Page 53 of Surviving Slater
Slater's eyes met mine. I stepped back slightly as he stepped into my room. Matthew stood behind him, watching us.
I took another step back as my eyes held his. My arms hung by my sides. Once he walked into the room, he closed the door, shutting out the outside world. It was just the two of us.
"I'm worried." He didn't say it with concern like I had expected; instead, there was an undertone of irritation, which only riled me up.
"About?" I said, deciding to make him elaborate.
He shot me an annoyed look.
"I didn't ask you to be here," I reminded him. It wasn't my fault.
I had given him an out by telling him I was fine. It wasn't like I'd told him I needed him. Whatever his reason for coming here it was his choice alone.
"Did you really expect me not to worry about you after what happened last night?"
I shrugged, trying to keep my outward facade indifferent when I could still feel the rawness of my wound rip open a little more. I had to get him out of my room as soon as possible. I was hanging on by a thread, my emotions swirling inside of me pressing to break free. He had already seen too much.
Just cut to the chase. Tell him you're feeling better and you'll be fine tomorrow. Let him off the hook.
"I'm okay," I said, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. "I'll be better tomorrow."
He studied me for a few moments, looking unconvinced.
"I'm sorry about last night," I added.
Our arrangement didn't cover emotional meltdowns, and I hated that my actions had changed that. I had tainted what we had, making it impossible to continue.
Was that the real reason he had come by? The thought felt like a punch to my gut and I felt winded, unable to hold on to the control of pretending I wasn't pieces of the whole person I'd been before.
"Sit down," Slater insisted when I swayed slightly. He closed the distance between us and directed me to sit down on my bed.
The touch of his hands on my arms sent a vibration of awareness through me, shaking the broken pieces of me inside and making it impossible to keep my composure. He stepped away.
I exhaled as the tears stung, an imminent warning I was about to cry.
"Jordan…" The softly spoken word pulled my eyes to his. The tears began, the image of him obscure.
He stood only a foot away from me but he seemed to want to keep his distance. Most people would have offered comfort, but not him. The first tear slid down my face and I wiped it away quickly, hating that I felt so weak and unable to control myself.
"Please leave," I whispered hoarsely as another tear escaped. I gritted my teeth as I tried to delay the release that was coming.
I dropped my gaze to the floor. He let out a deep sigh and I wished he would leave, but this time he didn't. Instead, the bed shifted as he sat beside me. I looked at him, more tears filling my eyes, and I swallowed hard.
I'd given him an out and he hadn't taken it. Had he felt obligated to stay?
"I'm not leaving you like this," he said, putting an arm around me, pulling me close.
There was no strength to resist as I allowed him to comfort me. My tears ran freely and I gripped his shirt.
He never said a word as he embraced me while I cried. There was no more control, only the flow of heartache and pain that poured from me unchecked. At no point did his hold on me slack while I sobbed.
After a while my crying quieted and I took a trembling breath. The soft touch of his fingers on my cheeks brushing the wetness away was unexpected. His eyes held mine before drifting over my face, and his hands fell away. For the first time, I felt a connection with him that wasn't just physical. He pulled farther away.
I felt rejected once more, which was amplified by my feelings of vulnerability from exposing my heartache in front of him. "I'm good now. You can go."
There was his chance to leave me, guilt free. I yawned, feeling drained on both an emotional and physical level.
"You need to rest," he said, standing up. He helped me to my feet long enough to pull the covers back so I could get into my bed.
