shove my hands into my pockets, my fingers curling around my keys as I continue down the road.

I don’t get far before I hear the heavy thudding of footsteps behind me. I don’t even have to turn around to know who it is.

“Damon!” Roman’s voice cuts through the quiet, sharper than the air biting at my skin.

I keep walking. “Go back to your party, Hotshot.”

“Not until you tell me what the fuck that was!” he snaps.

I stop dead, spinning on my heel to face him. “What the fuckwhatwas? You’re gonna have to be real fucking specific.”

Roman’s standing a few feet away with his fists clenched at his side and his eyes blazing with anger and… confusion? “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he says as he takes a step toward me. “You were standing there. You saw—”

“I saw you getting blown by your stoned basketball buddy,” I cut him off. “Yeah, I saw. Congratulations, by the way. Looked like you were having a real fucking good time.”

He flinches, but his glare stays. “If you’re so pissed off, why didn’t you just walk away?”

“Great fucking question,” I snap, stepping closer to him. “Maybe I should ask why you said my name when you came down his throat.”

Roman’s eyes widen for a split second before he narrows them at me, his nostrils flaring. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t even try it,” I interrupt, shaking my head. “You said my name, Roman. Not Damien’s—mine.”

His breath shudders, his eyes locked on mine like he’s waiting for me to do something. And fuck, I want to. I want to grab him by that messy hair, drag his mouth to mine, and ruin him in ways Damien never could. I want him on his knees for me—not out of some drunken, spiteful bullshit, but because he wants to be there.

“So what if I did? What does it matter?” Roman’s breath is ragged, his fists keep clenching like he’s ready to throw a punch. And fuck, I kind of hope he does. But he just sighs. “You don’t get to be mad.”

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