Page 30 of Wicked Games

Eden: yeah, that’s a good plan

Eden: ttyl

Felix: later

I exit out of my texts and put my phone on the cushion beside me. This is the third day in a row I haven’t had a headache or felt any sort of eye strain after using my phone. I haven’t tried reading or studying yet, but the more time that passes, the more it seems like the bulk of my symptoms were from almost drowning, not a concussion.

The bump on my head is almost gone, but the bruise is now a splotchy mess of deep purple, black, green, and yellow. Not even the best makeup in Eden’s impressive collection can cover that sucker up, and it’s easier to just avoid people than deal with the stares.

But the problem with hiding is that I don’t like being bored, and spending the last five days holed up in this room doing nothing more than napping, eating, and staring at the walls is driving me crazy. And the thought of doing this until the bruise is completely gone is enough to make me want to rip my own skin off just to have something to do.

The only good thing is that Killian has made himself scarce since that first night, and I’ve mostly had the place to myself. I have no clue where he’s spending his nights, but it’s not in the room with me.

A strange feeling settles in my stomach. It’s hot and angry, but a quiet sort of anger that ebbs and flows instead of hitting hard and fast. I have no idea what the hell is going on with me, but my brush with death has brought all my emotions to the surface, and it’s getting harder to shove them back where they belong.

Letting out a loud sigh, I slide down on the cushion and lean my head against the back of the couch, my eyes fixed unseeingly on a section of the ridiculous crown molding circling the room. I need to find something to help me sleep at night, but all of my usual methods have failed epically over the past five days. I’ve barely gotten more than a few hours, and most of that is brokenup into twenty-minute blocks. The lack of sleep is starting to fuck with me, and without my multiple daily naps, I’d be walking around the room like a zombie in a fever dream. It’s been an age since things were this bad, and the longer this goes on, the more tenuous my grip on reality is going to get.

Being alone for days on end isn’t helping my mental state either, but being around people isn’t an option when I’m like this. I’m too volatile, and it’s pretty much impossible to rein in my anger when something sets it off.

Even Eden isn’t safe from my mood swings right now. I love her like a sister, but her well-meaning fussiness and mothering instincts would eventually trigger an outburst, and I’d end up saying things I’d never be able to take back.

The door to the room flies open, and it’s a testament to how mentally exhausted I am that I don’t even flinch as the handle smashes into the wall and instead just slide my gaze from the ceiling to Killian.

“Leave.”

“No,” I say, my mouth moving before I’ve even made the conscious decision to answer him.

He glowers at me, his entire body tense, and points at the door. “Now.”

“No,” I say calmly.

He sucks in a huge breath and holds it, his chest puffing out like a bullfrog and his cheeks going red. It’s a ridiculous look for him, and I snicker, fully aware that’s the absolute wrong thing to do, but I’m too tired to try and stop myself.

He blows out his breath through pursed lips, his chest and body deflating in a way that reminds me of when you let go of the neck of a balloon and let the air rush out.

That visual makes me snicker again, and I’m still smirking as he slams the door closed and stomps over to the couch.

“You think this is funny?” he demands, looming over me like an apex predator that just cornered his next meal.

“It’s a little funny,” I say innocently.

“Leave. Now.”

“Nope.” I make a show of settling on the couch and getting more comfortable. “This is my room too. You don’t get to just kick me out because you’re having a tantrum.”

“A tantrum?” His voice is eerily calm and even.

“What else would you call stomping into the room and almost putting the door through the wall from throwing it open so hard?”

His dark eyes flash with something I can’t read, almost like a spark or fire is momentarily lit behind them.

We lock gazes, and something akin to anxiety mixed with excitement tickles my chest as we get lost in a sort of staring contest.

Killian’s eyes are the most unusual shade of brown I’ve ever seen. They can shift from nearly black to almost amber, depending on his mood, and the tiny flecks of gold in them make his stare as magnetic as it is terrifying.

My eyes are a weird mix of blue and gray that just looks dull no matter what, but that doesn’t stop me from staring back at him or lifting the corner of my mouth to give him a little smirk.

“Are you trying to die?” he demands.

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