Page 60 of Burn

Adrian shifts his attention to me, and when he notices the goosebumps that have spread across my bare arms, he steps behind me and pulls my body into his, blanketing me in heat. It’s such a sweet gesture that I feel myself go stiff with shock. A deep chuckle rumbles up his chest.

“Relax, Lex,” his voice low and steady, “Relax.”

So, I do. I lean back into him, pulling his arms around my shoulders. He eclipses me, and I trail my fingers across the veins that twist down his forearms. I watch his skin react, goosebumps spreading over him, and I smile. It’s such an intimate moment, and I’m able to briefly forget why we’re here.

Until a pharmacist approaches the other side of the counter and asks, “How can I help you?”

Adrian doesn’t release me, so I push away from him and immediately start shivering again. My voice catches slightly, cracking when I say, “I need Plan B, please.”

The pharmacist nods, flicking her gaze between Adrian and me with a definite look of disapproval. When she steps around a corner, Adrian tugs on my arm, turning me to face him, andsays, “You should ask her for birth control.” I open my mouth to reply, but the sound of a box hitting the counter interrupts me before I can.

“That’s fifty dollars. I assume you know how to use this?” I nod in response. “Excellent. Is there anything else you need?”

I pull my credit card from the wristlet I packed for the bar and say, “No, thank you.”

Behind me, I feel Adrian’s energy shift, and I quickly tap my card against the machine to pay. The woman hands me a small paper bag and turns, walking out of view. I turn to leave and stop when I meet Adrian’s dark eyes.

“What?” I ask.

He tilts his head and his jaw ticks, but he doesn’t speak, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the exit. He grips my hand hard, and after a few steps, I pull myself free and shake my arm. “God, Adrian. Are you trying to break my hand?”

He doesn’t slow, shaking his head as he steps out into the warm summer night. The door to the pharmacy slides closed, and the composure he held inside breaks apart. “I said you should get birth control,” he growls at me.

“I’m prepared to give you control in certain situations,” I reply quietly. “You can control when I’m on my knees, my back, all fours. My reproductive and mental health is not something I’ll ever relinquish control over.”

He steps into me, hands on my arms. I look up at him, registering the confusion laced with annoyance. “What do you mean by ‘mental health’? This has nothing to do with mental health.”

Of course, he doesn’t understand. He probably comes from loving, stable parents who never exposed him to the negative side of hormonal birth control mixed with bipolar disorder. I’m stuck somewhere between wanting to open up to thisman about my childhood, and the need to keep it locked in the vault it’s existed in for the last ten-plus years. I chew on my bottom lip, unable to find the words. Adrian watches me intently, waiting for an answer I’m not sure I’m ready to give. I feel raw and exposed, and my voice is a raspy whisper when I manage to say, “I don’t like how it makes me feel.”

His brows furrow, and he reaches out, placing his hand on the side of my neck. When he makes contact, there’s a flash of soreness under his grip, reminding me how he bit me at the club. “What do you mean?”

I stutter, tripping over the truth. “I don’t know. I don’t react well to it. It makes me feel unstable, and I can’t risk being like…” I trail off at the end, vivid memories assaulting my mind. My mother screaming at me, calling me fat and stupid, telling me how much I destroyed her life.

“Lex,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing across my jaw. “You can’t risk being like who?”

I feel my chin wobble, tears prick at my eyes, and my voice trembles, “Like my mother.”

Something flashes across his face. It looks like understanding. Realization. “Right,” he nods as he speaks, his voice softer. “Your mom. Why would that be a concern? You’re nothing like her.”

I hear his words, but I’m so confused that I have to repeat them in my head to ensure I heard him correctly.

You’re nothing like her?

Those words do the strangest thing to me. They both comfort and terrify me, because thank God I’m not like her, but what the hell does he know abouther?My stomach twists, pushing bile up into my throat, and the first tear spills over my lashes, trailing down my cheek. He steps forward, our bodies flush with one another, and reaches out to brush the tear away.

“How?” is all I can ask.

He smirks, his dark eyes completely free from judgment, “I don’t want to freak you out, but I have my sources for finding information. I needed to know more about you. I know… a little.” I feel myself pale. He knows a little. How much is a little? “Don’t do that.” His expression darkens as he watches my reaction.

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t lose yourself in whatever dark thoughts you have swirling in your mind right now. I know some. When you’re ready, you can tell me everything, but I know enough to know you’re not like her.”

I lean forward, pressing my face into his chest, and counting the beats of his steady heart while I crumble, quietly weeping. He wraps his hand around my head, holding me, grounding me. We stand in silence on the dark street, and he allows me the moment I need to fall apart. After several minutes, I take a long, shaky breath and push myself away, looking back at his warm, dark eyes.

“You can talk to me, you know?” he says as he uses both thumbs to wipe the mess of wetness and makeup off my cheeks.

I exhale slowly, my body sagging with the weight of exhaustion. The ghost of my mother lingers in the back of my mind, whispering vile insults at me.

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